Unnamed Story

BY : Roaming_Firefly
Category: Final Fantasy VII > Yaoi - Male/Male > Sephiroth/Vincent
Dragon prints: 2604
Disclaimer: see full disclaimer below

Author's Note: Thank you very much for your reviews and encouragement! Sorry for the wait :P Work hasn't gotten any less insane as I had hoped...in fact it seems to be going in the other direction... That and I can't seem to get this chapter to a state where I'm 100% happy with it. Ah well, I think I've tinkered with this enough and I've kept you waiting for too long, so here it is~~ Just in time for the wholesome family holidays XD

 

By the way, no, it's not bad to snerk like a teenager. It is clinically proven that 9 out of 10 dentists agree that snerking is good for one's health ;)

 

Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas, and wish you all the best for the coming New Year!

 

 

 


Chapter 14 - Maiden Voyage
 

 

The crowd cheered at the sound of the gong, and then fell silent expectantly. Sephiroth discarded the useless gun in his hand and stared at the still form that he was straddling, the adrenaline from the battle still pounding in his ears. The shielding spell that had encased the ex-Turk had now receded back to its latent state as if hinting at what was expected of them. Sephiroth had won. And that meant Vincent had to submit to him for...

Sephiroth took in a quiet breath as he considered the implications. He had never been close to anyone enough, never trusted anyone enough, to engage in such physical intimacy, but he had (unwillingly) witnessed the antics of some careless people in SOLDIER, as well as seen certain hidden stashes of magazines and videos in the barracks. It had occurred to the former general that this had the potential to inflict great pain on Vincent, and perhaps force out some answers that the ex-Turk had stubbornly refused him. But he dismissed the idea as quickly as it came. For one thing, the ghost of Angeal will probably come charging out of the Lifestream, hunt him down and lecture him about SOLDIER honour for the rest of his life. And for another...there was a small voice at the back of his head that vehemently rejected the idea. Sephiroth couldn't quite understand it. He knew that the ex-Turk had an impressive tolerance for ungodly amounts of pain, but he didn't want to be the one who's inflicting it. Especially not in this way. Something this intimate... He wanted to...wanted to...do it...'right'. But how? He had never found touch to be pleasurable, and had no idea how to touch another so that it would bring them pleasure. And from what he's seen, Vincent disliked the sensation of being touched as much as Sephiroth did...and all the knowledge the young general had regarding sex where information he read from medical books, and whatever he had happened upon in the SOLDIER barracks...and Fenris & Co.'s antics...

"You might want to start by taking off his clothes." the Archdaemon's voice drawled almost mockingly from the box seats.

Sephiroth's eyes narrowed. He was being forced to perform sexual intercourse in front of thousands of strangers for their entertainment, for money, money for people who owned him. The familiar feeling of being helpless, of being an object for someone else's success, washed unpleasantly over him. When he was very young in the labs, for a long time all he could do was curl up into a ball in some dark corner, trying to hide from the scientists. But they'd always find him, drag him out of his feeble sanctuary and force him to do whatever they wanted. But as he grew older, he realized one very important thing: he may be a 'specimen', but he was a very precious specimen — and these people needed him. They needed him to be strong, to be their perfect specimen, their perfect experiment, their perfect SOLDIER. They needed him to be a symbol of success and perfection that can be put on display — a symbol of their success and perfection. And so with that knowledge, he slowly began wrestling bits and pieces of control from his keepers. By the time he became ShinRa's teenaged general, not even President ShinRa — the man who owned him as a piece of corporate property — would dare push him too far. And then all that fell to smoke and ash, quite literally, when Jenova took over.

At first he had been happy, truly happy for once, for finally having found the truth about himself, for finally having found his place in the world. But it did not last. By the time he realized he had once again been lied to, it was too late; Jenova had already sunk her claws in, too deep for him to break free. And then he was introduced to a completely new level of helplessness. At least in the labs, his actions, his decisions had been his own. Under Jenova's control, nothing was his anymore. He couldn't think clearly, his mind was filled with the cacophony of her, eating him away from the inside; and his body moved and acted against all his unwillingness, betraying him again and again—completely and utterly under someone else's will.

