Whores, Fears, and the Meaning of Life

Whores, Fears and the Meaning of Life (at least for Cid Highwind)

AN: So I technically have another story that I should be working on right now, but... I recently had this idea pop back into my head after the two-year break from when I first thought of it. So I figured I'd better write on it while I remembered it. *shrug* Anyway. It's eventually gonna be Valenwind-centric (hopefully Vin/Cid centric), though for a good while the pairings are just random. There's a point though, I promise. ;) But I'm going to add to the tags as I update ('cause it's hard to tell which ones I'll end up using) and I'm not sticking the OC tag up just for the fact that all OCs that show up are like... NPOCs. *lawl* They don't do much in the short time that they're around and (unless some drastic change happens) they won't ever have names. So yeah. Oh. And maybe to encourage myself and any readers who find this thing interesting, I might take suggestions for other NPOC activites (that'll make a lot more sense after you read the chapter, promise).

And yes, I did mess up the lyrics from Mr. Roger's Neighborhood for the chapter title. Yay fucking with childhoods! :D *runs away before he's beaten with sticks or worse*

Chapter One: Would you be mine, could you be mine? Won’t you be… my fucktoy?

Vincent Valentine wasn’t one to judge. Yet he wasn’t quite exempt from seeing certain faults or problems either. In fact, it was something that he did quite often though he had long ago decided to limit those faults to one alone. In short, he would evaluate everyone he would meet and pick out their biggest or most severe fault. Then he would watch that person if given the opportunity, watch as they fought and failed or succeeded against that fault, gaining a sort of pleasure from watching such an intimate battle.

And this was the reason that he was secretly pleased that he had been partially dragged into this maddened race across the planet to stop a man (or maybe a monster, he hadn’t decided just yet) that most of them had never seen. Each of the group had their own little quirks, as expected, and each provided him with a perfectly wrapped-up fault to watch and observe.

First off was the blond leader who had forced his way into Vincent’s darkened dreams and then had brought him into a world that he wasn’t sure he wanted to belong to. The man’s fault? He was a bit too mentally unstable, at least in Vincent’s opinion. Sometimes there was nothing, sometimes he took on a fabricated personality constructed from someone else’s life and sometimes… sometimes he lost himself completely and allowed his mind to be taken, his body becoming some sort of will-less puppet-like being. Not much progress had been seen yet, but Vincent felt that the man’s greatest strike against this fault was still in the working, yet to come.

Barret, the man who seemed to think he should be leader rather than the occasionally scatterbrained Cloud, held trust as his fault from what Vincent could see. Sometimes he trusted too much and got himself, or others, in trouble when he should have just left. And sometimes he found it too hard to trust at all, the latter having fallen on Vincent personally a few times. The larger man still sent him a wary glance every once in a while, the look in his eyes showing that he was just waiting for the night that the gunner would come after him, teeth bared ivory-white before being painted in crimson blood. Vincent had long since stopped trying to convince the man otherwise.

Following along, Aeris had held her own fault of trust though it simply lay in the excessive area. Too easily would she take some stranger’s hand, her kind eyes showing that she held no fear for their intentions. He had questioned himself as to whether her true fault was her kindness rather than her trust, but he had been corrected upon a few meetings with the Shinra. They were her enemies and gained no kindness from her except for the leader, Tseng, but she still trusted them. Despite all she had ever heard or seen of the Shinra, she still trusted them to uphold basic ethics and morals.

And while on the thought of morals… Vincent wasn’t completely sure as of yet, but he was close to deciding that Tifa’s little fault were her morals. Or maybe her modesty, really. He wasn’t sure if he had ever seen the girl with more than a tiny skirt and a skin-tight tank top on so far. It didn’t even matter if the temperature of the area was below what one would wear such attire in, she would be sporting it with a smile and her chest or posterior aimed in Cloud’s direction the whole time.

On the other end of the spectrum, there was Nanaki. There was no problem at all with morals when it came to the flaming fire-wolf, though it was quite obvious that his biggest downfall was his need to protect others. It had gotten him severely injured in many events and, much closer to Nanaki’s heart, he strained and fought every second to attempt to save his people and grandfather. If he knew the one who stood behind him had a good heart, he would do his best to stand whatever was threatening that good heart, even if it nearly killed him.

