No Longer Lacking a Phone

Reno's Goggles ( http://renos-goggles.deviantart.com/ ) gave Mako Red Eyes ( http://makoredeyes.deviantart.com/ ) an idea. This idea was passed on to me. It was just a line, 'a suggestion to "imagine" Vincent Valentine Drunk, after the way he is in AC' but it was like taking a defibrillator to my flagging muse. This is a direct sequel to 'Vincent's lack of Phone and Fashion sense ( http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2648768/1/ ) and, I suppose, a direct sequel to Advent Children. Merry Christmas and Enjoy

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII or Advent Children, and I make no money from this.

o o o

Hours earlier, just before his air-rescue from the City of the Ancients, Vincent had wondered why he had wanted his old job as a Turk back.

Now, he remembered why.

They were all there. Reno, Rude, Tseng, Elena, half a dozen of other young recruits who's names he hadn't caught and who no longer mattered. Rude's wondrous, throat-burning, tear-inducing scotch (the current theory on it's place of origin was the bald Turk's bathtub) was flowing freely, as was heady del Sol rum, luscious Nibelic wine, and an interesting, fruity, powerful liquid that he couldn't identify, as he was too out of it to properly translate the Wutaian figures on the label. The barkeep, on seeing the parade of dark-suited people who had walked in the door, a red cloak swirling in their midst, had immediately led them to a semi-private table in a corner of the place and had set one pretty young girl to wait solely on them. They kept the girl busy going back and forth between the table and kitchen, and their table was piled high with empty fry baskets, plates of half-eaten burgers, and two boxes of Gongagan take-out from the place down the street.

And dozens of cups, shot glasses, mugs, and empty flasks of tear-inducing scotch.

Also somewhere on the table was the instruction book to Vincent's new phone. They had turned his simple errand for a new phone into a full re-initiation ceremony. Red cloak or not, Vincent was a full Turk again, which meant life-long drinking buddies, life-threatening escapades, and a phone so high-tech he didn't know if he could figure out a third of what it was capable of.

Yes, THIS was why he wanted his job back.

Currently, he was relating his adventures in the City of the Ancients, rescuing Elena and Tseng from the three Sephiroth Clones. If any of his Avalanche companions could see him, they would be amazed at the change he had undergone. His face was flushed, his cloak tossed over a chair and the top half of his shirt was unbuttoned. He was leaning back in his seat, gesturing with his claw and smirking as he sent the rest of the Turks into gales of laughter by recounting the day after Tseng and Elena had been rescued and he had gotten wonderfully drunk off of Rude's Wondrous Scotch. No one but a Turk would find the story that funny, because no one but a Turk would understand. And no one outside of the Turks had ever tasted the Wonder-Scotch.

o o o

Being a hero was awesome.

Not too many people knew about Avalanche's role in saving the world from Sephiroth. However, thousands had watched the terrorist-turned-hero's keep Bahamut SIN from destroying Edge. As such, any of them only had to walk into a bar and they were bought as many drinks as they could handle.

Cid Highwind was currently bar-hopping, strolling in one place for a drink and a toast before making his way to the next. He was a good way along the road to being completely smashed, his gait distinctly uneven and his Cosmic accent thickening to near the point of incomprehensibility. He squinted through the window long enough to determine that the place he was standing in front of was, indeed, a bar, and walked in.

A burst of laughter interrupted his trek towards the bartender. A wild assortment of people were all sitting around a large table in a corner, laughing at something an unseen member of their group was saying. Cid watched them for a moment, frowning thoughtfully. Something about them was niggling at his memory. With a shrug he gave up the thought and continued on his way.

"Heeeeeey...." Slurred a voice to his left. Cid turned, one brow going up. A very large, very smelly man was leering at him from a barstool. "You were one of those sumbitches fightin' tha' Summun, weren't ya?"

"Damn straight." Cid replied, grinning.

The man snorted, standing. "You doan look very tough ta me." He said, crossing his arms. "I'm thinkin' it was all sum sorta set-up."

"An' I'm thinkin' yer muy pendejo, amigo." Cid replied. He flapped a hand at the inebriated man. "Go somewhere, yer botherin' me."

The pilot turned away from the first man and almost ran into a second one, even bigger than the first. "Got any proof of how tough you are, little man?" He growled.

Cid realized, too late, that there were at least six of these men, all in a little clump near the bar, each with at least half a foot and sixty pounds on the blond pilot, and each staring at him with drunken anger and disgust. They were ranged in a loose circle around him, some cracking their knuckles, some grinning.

Cid rolled his eyes. All he wanted was a good time, and these yahoos were trying to start trouble. Figures. "Nope, sorry." He answered. "I left my Hero's badge at home."

"Oh, he thinks he's a heeero." One of the men sneered. "He beat up a fucked-up lizard and he's a heeero!"

Cid smiled, almost lazily. "Actually, I earned the title by blowing shit up and flying a plane."

"You tryin' ta be funny?" Someone else growled.

