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Resurfacing	By : dreamsofcrows Category: Final Fantasy VII > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 686 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
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- 8
It was cold in the room. A little too cold, actually, and as he shifted in his curled up state he almost wondered why. The soft crinkle of bed sheets underneath him was lifted to his ears, the crisp, soft cotton sending pleasant waves of sensation through his naked body.
Wait... Naked body?
Vincent shot up into a dizzy sitting position, blinking his eyes to try to get them into focus. Sunlight, faint but bright enough to illuminate the room, streamed through the half open window that was letting in a cool morning breeze. On the floor he could see a crumpled, oil stained mechanics suit laying there, along with his pair of jeans, shoes, socks and tank top from the day before. One glance at the clock told Vincent it was only eight in the morning, two hours past the usual time he woke up. He couldn't imagine being quite that tired, but considering the events just yesterday he wasn't surprised. As he dressed he tried to remember the night before. He’d gone to see Cid, that much he was sure of, and the pilot had lectured him about something, that he was most DEFINITELY sure of. In the back of his mind he could even remember the cheesy lyrics to the country song that was playing; something about women finding a certain mans tractor sexy, or appealing, or however the stupid song went. None of it, though, explained how he got from point A that was the garage, to point B that was his room and points C through G to sheer nudity. He almost didn’t want to know.
Cid glanced up as a soft padding of feet came down the stairs and a very disheveled looking Vincent walked into the living room. His normally neat hair was sticking out in all directions, his clothes wrinkled in spots and Cid swore he even saw the man swaying where he stood. “What kinda weird, wild night did YOU have and why didn’t you invite me?”
Vincent looked down through his blurry vision at the blonde. Cid was sitting on the couch in just a pair of pants and what HAD to be the gaudiest, most stupid piece of clothing he owned. The bright blue Costa Del Sol flower print top clashed horribly with his pale blonde hair and tanned skin, and made the black pants he wore look even darker. He chose to ignore the question as he plopped down next to Cid, leaning once more into the broad, well muscled shoulder he’d used the night before. “I don’t know what I should find to be more offensive right now, your question or your apparent lack of fashion sense.”
Cid just chuckled and tossed the engine manual he was reading on the floor, wrapping his right arm around the smaller man’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, Vince. I’m going to give you plenty of things to find offensive later tonight.”
"Dare I ask...”
“Please, dare on buddy.”
Sigh. “Fine. What are you going to give to me tonight?”
“I’m going to give you what me and the rest of the town call ‘the country cure’.”
“What? Corn bread and sweet tea?” Vincent looked up at Cid despite himself as the pilot scoffed in mock offense. He didn’t know where he’d heard that before, and more importantly he wasn’t sure why he said it. He just did.
“Hardy har-har, asshole. NO, I mean me an’ Shera are going out tonight into town to meet up with some friends of ours down at Joe’s, and we’re takin’ you with us. You need to get out, and since I’m gonna help you get out of your shell I figured this would be just what you need. Just you wait- there’ll be barbeque, beer out the wazoo..heh that kinda sounds like that clone’s name, Yazoo..yazoo, wazoo, heheh...but anyway.” Vincent held in the internal groan as he closed his eyes, pretending he didn’t hear that and that his opinion about Cids intelligence didn’t just change. “There’ll be singing, lots of it and mostly drunken out of tune sluring (though that's just part of the fun,mind), and you’ll even get to see yours truly show ya how to line dance ”
Vincent blinked as a mental picture of people literally dancing in lines ran through his mind. “WALL, that sure sounds like a hollerin’ good time, Highwind ” Cid glanced down at Vincent’s mocking of his accent.
“You makin’ fun of me, Valentine?”
"Obviously."
Cid tried to sound angry through his grin as he gave Vincent a little shove with his shoulder, leaning his head down to rest on the top of the gunman’s. “You’re an asshole.”
Vincent made his head comfortable as he took Cid’s arm from his shoulders, pulling it around so it draped down his chest and gave it a pat. “I learned from the best.” He closed his eyes; Cid just radiated heat, his deeper breathing making his broad chest rise and fall. The fingers of the pilot’s right hand just draped down Vincent's chest, fingers lightly touching but never moving. "I passed out in the car, didn't I?"
"Yup, an' I had to haul your ass upstairs. Ya know for a skinny man you weight a hell of a lot." Cid watched as Vincent processed all of it and nodded when it seemed the answer worked for him. Vincent closed his eyes as he relaxed against Cid's shoulder. The soft black hair of the other man sent little pleasant waves up Cid’s arm. He smiled, patting the skinnier mans chest. He was proud of himself. Well, Cid Highwind was ALWAYS proud of himself, but at least now he had a more than good enough reason to be. He considered that if he could just get Vince of all people to smile and joke and hell, even make fun of him such a short time after their talk the other night, that it was something to be proud of. Somewhere under that solemn exterior was the guy Cid knew, just knew was in there, smiles, laughter, jokes and sarcasm and all just waiting to come out. Time and torture had left thier marks upon Vincent's battered personality, and maybe if he did the right thing at the right time, it could be healed. He could hardly wait til more and more things about the dark haired man resurfaced one after the other; hell, this for example. Who knew the man was such a cuddler? Cid closed his eyes as he could hear and feel the man under his arm sleeping again, his thin body pressed up against his own. ‘I’ll let him sleep for now. I won’t be quite so easy on him tonight.’ with that the trademark Highwind grin appeared on his face as he held in a chuckle. ‘Culture shock, here we come! ’ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
“You’re not.”