And Cait Sith – or actually, Reeve – Vincent had discerned the fault of being uninvolved while being involved. The man had quite the talent for being in two or more places at once simply because he wanted to help all without actually being in the fray. Granted, the little machine had a mind of its own sometimes, but most of the larger decisions made by it were grounded in Reeve’s mind. He wanted to be the one who helps everyone else, but can’t exactly bring himself out to do the dirty work. Instead he leaves his tiny mechanical army to that task, sitting behind the controls and letting everyone know the specifics and details of whatever he could find.

He had somewhat prided himself on his talent of finding these faults and narrowing the multitude down to one final fault that he would follow. Of course, that was until he met the enigma from Rocket Town.

When they had first come across the scruffy pilot, he had introduced himself as The Cid Fucking Highwind, a name that had confused Vincent for a bit until he realized that “fucking” was simply an explicative that Cid had a fondness for and not a part of his real name. A little perturbed by this alone, Vincent set out to find this Highwind’s one fault. His only problem was that the multiple faults he did find would never condense down into one larger one.

There was no connection between the cursing, the chain-smoking or the drinking aside from the vague idea that the pilot was just a bitter old fool. But then even that didn’t match with the rare flickers of kindness or soft-heartedness that he dared show or the nights when he would just dissolve next to the campfire in a melancholy mood where he would simply nod quietly, his blue eyes saddened to a point that Vincent nearly felt his unknown pain. The man just made no sense to Vincent, an issue that aggravated him more and more about the blond as they spent time around each other.

And that was the whole reason that Vincent practically abandoned his other companions’ fault and focused every ounce of his mind on the problem that was Cid Highwind. He couldn’t discern one major fault from the many small ones, couldn’t find a single one to focus upon and instead found he had to watch the whole person if he was to get anywhere.

Unfortunately, while the other man didn’t understand the basics of Vincent’s evaluation tactics, he did seem to find great pleasure in showing one trait that was quite clear: making a show of himself. Many times Vincent had to completely dismiss his day’s observations because the blond would make a complete fool of himself just to irritate the gunman. Today seemed to be no different in that regard, seeing the gunman stuffed in the corner of a tavern booth with the pilot berating him about the joys of drinking until one can’t feel their extremities.

Heaving a quiet sigh, Vincent rested his chin in the cup of his palm and turned his sight away. He had already collected a variety of drinks, none of them ordered by himself. It seemed to be almost a game to Cid to get the gunman intoxicated even though he had been assured many times that it wasn’t an easy task. His attempt to decipher anything about the pilot ruined for the day under his standards, Vincent simply decided to let his attention wander away.

An expression of defeat crossed the pilot’s face as he flopped down in the booth opposite the elder man. “Fine, I give. The stone-faced fuckin’ vampire won’t loosen up an’ have a good time. Fuckin’ sue me for tryin’.” He imitated Vincent’s position, placing his chin in his hand.

“I have told you many times before, I am loose enough and I don’t consider drinking myself into oblivion to be a ‘good time’ so—would you stop laughing?” The crimson eyes of the gunman narrowed dangerously at his smirking companion.

“Loose enough, huh? That’s funny. Never even saw ya take an interest in anythin’ let alone let ‘em fuck ya.” Cid grinned, his amusement unaffected by the glare he was receiving.

Vincent released a breath through his nose, his eyes closing momentarily. “You know very well that I did not intend for that comment to be sexual in nature. Unlike some people, I can actually go for an entire day without allowing the incorrect head to do my thinking for me.” His companion’s face finally fell, replaced by a small look of indignation. “Perhaps if you would do the same one day then you would actually get somewhere in your life aside from sitting in your little town and cursing the existence of several people that you have never seen the faces of for some ruined dream that you probably would have perished doing anyway.”

“Ya know what?” Cid waited a moment before raising a hand, his middle finger springing to life. “Fuck ya and the goddamn chocobo ya rode in on. I don’t need to listen to this shit.” Shoving himself away from the booth, he stormed over to the bar and promptly thumped himself down onto a stool. He appeared angry and upset, but Vincent knew better. The man could play a convincing part, yet it was all too well known that Cid enjoyed a good bit of bashing banter and that the harder it hit, the better it was.