"Nah, I'm tryin' to not suffocate from the smell of you fat-asses." Cid replied.

One of the men roared and bull-rushed the pilot, closely followed the others, all intent on making mush out the blond.

Over at the Table O'Turks, heads were turning towards the fight. "Goddamn drunks, always gotta start shit." Reno muttered, slouching in his seat. "Just when I was getting good and trashed."

"Valentine," Tseng said conversationally, watching the fight. "Isn't that Highwind under that pile of bodies?" He turned to look at the older Turk but Vincent was gone, having used the table as a launch pad to dive into the fray that was slowly growing to include everyone in the bar. The leader looked around at the growing chaos and smirked faintly. "Well," He said. "It was always tradition to welcome in the newcomers with an old-fashioned bar-fight. Get out there and earn your suits, rookies." The assorted figures around the table looked at him, some in surprise, some in hope, and as one, all of them jumped up to join the fun.

Rude looked from Tseng, who remained seated, to Reno, who was standing half-way up and cheering Elena on, to the fiasco itself, where he could barely pick out Vincent's lithe form. "Just like the good old days." He said sagely, knocking back a shot of his scotch.

Vincent jack-knifed over the heads of the crowd and landed on the palms of his hands, his feet pistoning up into the jaw of one of the men determined to turn Cid into road-kill. The man went down like a tree, shaking the floor, but Vincent was already moving deeper into the fight, drawn by the sound of his lover's voice. His elbow sank deep into the gut of a man that had tried to grab him, his palm broke the nose of another, and there was Cid, a cursing dervish in the very center of everything, fending off the attacks of the first two men that had attacked him.

Vincent spun one of the two around, sinking a knee into his stomach, and as the man doubled over, he brought his elbow down on the back of his neck. Cid grabbed the other by the arm and twisted, sending the man on a one-way trip into a wall. He turned back and grinned at Vincent. "Where the fuck were you?" He yelled.

"Turk party." Vincent replied. "Need a hand?"

Cid opened his mouth to respond and was cut off by a body skidding across the floor and taking his feet out from beneath him.

Vincent rolled his eyes and ducked a flying chair.

o o o

Hours later, Edge was still celebrating the curing of Geostigma.

The apocalyptic bar fight had ended when Reno and Rude stationed themselves by the door and started tossing out anyone not wearing a suit, a claw, or flight-goggles. Cid had dropped a generous pile of gil on the counter to pay for the damages done and they had all left, limping and laughing, Cid as an honorary Turk since he had sparked the fight and he was sleeping with Vincent.

The group had split up after a while, disappearing into the city in twos and threes, and the two Avalanche members had wandered off, passing Vincent's phone back and forth, trying to learn all of what it could do.

After an hour they had found Seventh Heaven and the party there, Cloud and Tifa and Barett and half the Highwind's crew. It was a far more subdued party than the ones they had found in other bars, but it was a good place to sober up a bit and laugh over old times. Then they were off again, in search of a good Mideelic restaurant that was still open. They were way-laid by two drunk women who kissed them both and flashed their breasts, but otherwise they went unmolested.

Hours of wandering the city found them stretched on the grass in a woody park near the outskirts of the city. Someone (Yuffie and Nanaki, they found out later) was running a materia-fueled fire-work show, launching balls of fire and ice high into the air and exploding them with bolts of lightning. The colorful show played out overhead, bathing the two sky-gazers in soft washes of blue and red and gold.

"Fuck of a day, hm?" Cid said, his arms behind his head. "Must be getting close to dawn."

"Within the hour." Vincent replied. Despite this, despite the fact that he had slept the night before in a cold tree, despite the fight with Bahamut SIN, despite seeing Sephiroth again, he felt good. Relaxed, in a way he hadn't been for a long time. Maybe it was knowing that the Geostigma was gone for good. Maybe it was because, for the first time in a week, he didn't have to worry about getting killed. Maybe it was Rude's Wonder-Scotch. He really didn't know.

A week.....

Vincent looked over at Cid. The blond was watching a ball of green Ultima fire swirl across the sky only to explode when it hit a ball of scarlet flame. "Your ban is over, Chief." He said idly.

Cid blinked and looked at him, raising his brow. "Ban...?" He asked, momentarily confused. "What are you...oh. That ban."

"Yes, that ban." Vincent replied, rolling over and looming over the pilot, his hands propped on either side of Cid's head, his hair a black curtain around their faces. "The question is, did you learn your lesson?"

"Of course." Cid replied. "Never make fun of a man with one hand."

Vincent sighed through his nose. "You're impossible." He said.

"And you're being a tease."

"Am I?"

"Yeah." Cid said, sliding his hand into Vincent's hair. Vincent leaned into the touch with a low moan. "I'm pretty sure you've been teasing me from the moment you got on my ship this morning." Cid continued.

"You must be delirious." Vincent replied huskily. "I would never do such a thing."

