Joy Within Forcible Servitude

Note: Please read to the end, and try to have a sense of humor.


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Nightmare black.

It was a phrase caught in Vincent's mind--not caught like a fly in a spiderweb, but caught like a fish-hook in soft pink flesh.

Nightmare black.

Not a color, not a mere absence of light, but an unholy harmony within eyelids and without.

Nightmare black.

It was a darkness that sucked time dry. There had been a ticking clock once, but it sounded distorted now, irregular, maddening. He'd counted breaths, stolen in gasps around the gag, until he had felt he'd rather choke. The waiting had become a creature all its own, a hot, anxious rodent scrabbling inside his ribcage with itching claws. Scratching, scratching, scratching--

The door opened, and Vincent sucked in a sharp, painful breath at the blinding light. He'd had his eyes open after all, and he daren't close them now, daren't tear them away from the silhouetted figure staring down at him...

Cid closed the door behind him. Relief. Not for long.

A single pinprick of red light was all that broke the darkness now. The smell of cigarette smoke was thick, cloying, as inescapable as the chains that even now bit at his wrists. Already aching lungs protested, forcing desperate coughs around the leather between his teeth.

"Want me to put it out?"

It was barely audible behind the dull roar of blood in his ears and his helpless bids for air, but he nodded vehemently when he made sense of it. Yes, yes, just make it end--

Vincent screamed as best he could as Cid ground the cigarette into his bare chest. The smell of burning meat mixed with the smoke and the searing agony, and he shuddered as he gagged. Meat. I'm meat, just his cut of flesh.

"You wanted it, bitch." There was a hint of a laugh there, grim merriment at the insult. Vincent groaned, his body hot, his wound blazing. It was what counted as foreplay in this room, and he was helpless to stop it. Already, he could feel calloused hands creeping down over his stomach, further exposing him, humiliating him. Already, it was more than he could stand. Get it over with, he silently begged. Just do it.

His petitions were answered by the sudden intrusion of two fingers, and he uttered a strangled cry and yanked fruitlessly against his restraints. The digits were slick with lube, but he knew better than to believe it was for his benefit. He was being prepared for a fast, hard fuck, tenderization for brutalization. Meat, just meat--

The first thrust was agony, like always, and it was all Vincent could do not to scream again. Cid barely gave him time to breathe before slamming into him again, again, again, pounding sick pleasure into his body, claiming him as his own. There was something unbearable building up in Vincent he couldn't resist, and every scratch, every bite, every yank at his hair brought him closer to the edge. God, he felt so filthy.

Cid slowed at the sound of desperate whimpering, the feel of hard flesh sliding against his stomach, and Vincent could feel him smiling in the dark. "You fuckin' love it, don't you...you whore?"

The gag was slipped out of his mouth, and Vincent had no time to protest before Cid kissed him. It was aggressive as any assault on his body yet, but heavenly after the taste of leather, heavenly even as he pulled the gag around his neck. The leather tightened and bit, and the world became otherworldly as his chest heaved for breath. His lips tingled, his ears buzzed, and he felt everything too much, too hard--tongue and cock and even the damned sheets conspired against him, forced pleasure on his helpless body, and it was too much, far too much--

Vincent moaned with the last of his breath as he came, a strangled sound, less than a sigh, a far cry from representation of the heat that ravished his body. Cid held the gag tight until he spilled his last across their chests, then let off and continued taking what he wanted. It seemed a long time before the sudden rush of heat deep inside him, the vicious yank at his hair and the obscene cry that signaled that the ordeal was over.

There was silence in the dark.

Then snoring.

Vincent sighed the long-suffering sigh of a teacher whose student has aced an exam, only to somehow manage to spell his name wrong. Once, just once, he'd like for it not to break down at this point.

He fiddled with the restraints a moment before popping the trick shackles open, drew back his claw arm, and punched his narcoleptic lover in the shoulder.

"FUCK--!" Cid jerked awake. "Godammit, Vince!"

Vincent shook his claw, out of habit rather than necessity. "You earned that."

"Aw, fuck, I fell asleep again, didn't I?" Light flared in the darkness as Cid lit a cigarette. "Shit, baby, I'm sorry. It was just that damned good."

Vincent winced. 'Slut', 'bitch', even 'whore' he took gladly, but 'baby' irritated him, and Cid knew it. "Excuses."

Cid ruffled his hair, and he could feel him grinning again. "You bleedin'? Hang on." There was a hand on his chest, a soft green glow, and Vincent's myriad flesh wounds sealed shut. He touched the place where the cigarette burn had been regretfully, remembering the warmth.

Light filtered in as Cid kicked open a vent and blew smoke into it. "So, how'd I do?"

Vincent considered, then grudgingly conceded the point. "The cigarette was...creative." Then, less grudgingly: "...make a habit of it."

Cid laughed and shook his head. "Baby, you have some fuckin' weird kinks."

Vincent rolled his eyes, declining to mention Cid's own unusual preferences. He still sometimes wondered if the rest of the team ever guessed the true extent of the man's engineering ability, or what some of the strange machines in his personal workshop were actually used for. Usually, he decided that if they did, they wouldn't actually touch them.

"We still on for poker tomorrow night?"

Vincent nodded, not really hearing the question. Cid's mouth wandered after sex. He rolled over pointedly.

Taking the hint, Cid ruffled his hair again and settled down beside him. "Sleep well, babe."

Vincent smirked into the pillows. "You too, Chief."

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2/07/08-2/08/08, 3-4 hours active work

Identification: Project MT (Masochism Tango)
Inspiration: Lack of non-lifestyle BDSM fics
Gestation: Roughly a week
Saturation: I Can't Decide, The Masochism Tango, Crazy Bitch, I Wanna Be a Hippie
Complication: Lack of "Autoerotic Asphyxiation" tag
Dedication: Sylvia and Brim--love you guys, guys