A small hidden smile at the fact that he had somewhat freed himself of the pilot for at least a little bit, Vincent leaned back against the booth. Yet despite the dislike of being hounded by the man, the gunner kept his gaze on the azure-clothed back. Even if he had abandoned his actual investigation, he found it helpful to stay watching. It was hard to tell when the man might let his true fault show suddenly and, in the case that it did show, Vincent wanted to catch it.

However, it seemed more of the time to leave and retire for the night rather then stay and wait for something he was fairly sure wouldn’t appear right now. Pushing himself away from the booth, the multitude of untouched drinks left behind, he headed toward the pilot. Moving to the side of the blond, Vincent leaned against the bar. “I believe this is the end of the night for me. Should I offer you my key so as not to lock you out?” he inquired as he pulled out the key to their shared inn room.

Blue eyes turned on the gunner, but the previous faux anger was gone. “Eh, whatever. Weakling,” he added with a small smirk as he turned his gaze on the rest of the tavern’s patronage. Cid surveyed each one, his smirk widening as he caught sight of someone standing near the other end of the bar. “Gimme a sec an’ I’ll have ya an answer there, Vampy.” Waving a hand, he slid from his seat and headed toward the object of his attention.

A sleek brow rising, Vincent slowly took Cid’s stool and sat as the blond approached the stout man leaning against the wooden bar. While he wasn’t close enough by normal standards to hear their conversation, he was in possession of slightly enhanced hearing and, while that amount was indeed slight, it was enough. He let out a huff and carefully crossed his ankles as he leaned forward against the wooden structure and observed whether the other would fail or succeed.

The conversation was brief and far from thrilling as Cid shoved his way next to the taller man and shot a quick grin up toward him. “So what’re ya doin’ tonight?” Vincent rolled his eyes at the simple question, recognizing it as the same simple line that everyone received upon being approached by the pilot. The reply, a grin of the larger man’s own and a short “Dunno. You offering?” also made Vincent roll his eyes, though not to the extent to Cid’s words. He mostly expected those types of responses from the people Cid chose.

A quick grin and a shake of his hand let Vincent know that the inn room would be of single occupancy tonight. Another breath forced itself out of the gunner as he watched the larger man slip an arm around the blond’s shoulders, a broad hand matching the broad shoulder it rested on. The door closed silently behind them and Vincent’s gaze finally left them simply because he was forced to stop looking.

That was another thing that just didn’t fit with the man that was Cid Highwind. To add to the fact that he was a constant smoker, drinker and everything else he ever did, the man was gay. Vincent had heard the explanation of Shera, Cid’s “beard” as he detailed later, and still didn’t quite understand. The blond had never acted like what Vincent’s idea of a homosexual man should act, but then again… neither did the men that Cid always chose. And Vincent couldn’t exactly pawn his being gay off as his biggest fault because it just didn’t work with everything else.

Affirming that there was no other reason to remain downstairs, Vincent gently shook his head and stood. He had almost gotten used to having these inn rooms to himself, though he did have to wonder when it would stop. It wasn’t exactly that he wanted the other’s companionship, but he disliked creating excuses for why the pilot wasn’t in the room when the group reformed in the mornings. Yes, he could speak the truth, but he wasn’t sure what was worse: facing the group’s wrath about his lying or facing Cid’s wrath about telling, plus losing the source of his confusing investigation. The latter seemed to have the most direct impact so he simply continued to create the excuses. It was just easier that way.

Sliding off of the stool and starting up the stairs, Vincent shook his head again. One day he would understand the creature that was Cid Highwind. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be that day today.

-----

“Fuck…”

Flaxen hair scrubbed against dark sheets a tanned back arched, the scant light drifting through the windows illuminating the sheen of sweat covering the toned body. Work-roughened fingers tightened their grips, threading through short, dark hair and grasping at the strong arm that held him pinned to the bed. Hot air drifted over his chest, the body above him panting hard as hips shifted and forced them together. The impact made the sandy-haired man give a harsh gasp, another curse slipping between his lips.