"Liar." Cid said, tugging Vincent's head down. Vincent fell willingly into the kiss, his tongue tracing Cid's lip and sliding into his mouth. They stayed like that for a long while, Vincent propped up on his elbows, their battle of lips and tongues the only movement either made until Cid slid his other hand around Vincent's waist and pulled him closer. Vincent let out a purring moan, his knee pressing between Cid's thighs. "Told ya." Cid breathed between kisses. "Tease."

"Impossible git." Vincent countered, tugging at the knotted sleeves of the coat around Cid's waist. Cid lifted his hips so Vincent could get the wadded-up leather from beneath him and almost unintentionally pressed against the gunman. Vincent hissed at the contact, grinding back against the pilot.

Cid sat up without breaking their embrace and pulled Vincent properly into his lap, his hands fumbling over the gunman's clothes. Sometime during the past two years, he had forgotten how many buckles Vincent used to wear; from the heavy buckles of his cloak down to the short belts that held his boots on, he had damn near twenty buckles of one sort or another. Somehow, Cid had managed to get Vincent's cloak off and his shirt open, and was tracing the skin beside the heavy belts of Vincent's prosthetic with his tongue.

Vincent leaned back, pulling Cid's shirt up over his head. "So," He asked, trailing his claw across Cid's chest. "Is what Shera said true?"

Cid blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What?"

Vincent smiled, scratching a thin line across Cid's shoulder with his forefinger. "Is the claw a turn-on?" He prompted.

Cid blinked again before smiling lazily. "Maybe." He answered. "Why? Plan on keeping it around for a while?"

Vincent's taloned finger continued across Cid's skin, not drawing blood, but just enough to leave thin red lines in it's wake. "Unfortunately, no." He said. "Do you know how hard it is to load a gun with this thing?" He sat back, admiring his handiwork. Twin V's were etched into Cid's skin, just below the collarbone.

Cid rolled his eyes. "Normal people give hickey's." He muttered, his hands busy with Vincent's belt. "But no, you give fuckin' tattoo's." Vincent chuckled darkly and quickly undid the buckles on his boots. He twisted sideways in Cid's lap, kicking off his boots and pants into a pile before straddling the pilot's thighs again. Their lips met again, the slow pace at complete odds with the near-frantic hands that were roaming everywhere.

Cid broke the kiss and pressed two fingers against Vincent's lips, watching with half-lidded eyes as Vincent drew them into his mouth, his tongue sliding over his skin. After a moment he pulled his hand free and slid it down Vincent's back, pressing one slick finger against Vincent's entrance.

Vincent hissed, arching his back and burying his face in Cid's shoulder. Cid smirked and pressed deeper inside the gunman, slowly adding a second finger. He hardly noticed Vincent messing with his pants or spitting in his own hand, but he definitely noticed when a saliva-slick hand worked it's way inside his underwear and closed around the aching length of his shaft. He groaned against Vincent's neck and pumped his fingers in and out of the gunman's body, noting that Vincent's hand took up the same rhythm.

Vincent sat back enough to kiss Cid again, hard. "Enough." He whispered against the blond's lips. "Just fuck me now before I go insane."

Cid snickered. "It's not like you to be impatient." He grinned.

Vincent rolled his eyes. "I spent all week in a tree." He snapped. "A cold tree."

"Don't feel that cold to me." Cid replied, his grin widening. "In fact, you're burning right up."

"Cid, please." Vincent growled, thrusting his hips down against the pilot's hand. Cid laughed again but took mercy on the gunman, withdrawing his fingers and pulling Vincent's hips close with both hands. Vincent maneuvered the blond's erection to his entrance and pressed down, sheathing Cid within his body.

Now it was Cid's turn to hiss, his eyes shut tight against the pleasure that assaulted his nerves. He rocked his hips, setting a slow, hard rhythm that made Vincent gasp. He locked his arms behind the gunman and buried his face his shoulder as they moved.

Vincent's breath was coming in short pants as he rode the pilot, his arms tight around Cid's neck and their bodies sliding together. His own arousal was trapped between them, and that, combined with the feeling of Cid inside him, striking that one delicious spot again and again, was all becoming too much. He could feel the rising heat pool in his lower belly, making his thighs tremble and his toes curl. "Sweet gods, Cid," Vincent whispered against Cid's hair. "Don't stop, don't you dare."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Cid murmured, speeding up the rocking of his hips. Vincent let out a low cry and threw his head back, still moving, his lip caught between his teeth. Cid worked his hand between their bodies and wrapped around the gunman's arousal, stroking in time with his thrusts.

That was too much for Vincent. He cried out again, every muscle in his body stiffening, his fingers digging into Cid's shoulder as he came. Cid stifled a long moan against Vincent's neck, frozen in place by the force of his climax.

Slowly, slowly, they relaxed, slumping into the grass as the sun lit the eastern horizon. Vincent snagged his cloak and spread it over them both and they fell asleep like that, half clothed in a woody park while the sun rose and people across the city slept off extensive hangovers. They would awake in a few hours to the sounds of shrieking little-girl laughter and a scandalized mother, but for now they could relax, secure in the knowledge that, for the time, the world was at peace