And now that his body and his will were his again, he was a slave, one who was being forced to play a dangerous game in a world that he did not fully understand, against non-human masters whose moves he did not yet know how to predict. Sephiroth looked down at the unmoving body underneath him. Vincent was completely silent and still, and the blank expression on his face...Sephiroth immediately recognized it as one that he himself had once worn on the operation tables in the ShinRa labs. ...Gaia... Sephiroth let out a silent breath, he was being forced to... His hand tightened around Vincent's captive wrist as he glared up into the Archdaemon's box seat. He won't do it. He can't.

"Just do it." the quiet ex-Turk suddenly spoke through gritted teeth, "Neither of us is ready to engage her in battle yet, and we have nothing to bargain with her."

The silver warrior's mako eyes flared. He knew the truth in Vincent's words, but his temper blazed at the gunman's resignation. He leaned down and growled into the ex-Turk's ear, "And are you going to tell me that this is 'only your body performing a necessary action'? That this is simply arranging one's limbs a certain way? Are you such a Turk that not even this means anything to you? Have you no self-respect, no sense of self-worth left in you?"

The slender body underneath him suddenly bucked with surprising force, and Sephiroth found himself flipped onto his back, with the ex-Turk now straddling him.

"If you are too soft to do it, then I will." the ex-Turk growled as he roughly jerked the buttons of his own shirt open, his red eyes glowing as he glared down his nose at the general underneath him in mocking challenge.

Sephiroth's pupils narrowed to mere slits, his male instincts instantly reacting to the ex-Turk's challenge. He had fought hard in their "Duel", and he had won, fair and square! He jerked his own hips against Vincent and shoved the ex-Turk back into the ground, growling into his face. Vincent growled back, yet made no move to fight Sephiroth. For a moment the silver general just paused there, scowling at the ex-Turk as if daring him to try a counter. But the ex-Turk didn't. He just lay there, glaring, but not moving. Then Sephiroth suddenly realized that Vincent was now lying half-naked underneath him: his pale chest exposed and heaving under his unbuttoned shirt, his belt slightly loosened from the struggling and riding suggestively low on his narrow hips, and his flashing, defiant crimson eyes glaring up at him, waiting for—no—urging him to start...

Sephiroth had always found the pale gunman beautiful. But the way he was now...he was absolutely breathtaking. And there was that smell again. It smelled so, so very good, mixed in with Vincent's unique scent of leather and gunpowder and the cold, wild scent of winter storms. Sephiroth inhaled to take in more of that wonderful scent, drinking in the sight and smell of Vincent as if he were parched for a lifetime. And in a way, he was. This is the first time that he's been this close to another's body, in this way. It's not that the silver warrior had never wrestled or straddled another man, but this was different. Very different. Never in any wrestling contest had he ever been so acutely aware of the contact between his hips and his opponent's. It was as if every nerve on his body was alight with hyper-awareness, sensing things that he has never noticed before. He could feel Vincent's body heat rising up from underneath his groin, along with the speed and strength of his pulse, the firmness of his thighs...and Sephiroth's cock twitched. Ancient instinct buried deep within him stirred and awakened, and soared through his veins along with the adrenaline that had yet to die down from their earlier fight, and suddenly nothing else mattered but the partly-undressed ex-Turk that lay waiting beneath him.

Something...something marred his enjoyment of the sight of the ex-Turk though... Sephiroth's eyes focused on the abstract pattern of the shielding spell still faintly glowing on Vincent's chest. His hand rose up to cover it, blocking it from his sight, and a strange thought flashed through his mind: it did not belong there. One day, he will win the right to mark the ex-Turk as his own. Slowly, as if being drawn by gravity, Sephiroth's head dipped lower and lower until his lips met Vincent's in a soft, experimental kiss.

Both the kiss itself and the chasteness of it took Vincent by surprise. For a moment he simply froze, unsure of what to do. Then the young man on top of him withdrew from the kiss and studied him, frowning a little. Sephiroth's face was a bit flushed and his eyes were a bit glazed over, as if he were in some sort of lust-driven trance. But apparently he was sensing something wrong in Vincent's lack of response, and blinked as if he was coming out of that trance. Vincent suddenly realized that Sephiroth was not going to continue if he thought Vincent was unwilling. Something inside him that had been coiled tightly, defensively, suddenly uncoiled and relaxed at that realization, and Vincent wasn't entirely sure of his reasons for it — perhaps it was the doings of his demons, who had been fully alert and attentive all this time, or perhaps it was the plans of escape and the thought that they couldn't afford to openly antagonize the Archdaemon just yet — but his hand reached forward, hooked around Sephiroth's head, and held him there while he lifted himself up a little and pressed their lips together.