Lips brushed against Cid’s neck, teeth and stubble grazing his skin as he arched again. His eyes flew open for a brief moment as a shout left his mouth. Something deep inside of him had been struck and he devoured the sensation, craving more. It had been a while since he had lain with someone so talented in bed and he wasn’t about to let the chance slip away to take all he could from this guy.

A few more of their joined motions and Cid felt himself overcome, leaving him gasping and arching beneath the bigger man. The friction between them increased a bit as hot fluid spread across his stomach, mingling with the sweat before starting to cool and grow sticky. Another shudder wracked him as a final few thrusts shook his body and warmth spread inside of him.

Exhausted, both fell to the bed with sounds of contentment, Cid’s legs tightly twined around the other man’s to hold them close together. There they stayed, sated and drowsy, until they finally found the will to separate and find themselves somewhat entangled in each others’ arms.

The night passed quickly like that, seeing the blond sleeping and awakening regularly. When the sun reached above the horizon and shone brightly at last, he gave up and, slipping quietly out of the bed, allowed himself a quick shower. He left soon after, his one-night-stand still unconscious as the pilot let himself out of the small house.

His breath fogged into miniature clouds in the cool morning air as he walked, headed back for the inn under a grey sky. The sun had yet to rise, but he was lucky to find many of the street lamps lit. His mind wandered, mostly over the night before, and he smiled faintly. He knew he should really cut down on the amount of nights that he went home with people, but it was hard when he managed to derive so much from one night. Granted, it rarely held him over longer than a day anymore, but it was enough. Plus it was getting what he wanted without the risks he didn’t so he considered it a fair deal overall.

But still. He didn’t need the rest of the group finding out about his nightly activities, that was for sure. It was bad enough that Vincent knew, but hiding it from him would have been too much of a hassle. Besides… the guy made decent company when he wasn’t brooding in a corner somewhere; not to mention that his looks attracted all sorts of people for Cid to choose his nighttime romp partners from.

Running a hand through short, blond spikes of hair, he caught sight of the inn sign waving faintly in the chilly breeze. He normally didn’t return so early in the mornings, but the guy he had picked last night ended up being just good for a fuck and shit for anything else. Not that he minded, but it gave him no reason to stay longer than was needed.

The tavern was quiet as he pushed the door open and slipped inside, the innkeeper giving him a small glance to acknowledge his presence. Nodding in return, Cid hurried for the stairs. It would be better for one of the group to see him down here than to realize he had been gone all night, but even that would bring up questions and he doubted anyone would believe that he had come down for an early smoke at five in the morning. Everyone knew that, when given the choice, Cid would prefer to sleep than do anything else before the sun was completely up.

His steps were quiet as he moved down the hallway, vaguely recalling which room he and Vincent had been assigned to. Halting outside, he waited a moment to listen for any sounds of movement, nodding to himself when he heard the shuffling steps of a partially-awake Vincent. The man always awoke extremely early, especially as compared to the pilot, but Cid had half an idea that it was to make up for the fact that Vincent took forever to actually become conscious.

Knocking lightly to ensure that he didn’t catch the attention of their neighbors, the blond leaned against the hallway wall. When the door cracked just enough for a burgundy eye to peek out from behind a tousled mat of ebony hair, he gave a small smile in a silent question of admittance. The eye closed, followed by a low grumble from the gunman as the door was pushed open for him.

“You’re early,” came a quiet mumble as the gunner turned, his pale back marred by a combination of faded scars and creases from the sheets. Obviously Vincent hadn’t been awake very long at all. “Did you get kicked out?”

Entering and closing the door behind him as quietly as possible, Cid moved to his bed and settled himself on the untouched blankets. “Nah, I just decided to take off. Wasn’t much point in stickin’ around.” He lay back, his arms folded behind his head. “So how’d your night treat ya?”

Vincent paused in his trip to the bathroom, glancing over one shoulder. “Uneventful,” he muttered simply before disappearing into the small room and locking the door behind him.

With a snort and a little shrug, Cid just stretched himself out on the bed. He knew Vincent wasn’t the type for morning conversation, but it never hurt trying. Besides… the more he stayed on the man’s good side, the better of a chance he had to keep his secret, well, a secret. And if there was one secret that he didn’t want out, it was certainly that one.

Or at least that was what he wanted Vincent to think.