“I sure as hell am.”
Vincent stared down at the clothes on his bed, trying not to look as disturbed as he felt. While he was sure Cid was on the same level as Shera, if not above her, at choosing auto parts, clothing wasn’t his forte either. The dark blue jeans he’d picked out for him for acceptable, the button up shirt he could tolerate, and as for the boots Cid had gotten him earlier that day while in town he could live with. It was the belt laying beside them that he couldn’t keep his eyes from looking at with a twitch. It was simple enough, true, but it was the large gold buckle that was attached to it he just couldn’t agree with. It was big, TOO big to be wearable, and even the tacky 'V' in the middle of it didn't make it better. In fact, it made it worse. 'V' for 'very embaressing' “Cid...when I agreed to go, I agreed to go with you, perhaps drink a few drinks, tolerate your music and maybe even talk to someone if they are less offensive than usual BUT. I. REFUSE. to WEAR.THAT. THING...around MY waist.” He pointed his finger down at the belt with every word, taking a step back from the thing like it was a venomous snake.
Cid sighed, rolling his eyes. “It ain’t gonna bite ya, Vince.”
“A wound would heal faster than my pride.”
The pilot scoffed, folding his arms. “You can walk around in a skin tight leather cat suit for five years but you can’t put on a belt buckle for one damn night ?”
Vincent shot Cid a look from the corner of his eyes. “Exactly.” He rolled his eyes as Cid started to pout; he wasn’t sure what it was about the childish gesture that made him even more upset, except perhaps for the fact that as far as Cid was concerned he had always tried to resist and failed. “Alright, fine, I’ll make a compromise. Make it black and take away the buckle, and I’ll wear it as long as you want.” He looked at Cid again as the blonde thought about it with a shrug.
"Deal." Cid took the belt back, slinging it over his shoulder. “We’re gonna leave soon, so go ahead and change while I get you a BLACK belt, not that'd it hurt your sorry ass t' wear some other color. I’ll be back with it as soon as I get dressed myself.” Cid shot him a smile as he shut the bedroom door, leaving Vincent to look back down at the clothes. With a resigned sigh, he began to change. It wasn’t a far cry, actually, from what he was wearing these days, just a different shirt and shoes that would probably make him take on a more “country” look, not something he could easily imagine on himself. Vincent Valentine was not a cowardly man; after all, he’d seen and experienced plenty of danger in his life that would make any normal man have nightmares...well, none as quite as his but nightmares none the less. Looking at the clothes as he put them on, however, he was scared to death about going out that night. The pants were a slightly tighter fit than his other ones, the boots slightly lower than what he was used to, but the shirt was actually quite comfortable. He was just glad Cid had enough sense to make it black with some casual, red stripes running vertically on it. Vincent glanced up as the door opened and Cid walked inside.
It was Cid...just not the Cid -he- was used to seeing, anyway. The pilot had abandoned his loose khakis for a tight fitting pair of blue jeans. His normally worn, old boots were replaced by a dark brown leather pair of “cowboy boots”. Cid also wore a button up shirt, but his was a bue that matched his eyes perfectly, the top buttons let loose so that it revealed a generous amount of skin. He tossed the black belt he was carrying down on the bed, running a hand over his slicked back hair. “Found ya a black belt, though I don’t know if it’ll fit your skinny ass. Might wanna try it on just to make su-...what’re you looking at, slack-jaw?” Cid shifted his weight to one leg, lifting an amused eyebrow at Vincent’s wide eyed expression.
The gunman just blinked, turning his eyes away from the vision before him. He’d never seen Cid in anything less than completely loose clothing, and the usual smell of grease and oil was replaced by a strong, musky scent that smelled almost like the tea Cid drank every morning. A normally scruffy looking face was clean shaven and his hair was clean and shone brightly in the light of the room. “I was wondering if Shera realizes she married the grungry version of yourself.”
"First insult of the night, huh?"
"It would be less insulting if it wasn't true."
"Funny. Hurry up and come on downstairs. No way in hell you're sulking up here tonight."~~~
The dance hall, if Vincent could even have called it that and not an overly large BAR, was way too loud, filled with too much smoke and the overly loud country accents of the town people along with music that reminded him of an Edgar Allen Poe story he’d read once ( it sounded interesting, it might have been happy at one point but was honestly just depressing) did nothing to lift his mood. He sat at the table, a cold long neck beer in one hand as he watched the people around him. The only thing Shera had squealed out when she’d seen Vincent was “HOOOW CUUUUUUUUUTEE!!!!” before she promptly tried to cut his oxygen supply off with a hug. Cid had just laughed like he expected Cid would, and without another word had drug Vincent out of the door and through town. Vincent had never heard so many women saying things in cute, high pitched voices at the same time as he’d walked through the door. EVERYBODY, it seemed, knew Cid, and the conversation went as followed with everyone they’d met:
“Hey Cid.”