As if some floodgate has been opened, the silver general took a deep breath and pressed forward almost hungrily, and lips and tongue melded together and wrestled one another in pure primal instinct and want. His hands slipped under Vincent's unbuttoned shirt and drifted over the ex-Turk's firm, toned torso, feeling and memorizing every contour. They stopped however, when they ran over the dark nipples that rose from the pale planes of Vincent's chest. They were soft, surprisingly silky to the touch, and slightly cooler than the rest of Vincent's body. And when his hands brushed over them, there was a slight hitch in Vincent's breaths. Gently, experimentally, Sephiroth rolled one of the little buds between his fingers and watched in fascination as it began to harden, gathering the surrounding ring of dark skin tight about itself. The sound of Vincent's breathing changed. It became slightly quicker, deeper, with occasional irregularities in its steady rhythm. Heat pooled in the ex-general's body at the sound, and he moved to repeat the same action with the other nipple.

Vincent watched Sephiroth silently, dark brows slightly furrowed. Sephiroth was moving as if purely by instinct, exploring every bit of exposed skin as if he had never felt the heat of another's body before. Those mako eyes watched him with rapt attention, and every slight reaction seemed to bring fascination and wonder into their blue-green depths. And there was no mistaking the touch of innocence in them. Had Sephiroth...never done this before? Was he...untouched? At the back of his mind, his demons perked to that realization.

But at the time of the Nibelheim incident, Sephiroth had already been 25 years old. And such a celebrated war hero was sure to be the object of worshipful affection for many young women, and men. Raven brows furrowed deeper as Sephiroth's hands left his nipples and resumed their travel down his torso almost tentatively. His fingers gently circled the dip of the ex-Turk's navel, and traced the jagged lines of his scars.

Then a sudden thought occurred to the ex-Turk. The tension in Sephiroth every time somebody came too close to him, every time someone touched him, the unease in him when Fenris offered to... Had Sephiroth never experienced any human touch beside the kind that was given in battlefields and labs? By Gaia... A strange anger swelled up within him. His demons stirred uneasily at the sudden burst of silent rage from their host. Sephiroth stopped in his actions and stared wide-eyed at the ex-Turk. If it were any other time, any other situation, then Vincent might have found amusement in the expression on Sephiroth's face. The former general looked as if he were a child that was caught doing something he should not, staring wide-eyed, afraid, waiting for the reprimand. Vincent pushed down hard on his own rage. Hojo was dead. There was nothing more he could do to the evil bastard. Sephiroth, however, was here, now...

Slowly, carefully, Vincent reached out a hand and placed it on Sephiroth's forearm. The ex-general tensed. Vincent forced the anger that threatened to swell up again to dissipate. He let the hand linger there until he felt the muscles under it relax slightly and saw mako eyes blink at him in question, then he let his hand travel gently up the former general's arm until he reached the collar of Sephiroth's long coat. Grabbing hold of the collar, he then eased the coat off the broad shoulders, carefully watching Sephiroth all the while.

The former general shivered at the unexpected, gentle touch. Once the coat was gone, warm hands then moved to his belt. Sephiroth allowed Vincent to help him out of the rest of his clothing, and afterwards, moved to help Vincent out of his. The ex-Turk watched unmoving and unresisting as Sephiroth lifted his feet and removed his pointy boots, and when Sephiroth tugged at his pants in unspoken question, he lifted his hips slightly, silently giving his former enemy his consent. Sephiroth swallowed. The two of them were now sitting facing each other, naked. And Vincent was sitting there looking at him, wearing nothing but a fingerless glove that they had yet to remove. His neck, his shoulders, were enticingly close, barely a hand-width away from Sephiroth's enquiring senses, and that strange, intoxicating smell was stronger than ever.

