Resurfacing

((AN: If this chapter doesnt make any sense from the last one you read, it is because the whole story is being revamped and in some ways rewritten. :3 more to come! ~dreams))

He had said -no-. No was his last word, and Vincent Valentine stuck to his last word. He had told Cid he was -done- with the ship, and done meant DONE. Apparently 'done' to Cid Highwind meant 'keep on doing it anyway until they cave it'.



Vincent leaned against the side of the Highwind, glad to be out of it. If  it wasn't bad enough he’d spent most of his awaked time during meteor inside of it, going from place to place, now for the past three hours Cid had been teaching him practically everything about the stupid aircraft, from re-wiring to engine mapping to how to haul in the cargo  despite Vincent's declaration of having no desire to do so. In the end, the unmovable man had caved in to the pilot's wishes and those begging blue eyes. He sighed again, stepping away from the ship. Enough for him for one day.

He walked out of the hanger, down past the old rocket launch station that was on the outskirts of town. Since the rocket’s launch the station had become overgrown, and instead of being the vibrant autumn of the rest of the surrounding field, he found it to be the bright, rich green of the grass around all of the houses in town. It was thigh high, never cut since the station was left alone in its current rusted state. He let his left hand travel down, feeling the light, soft texture of the grass against it. It hadn't been that long since he’d permanently removed the heavy metal gauntlet from his left arm. Cid had taken it, put it away in a place in the garage with, as he put it, ‘the rest of the scrap metal in the house’. He trailed his fingers against the grass, which was a welcome relief from the cold metal of the airship. His left hand had been especially sensitive since the removale of the gauntlet and  even the feeling of the grass sent pleasant, albeit violent, sensations up through his arm only to be softened away by the rest of his body.

His hair, pulled back and out of his face, was released with a simple tug of the band holding it together, the long intertwining loops of the braid it was in coming undone with the high wind that kicked up in the field. He looked up at the rocket support as he neared it, squinting through the sunlight that bounced off of the metal. He remembered, vaguely, the time he, Cid, and Cloud had gone up in the old Shinra 26 when it was holding the huge materia. The feeling of the launch, loud and violent as the engines fired up, propelling the rocket upwards; then, when in space, the feeling of weightlessness as he clung to the seat Cid had sat in while in the cockpit, trying to override the autopilot. The earth from space was, he admitted now, a beautiful sight. He had been so intent on the memory of Lucrecia and the revenge on Hojo he’d taken the view for granted. Now, the memory seemed so far away, but so near at the same time. He knew then  why  wanted to fly so badly; the weightlessness of it, the feeling of freedom, as if you could just leave everything behind and start anew in the stars. He closed his eyes as he lifted his face to the sun. It was warm outside, the last few days of summer melting away into the cool air of autumn. The high wind kicked up again, stronger, and as he stood there basking in the sun and the cold air, he could easily ignore the eyes that were trained on him from not too far away.

 Cid had tried not to stare, he really had. He had followed Vincent's trek out of the ship when he had noticed the silent man's absence, wondering just where the man had gotten to. He spotted Vincent out of the corner of his eye as he exited the hanger, and was about to call out to him  when he stopped, the breath caught from leaving his throat. Vincent stood there, arms crossed at the chest. His hair, which was now down, caught in the wind, whipping around his neck and out behind him in that black flag of his. Eyes closed with his face upturned to the sun above, his expression was thoughtful, relaxed certainly for the first time since Cid had ever known the man. The pilot stood there for a minute more before he stepped from the door of the hanger and walked the gunman's way.

He sighed as the wind stopped, the green blades of grass stilling for a moment before Vincent sat down, hiding himself in the tall, swaying grass. Vincent liked being hidden, actually. It was one of the reasons he had worn for so long the tattered red cloak and the black 'cat suit', as Cid called it. Hidden things were secret things, private things. His face and body were hidden and by that no one had ever tried, or bothered to try, to find out what it was that was kept secret from them. He was a man who had, and who kept, secrets. It happened to be one of the many requirements of being a Turk, after all. So why, he asked himself, was it that no secret, his or otherwise, was kept from Highwind? Highwind, so blunt and crass, who said what he felt like when he felt like it with no pretense or thought. Highwind, who had such an honest and open way about him that perhaps he naturally brought out hidden things to full view. A joke that had made Cloud smile once, a comment that made Tifa blush, a retort that made even Barett laugh. And now, the pilot was dragging, every day, more words out of Vincent's lips in one hour than he had ever spoken in the many years before he ever met Lucrecia.