“Hey Frank, how’re the kids?”
"Hey there, Cid.”
"Heya Bob. You ever gonna give me back my spade?”
“How ya doin’ Cid?”
“Alright I ‘spect. Brought my buddy Vincent here along for a night out- ya know, t’ try to get used to the town an’ all. You make sure to make him feel right at home, alright Joe?"
"Anh, you're that new black haired fellah that's livin' with the Highwinds, right? Well you grab yourself a beer n' plop a squat somewhere. First one's on me." And it got more interesting from there. Vincent chose a table over in a corner where he hoped no one would see him or acknowledge his existence. So far, thirteen people, no less than ten of them women hoping to dance, had come over. Three of them were drunk, two of them much too underage for his own moral tastes and the rest who had just come over to see the 'new guy' who was hiding. He’d met Bobby Joe, Bobby Sue, Bobby Anne, Sue Anne, Sue Joe, Jo Anne, Joanne, Joan, Candy, Barbie, Cindy and Bubba. He’d halfway considered trying to sneak out the back when Cid walked over to the table, sitting across from him.
“Boy, don’t YOU look excited?”
“RIVETED.” He’d hoped the sarcasm in his voice was enough to get his point across. He was running a finger over the rim of his bottle as he lifted his eyes to look at the pilot. Cid just sat there, grinning through bright blue eyes as he drummed his fingers on the table. “Can we leave now?”
“Come with me Vince.”
“So we ARE going home?”
"Oh, we're goin' somewhere alright." Cid just smirked again, standing up as he gestured for Vincent to stand up with the flick of his hand. Vincent sighed as he acquiesced, following Cid through the dense crowd of people who stood in his way. He wasn’t sure where Cid was taking him, but he got his answer as the crowd cleared out onto a dance floor, six or seven lines of people all dancing in front of him. His normally calm demeanor panicked as he realized just what Cid was doing. He violently shook his head as Cid reached out, grabbing his wrist as he gave it a tug. “Comon’ Vince. You wanted something to do, right?” He jerked a thumb out towards the dancing people.
“NO. I meant going home, NOT dancing. I. do. not. dance. I don’t know how for one, and I refuse to look like a fool for your amusement.” Vincent glared to get the point across and kept shaking his head while he tried as hard as he could to rip his wrist out of Cid’s tight grip.
“Dancin' ain't a crime, Vince."
He gave a snort of derision. "Ball room dancing isn't a crime. Ballet isn't a crime. -Waltzes- aren't a crime. This," he waved a hand around him, "Should land a person in jail for a life -sentence-." He ignored Cid's eye rolling. "No, Highwind."
Cid let go of Vincent's wrist and held up his hands, palms out in surrender. "Alright, alright. I ain't gonna make ya. Your choice ya wanna mope." He ignored the scatching look he received, stepping away from Vincent and waltzing, as confident as only Cid Highwind, can, to the middle of the dance floor. Vincent returned to his table, which had a fine view of the dance floor without him having to be anywhere near it. He gritted his teeth as the whine of a fiddle started up another country song. A few words in he groaned- it was the same, tormenting song he had heard in the car the other night, a rediculous, overly bouncy song about a man's infernal tractor and the woman who liked it. That made this the fifth time -tonight-. Rubbing his temples, he looked back up at the dance floor, eyes finding the bright blonde hair that was Cid as he danced.
Except that for Cid, it wasn't dancing. His steps were in line with every body else's, to be sure, but his were more purposeful and far more graceful. He seemed to float across the floor, the raw power that he knew Cid posessed held in with step, turn or clap. It was a pleasure to watch, and Vincent leaned his arms down on the table, eyes glued to the dance floor as he took another swig of his beer. Between alcohol, people finally leaving him alone and something nice to watch, he was sure he could put up with the rest.~~~
The stars were well into the sky by the time they got back to the house. Cid in three line dances and five bottles of beer later Vincent was in a happy buzz, his mind pleasantly numbed by that affects of that evening. His clothing was slightly askew, for the fact somewhere i the night the bar had gotten really hot. Behind him the said-mentioned pilot was stumbling along, three-forths of the way to being totally inebriated, Shera at his side to help him walk. “Am I the ONLY person here that’s not practically drunk?”
"Yep."
"Yes." Both men answered at the same time, grinning to himself for different reasons. Vincent had fun that night- he really DID. He wasn’t expecting to, but between the beers and the good view he had all night on the dance floor it’d become a pleasently good night. He opened the door, stumbling through it and up the stairs. It was time to sleep, he decided, time to give his body and mind time to recover to handle the hangover he was sure he’d have the next morning. He reached the top floor, turning back to look over the railing down at Shera helping Cid into their bedroom. “Night y’all.” He heard Cid’s laughter from downstairs as he shut his bedroom door and stripped. The cold night air felt good on his skin and as he lay down in bed, he wondered this could be the first of other good nights to come.
If he only knew.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
"She Thinks my Tractor's Sexy", by Kenny Chesney
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Resurfacing