Without thinking, Sephiroth wrapped his arms around the lithe form and pressed his nose into the curve of the ex-Turk's neck, inhaling that wonderful scent. His tongue, as if having a mind of its own, mischievously darted out to get a taste, and his teeth and lips moved instinctively over the smooth soft skin. A warm hand carefully placed itself onto his waist, and Sephiroth felt both the familiar urge to break away from the touch, and the strange new urge to have the hand move and touch more of him. Slightly uneasy at the conflicting urges, Sephiroth took the hand, along with the demonic claw that was being carefully kept away from his body, and brought them both around to be pinned securely behind the ex-Turk's back. He then gently lowered them both back down to the ground, finding the position easier for his lips and tongue to explore more of that strong, supple body. Vincent made no move to resist either actions, and his hands stayed obediently behind his back even when Sephiroth's hands left to travel along his sides. Sephiroth felt a surge of heat rush through his body at the ex-Turk's submission, and the knowledge that he had won Vincent's submission by besting the ex-Turk through fair battle only made the heat run hotter, shooting directly to his groin. His hands traveled down and cupped the firm buttocks, his once explorative fingers now pressing into the ex-Turk's flesh with insistent, possessive force. Vincent's hips bucked slightly and their hardening arousals brushed against one another. Sephiroth sucked in a sharp breath. It's not that he had never touched himself before, but this, the feeling of hot, velvety skin of another's sex sliding against his own, was incredible. He tightened his hold on that tight ass and ground his groin into Vincent's. His kneading fingers came closer and closer to that deep groove between the cheeks until one of them brushed a delicate, puckered ring of muscle hidden within.

The small pucker twitched at the contact, and there was an audible hitch in the ex-Turk's breathing. Curious, Sephiroth feathered his fingers across the sensitive opening again. This time, not only the ex-Turk's breathing hitched, the powerful muscles in Vincent's buttocks and thighs also flexed involuntarily under the taut skin. Sephiroth looked up at the subtle blush on the ex-Turk's pale skin and ground down on the unmistakable hardness rubbing against his own. He added the pressure of his fingers and let them play as they will around the delicate pucker. Vincent's crimson eyes were open and watching, but there were no objection in them. Encouraged, Sephiroth added even more pressure and boldly pushed his finger through the delicate ring. Vincent's body suddenly gave a jolt and pain flashed in those crimson eyes. Startled, Sephiroth instantly tried to withdraw, but Vincent's hand suddenly clamped around his wrist.

"Slowly." the ex-Turk bit out through clenched teeth.

Sephiroth followed the instruction and slowly, carefully withdrew the offending digit. Vincent sat up a little and allowed himself a moment to muse at the almost panicked expression on the former general's face, then said quietly and patiently, "Sephiroth, we need lubricant."

Sephiroth blinked. He understood what Vincent meant. He remembered seeing something like that in one of those videos he'd seen in the SOLDIER barracks, remembered Zack's 'discussions' with Kunsel about how saliva always dried too fast, how ketchup was too messy,* and the pros and cons of different types and different brands of artificial lubricants. But he never paid them much attention. He never thought that one day he'd wished he had. Nor did he ever expect himself to wish that he had woken up a bit earlier that night on the slave ship so that he'd know what Fenris and Inuyasha had used for lubricant. Right now, he was drawing a complete blank on what he could use in his present situation, in this large, empty arena of nothing but sand and dust.

Suddenly, a small bottle of clear liquid dropped onto the ground beside him with a 'plop'. The two men looked up to see one of the referee's spheres becoming partially visible to reveal Fah'yn inside, giving them a knowing smile and a slight, encouraging wave, before going invisible again.

"WHAT? You mean human males don't produce their own lubrication? What a troublesome species! How the fuck are they able to be so damned prolific?" the Archdaemon's incredulous voice sounded from the box seats.

Sephiroth blinked, a low growl rumbled in his chest as he was suddenly reminded of the demons and why he was here. Vincent sighed inwardly. If they were to finish this, it looked like he was going to have to take matters into his own hands. Pulling his fingerless glove off his hand with his teeth, the gunman grabbed the bottle and applied an ample amount of its contents onto his fingers. Leaning back a bit and propping himself up on his elbow, he then reached for his own opening.

Sephiroth's full and undivided attention jerked back to the gunman at his actions. And once again, he was completely fascinated as Vincent's finger slowly slid in and out of himself. Glancing towards the bottle of lubricant, he then copied Vincent's example and thoroughly lubricated his fingers, then joined them with Vincent's in that warm, moist orifice.

At first Vincent tensed at the new intrusion, causing Sephiroth to freeze uncertainly, but then the ex-Turk nodded reassuringly at the former general and guided the inexperienced digit inside him with his own.