But, why?

Vincent frowned deeper, opening his eyes and looking into Cid’s as the pilot stood above him. Cid had come to see what Vincent was doing, but found the man so deeply in thought he just stood there, hands in his pockets as he , waited for Vincent to stop thinking about whatever it was Vince thought about these days. He leaned over him slightly when the red eyes had opened, locking onto his own blue ones before Vincent reacted. A leg whiped out, knocking Cid's out from under him. Flailing his arms to try and stay upright, he ended up falling -back- onto Vincent with a sudden 'oof!' as the air left both sets of lungs -again-. Somewhere along the way both men’s lips crashed together in a very violent could-be-called-a-kiss, and while they lay there, neither men moved in fear of having hurt the other. Planted firmly to the ground by Cid's weight (the man must weight twice as much as he did, and none of it he was sure, was fat) Vincent didn't even try to get back up, counting on the tall grass to hide what had happened from any watching eyes. By his head, Cid's face was planted into the grass, and as he raised it slowly they locked eyes again.

This made -twice- in ONE day that a situation had gone from completely manageable to awkward as hell, and there wasnt even any oil involved this time around. Cid groaned as he pushed himself off to the ground and off of Vincent at the same time, rubbing his neck. "I sure hope this don't become a normal thing between us, Vince."

Vincent sighed inwardly and picked himself up, leaning back onto his arms. The pilot should know better than to just sneak up on him. "Why didn't you announce yourself?"

“The hell were you thinking about so hard, Vince? I came over here to see what the hell you were doing, an' one second you’re lookin’ all peaceful and the next like you went all homocidal on me. I didn’t do anything t’ you again, did I?”

 

Vincent shook his head. “No."

"Good, cause I was wondering." He sat back down apart from Vincent, still rubbing his neck.  By either sheer laziness or discare, the pilot had neglected putting something on under the suit, and was now revealing a generous amount of well muscled, tanned skin as the sun beat down on his halfway unzipped mechanics clothes.  Vincent turned his head away, eyes trained through the thigh high grass towards the town. They seemed to be alone. Flicking his eyes back to Cid, he took the time to -look-.  Alright, he admitted it, he had been with men in his life.  Usually young men like Cloud at one point, and he had distracted himself with the young warrior until he learned Tifa had him in reserve since childhood.  Maybe a few others in his younger years but never men like Cid; cocky, self assured men with a commanding attitude and presence, men who, like Cid would put it, ‘took life by the balls’. Men who feared nothing, it seemed, but their own failure. Never men like Cid, who dominated instead of submitted in whatever he did.

He studied the pilot now from the corner of red eyes; the sun caused the blades of grass to dance shadows across the tanned skin and suit, the sunlight catching the blue of Cids eyes, causing them to become an almost intense shade. Gold and blonde highlights in his hair where vibrantly shining out, the sparse hair doting his chest slightly shining as well. His skin was a very light shade of brown, slightly calloused in places but still soft looking at any rate. His body was as sculpted as a Wutain statue, wide shoulders and thick arms. His back was broad and strong, his hands, large hands with short, stubby nails that had been worked to nothing, on the end of his surprisingly long and thin fingers. Vincent darted back up to Cid's face; square jawed, the slight Roman nose, large blue eyes, the stubble that never seemed to go away or grow glowing a bright gold on his jawline. With his mouth kept shut, Cid could easily be any handsome man women would desire, certainly. With his mouth -shut-. But it was more than just his body that made Cid Cid, Vincent knew. The strong, magnificent body was just part of the package.

Ergo it was either out of sheer will or sheer stupidity that Vincent let Cid catch his appraising stare. He could see Cid’s body tense under his the look, hear a small, sharp intake of breath as blue locked on red, confusion, questions and (could it be?) curiosity held in them. “What?" Cid cocked his head to the side, looking at the gunman looking at him.

“Nothing. I'm merely looking at you.”

"Why?"

"I'm noting."

"Noting what?"

"Comparing, really." He held out his arm and placed it next to Cid's, the white skin a pale contrast to the pilot's tanned skin.

“Yeah well, that’s what happens when you stay out in the sun for too long like I do, ya become brown. Not you though. You’re still as pale as the day you were born, what with you hidin' under leather for years..”

Vincent nodded. “I do try not to get out in the sun much, it’s true.”

“Any particular reason?”

“I do not look forward to the unpleasant sensation that is a sunburn.”

“I dont blame ya there.”  Cid turned on his seat to face Vincent, hands on his knees. “Still,it's not like ya had to worry about that with that a full body cat suit.” His trademark grin spread across his face. His teeth were almost -too- white.

Vincent frowned slightly. “ It wasn't a 'cat' suit, Highwind. It was just black body armor that happened to be leather. Whether or not it kept me pale wasn't important."

"So get a tan."

"I tan as well as you pale."

"I don't pale worth shit."

"Then you should see what I mean."

“I see. What I don’t see is the skin you seem to keep so intently pale.”

Vincent glowered. "You should have seen all the proof you wanted to this morning when you stripped the covers off of me. I don’t see why you do not believe me.”

Cid leaned back, resting his hands on the ground as he folded his legs indian style. “The same reason I didn’t believe your face had a bottom half 'til you took that damn ratty cloak off.”

“You’re not going to drop this until I submit to you, is that it?”

“I'm just saying!"

 

"You're just aggrivating." He zipped the suit down to his waist despite his annoyance at the blonde's persistence, slipping his arms back through to the suit and moving it down to his waist. Underneath he wore a black, sleeveless shirt, his arms, collar bone and neck all exposed to the blazing sun and cold wind. He shuddered.

Without a word Cid leaned up, grabbed the end hems of Vincent’s shirt and yanked it up roughly until it was pulled up and off the disgruntled gunman’s head. Vincent shook his head to get the loose hair out of his eyes, glaring at the other man. He was about to speak when the words caught in the back of his throat. Cid’s blue eyes were widened somewhat, roving from Vincent’s face all the way down to where his jeans started right below his navel. Suddenly the gunman felt incredibly naked. “Sastisfied?” he growled, a part of him wondering just why he allowed the pilot to do things that would get another man killed for it,  another about the suddenly hungry look in the blue eyes.



************************** Damn was everything about this man beautiful. His long ebony hair, his red eyes that seemed to glow even in the daylight, his tall lean body and dark, husky voice and now, his porcelain white skin that put even, Cid was convinced even as cheesy as it sounded, the moon to shame with it’s pale white glow. Sure, he'd seen it before when he woke Vincent up that morning, but not this close. Not an ounce of body hair was on him, nowhere Cid could see anyway, every bone and curve evident under it. Cid had never paid much attention to other guys in any way other than war marks, with how they handled women and battle scars, but even a blind man would be entranced by the rise and fall of Vincent’s chest, the pale pink nipples contrasted by the long black hair falling around them, the slight curve of hidden muscles in his abdomen, the power he knew was underneath that skinny frame. He remember the way Vincent was this morning, posed to pounce like a great black jungle cat. The pilot was sure not even his trademark words of wonder could convey it, so he left it up to his usual. “DAMN.”

Vincent could feel a blush creep into his face as Cid smiled suddenly, reaching out a hand and placing it against Vincent's shoulder. Pale skin clashed with Cid's tan skin, that large, long fingered hand latching onto the small shoulder beneath. Vincent's first assumption was right; it was a hand to be dominated by.  The pilot’s rough, calloused touch  left tingling sensations up and down Vincent’s spine until he was sure the sudden shudder running down his back and up between his legs had nothing to do with the  wind that came from behind him. He could feel Cid trail a finger tip down the collar bone, following a very old and pale zig-zag of a scar that went across one pectoral down to his right rib cage. He cleared his throat, scooting away a bit until he was out of Cid’s reach. He hurriedly slipped his arms into the mechanic’s suit, zipping it tightly up to the neck. “Satisfied now?”

“Yeah, and I still believe you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Vincent’s face grew slightly hot as he continued to glower anywhere but in the pilot’s blue eyes. “For a guy, I mean. For a guy.”

The gunman let out a muttered “thank you”, sure that the scarlet blush was still so evident on his face. He said nothing as Cid stood, tying the arms of the suit around his waist . His eyes looked up as Cid turned, lighting a cigarette he got from Gaia knows where. “I'm headin' back to the house. I’m fuckin’ tired.” Cid looked down at Vincent still sitting on the ground. “You comin’?" Vincent shook his head.  Cid grinned. "Gonna start workin' on that tan then? Suit yourself. See ya in the house.” He started off, making sure not to look back at the ebony haired man. In his mind and in his senses he could still feel the soft skin underneath his fingertips, see the blushing of that pale face that he always thought was bloodless, hear the shuddering gasp Vincent had let out almost so unnoticeably. He let out his own shudder, hoping Shera would be willing to 'help' take these thoughts off of his mind. He didn't miss the irony that it would be his wife he would use to relieve himself about thoughts of another man.