Vincent was hot, and very very tight. Sephiroth was amazed at how good it felt moving together with Vincent's finger inside that pulsing passage. He almost lost himself imagining what it would feel like with those soft muscles tight around that most sensitive part of his body, but then remembered his earlier mishap and clamped down on his impulses with an iron will. Instead he slowly and patiently explored that wonderful passage, and was delighted when the muscles, as if having a mind of their own, contracted and undulated in response to his touches.

Vincent slowly withdrew his own fingers and allowed Sephiroth free reign to explore him on his own. He focused on his own breathing and worked to will the familiar feelings of intrusion and unease away. He was in too vulnerable a position for his liking, having his body open and defenseless to the ministrations of another man like this — and to Sephiroth, brutally efficient war general, son of Hojo, former madman and former enemy no less — and memories he rather preferred to forget began to surface unbidden. His demons however, were having none of that. They growled viciously into his mind and brutally ripped away the unwanted memories. It's been too long since they've been allowed to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh, and they would not allow these unpleasant past experiences to get in their way. Vincent almost grinned. Sometimes, sometimes, it's almost good to have these four feral minds sharing his own. He slowly willed his body and mind to relax and allowed his own baser instincts to take over in preparation for what was to come.

He hadn't failed to notice Sephiroth's efforts to be gentle however. The former general added each finger slowly and carefully, watching the ex-Turk's every reaction all the while. It must have been very hard for a young man who was experiencing such pleasures for the first time. Pre-cum was already running down Sephiroth's swollen erection, but the former general kept his brows furrowed and stubbornly forced himself to hold back. Despite his formidable will however, the greatness of his need was obvious. And Vincent, despite his reservations, was quite capable of handling rougher treatment.

"Sephiroth," Vincent once again placed a gentle hand on the former general's forearm, and let his crimson eyes meet mako green, "that's enough." With that, the gunman leaned back on both elbows, lifted his hips a little, and allowed his pale thighs to part, slowly, meaningfully. Sephiroth swallowed. No male could have missed the invitation.

In the next moment, Vincent found Sephiroth's lips crushed against his own in a hungry kiss. The forward momentum of the silver general forced them both back down to the ground, and a hot, blunt object soon prodded at the ready opening. In an almost involuntary jerk of his hips, Sephiroth pushed past the moist ring of muscle. He moaned into the kiss, almost shaking in overwhelming bliss. Vincent's heated flesh felt absolutely wonderful, wrapped so tightly around his sensitive arousal. Sephiroth wanted nothing than to drive relentlessly, over and over again into that tight, warm embrace, but he held himself back. He didn't want to be taken over by his primal urges, he didn't want to finish so fast. He wanted to make the pleasure last, but most importantly, he wanted to make the stoic ex-Turk moan. Pouring his rampant desires into the kiss, the former general forced himself to enter the ex-Turk as slowly as he could while his tongue ravaged the ex-Turk's mouth with the forcefulness that he would have liked to apply elsewhere. The warm cavern behind Vincent's soft lips held its own pleasures and provided ample distraction until Sephiroth finally buried himself to the hilt inside his prize. Both men's chests heaved against each other as Sephiroth paused for a moment to let Vincent adjust, and to let himself calm his own wildly beating heart.

It all came naturally and fluidly after that. Vincent's narrow hips bucked slightly, and Sephiroth's began to rock in response, starting a gentle, steady pace. The two bodies moved with each over, arching, grinding in an ancient rhythm that gradually became faster, wilder. At one point Sephiroth hit upon something inside Vincent that drew out an audible gasp. The ex-Turk then tightened his legs around the former general's waist and drew him inside of himself, hoping to distract the young warrior — the more rational part of his mind was not yet ready to reveal this most vulnerable secret to his former foe. But even in this state, the ex-general was not fooled. He locked the gunman's hips in his powerful grip, holding him still as he angled himself again and again into that spot, forcing the ex-Turk to surrender his secrets as shivers ran uncontrollably up and down his spine.

Sephiroth listened to each and every gasp that whispered against his ear. He knew he wasn't going to last much longer. But not yet, not yet. He wanted to hear more. He reached down and wrapped his fingers around Vincent's erection and pumped in rhythm to his thrusts. The irregularities in the ex-Turk's heavy breaths were obvious now, as were the muscles' quivering underneath his pale skin. But the ex-Turk did not give this final surrender until the last moment, until the determined general ran his calloused thumb across the tiny opening on the aching head and drove himself mercilessly into his captive's most sensitive, most vulnerable and undefended flesh. Vincent's low, breathy moan echoed in the victorious general's ears as his captive cock twitched and shuddered in his captor's hand, and was forced to spill forth the milky white of surrender. Sephiroth gave a primal roar of triumph as his own seed poured into the wildly contracting orifice, filling it, claiming it.

Overwhelming waves of pleasure surged through his veins. The silver warrior's body trembled, and, draining the last of his essence into that warm body that was both under him and around him, he collapsed, exhausted, onto the ex-Turk's pale scarred chest. A strange warmth rose from his core and spread into every pore of his body, soothing his tense muscles into a relaxation never known to them before. The warrior's eyelids fluttered then closed, lulled into gentle slumber by the strong, steady heartbeat pulsing beneath his own.

Vincent simply lay where he was for a long while, taken completely by surprise by his own orgasm. He had expected this to be nothing but grim necessity at worst, primal rubbing of flesh against flesh at best; had expected the ghosts of his past to come back and haunt him with a vengeance. This was Sephiroth after all, his former enemy, his sin, born of the union between the woman he loved with all his heart—and ultimately failed, and the man he loathed with every fibre of his being. And yet the Silver General, the Conquerer of Wutai, was now lying with his head on his chest, sleeping peacefully—almost like a child, spent from his first taste of the pleasures that could come from the warmth of another's body. The situation was so unexpected, so strange, that the ex-Turk was at a complete loss as to what he should do.

Fortunately for Vincent, the awkwardness of the moment was soon alleviated when a massive shield of midnight rose to cover the arena. He heard the Archdaemon's voice announce the end of the show, and through the dark, semi-opaque shield, he saw the shapeless forms of the audience move to the exits. Carefully, tentatively, he placed a hand on Sephiroth's shoulder in an attempt to wake him up, half expecting the battle-hardened light-sleeper to jolt awake and reward his efforts with a fist to the gut. Yet said battle-hardened light-sleeper only stirred sleepily, leaned into the soft touch, and then seemed to fall even deeper into slumber. Vincent blinked. It would seem that even if a large part of this silver-haired young man had been irreparably warped by corporate greed and mad science and alien poison, deep in his subconscious his human heritage still recognized and yearned for the simple comfort of a gentle touch.

A movement in the periphery of his vision brought him out of his thoughts. The ex-Turk looked up to see soft, clean, good-sized lengths of black fabric materialize from the darkness of the shield and drift like pieces of the night down to him and Sephiroth. Looking over to their torn and dusty clothes and feeling the stickiness of the aftermath of their recent activities, Vincent accepted the fabrics appreciatively and wrapped them around himself and his sleeping companion, and then waited patiently until the two spheres of the referees appeared before him.

"Come," said Fah'yn gently as he gestured to the other sphere, which the other referee had vacated, "I'll take you back to your rooms."

Vincent nodded and looked towards the former general. Sephiroth was still in deep sleep and didn't look like he'll wake up on his own any time soon. Vincent considered waking him, but decided against it. It's less awkward this way for them both. So instead, the ex-Turk carefully picked up the silver form, sat himself into the empty sphere's seat, and cradled the sleeping general carefully in his lap. Fah'yn waited until they were settled and secure, then ran a hand over the controls of his own sphere. A pale blue light then extended between the two spheres, linking them together as Fah'yn led them gently and steadily into the air.

Vincent looked down upon Sephiroth's sleeping face. The expression on the former general's face was so unexpectedly soft, so child-like, that he reminded Vincent very much of that time, long ago, when he first saw him in the lab. Vincent's chest constricted at the remembrance. Was this the true Sephiroth? Had that wide-eyed silver-haired child, though raised in the cold, sterile labyrinth of metallic contraptions, unceasing electronic beeps and monsters wearing faces of men, still against all odds, grew up to be the magnificent young man of flesh and blood who was now sleeping in his arms? The young man who he, through his cowardice, his selfishness, had abandoned to lies and madness? Vincent's grip tightened involuntarily around the sleeping form as he sightlessly watched the rust red of Hell's twilight sky slowly turn to the inky black of night.


 

*in reference to the...creative use of ketchup in Orin Drake's "Crack is Good"



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