PROSTHETICS

BY : GodOfInsanity
Category: Final Fantasy VII > Yaoi - Male/Male > Sephiroth/Vincent
Dragon prints: 1231
Disclaimer: I do not own Square Enix's Final Fantasy 7 or any of its characters. I also do not profit from this. This is written purely for practice and for fun.

PROSTHETICS

Summary: Sephiroth and Vincent wake up trapped in a small locked room with no weapons and no conceivable way out…or so it would appear. YAOI Top!Vincent/Bottom!Sephiroth

Story Warning(s): M/M, Yaoi, Pre-Game, Anal, Oral, Uke/bottom Sephiroth, Angst, Some violence, Language, and other warnings apply.

Chapter warning(s): Language, M/M Yaoi implications, Some angst, Mentions of alcohol, Nudity

Pairing(s): Vincent/Sephiroth

A/N: This fiction has been written and dedicated to Lady Vectress, Roaming Firefly and to all those who enjoy this pairing. If you don’t like it, don’t read it. If you do, or are curious, then proceed. This particular fiction is not for kiddies, either. It’s solely intended as a two-shot. Part II is already typed up and will be submitted within a day or so. Enjoy.

 


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PART I

The first thing that registered in Vincent’s brain was the pain. The agonizing pain that shot through his body, lighting every single sensitive nerve on fire. The pain was so intense to the point that he wasn’t even aware of his surroundings or even where he was. All he knew was that his body, whether it was still whole or in pieces, felt like utter shit.

Breathing sharply through his nose, his eyes remained screwed shut as he rode out the worst of the pain.

Whether it was several minutes or hours, the pain eventually started to ebb away little by little until all he felt was a dull throbbing in his head. His body also felt extremely heavily as if he weighed at least a ton or more. It almost felt like he was nailed down to some cold, unforgiving lab table.

And that’s when he started to remember things. It didn’t progress slowly or gently like a warm, fuzzy array of bittersweet memories. No, it was fast, hard, and packed a mean punch. It was brutal and violent in its intensity to the point that it left him gasping and shaking.

As fragmented as his memories were at the moment, Vincent saw most of them quite vividly. He remembered enough to know what he had done, what had happened to him, and ultimately what had killed him, or so he had hoped.

Vincent recalled being shot after a confrontation with that despicable madman Hojo. He didn’t quite remember why he had argued with that man, but he was certain it had something to do with Lucrecia and some immoral experiment.

After he had been shot by the scientist, he had been in a half-dead state in which he had thought he had died and had long since been buried. Of course such a thing was highly improbable now unless he was in a world meant for the dead. Perhaps he was dead after all and was suffering his fate in some hellish nightmare of a world that was solely meant for the wicked.

The Turk, well, he supposed ex-Turk now, had never believed in such a place before. A place for the damned. It couldn’t be real, but wherever he was, it sure felt like he was where he belonged. Where he deserved, more like. A place to atone for all he had done, or in more accurate words, what he hadn’t done.

Vincent also remembered waking up on a lab table with blinding light in his face. The ex-Turk deeply recalled how he had felt when he had discovered what had been done to him. His body had been modified to the point that he was no longer human in human terms. He was immortal, an immortal that was damned to live the rest of his never-ending life with his sins.

And Lucrecia, ah, how it hurt to even think about her now. It made him feel guilty beyond any words even though in the back of his mind, he knew that she had played her own part in what he believed to be his sin. She wasn’t innocent in this and in some ways; she was almost just as guilty as Hojo. But still, his failure to save her had resulted in her fate.

Vincent had failed. He had failed the woman he had loved and failed…someone else. He couldn’t quite remember who else he had failed, but he felt as if there were another. Someone completely innocent who only made his sin all the more excruciating to bear.

But who…? Who had it been? And why couldn’t Vincent remember everything? What was he missing…?

And then the ex-Turk heard it: a groan.

Opening his eyes, Vincent was greeted by the sight of ceiling. When he turned his head to the left, he saw a door. Then when he turned his face to the right, he saw a pleasantly painted wall. Wait…

Sitting up quickly, he immediately regretted his course of action as he experienced a very unpleasant sensation shoot through him as a result.

Pushing some of his stray black locks from his face, he sighed and then took the time to take in his surroundings.

 It was obvious that he was in some type of furnished room that looked as if it were someone’s personal bedroom. It looked a little too personal.

Several feet away from his location, there was a king-sized bed complete with two bedside tables each with a lamp. The bed itself looked very inviting, especially with how smooth and sleek the obviously silk black sheets looked.

And that was another thing; the room was dimly lit by two muted lamps and a few burning candles. It almost seemed…romantic?

That was strange. Vincent didn’t understand why his mind had come up with that very absurd notion.

Squinting his eyes, he finally noticed something that he had somehow missed. There was someone lying in the bed underneath the sheets. Whoever it was, he or she was almost completely covered save for a partially exposed head of lustrous silver hair. It could be a girl, but it was hard to tell. There were plenty of men with pretty hair so it was not safe to assume he was in some woman’s bedroom.

That only just begged Vincent to wonder why he was in this room and who the person was under the black sheets.

Once he had determined that there were no other immediate threats in the room, Vincent stood up, albeit a little shakily, on his feet. He looked himself over and noticed that all his weapons were gone except for his golden gauntlet. He guessed if someone got on his bad side he could what, claw them to death? He’d rather shoot them with his gun. Drawing out someone’s death was not to his liking. He liked it quick and efficient with a side of style.

Another groan and this time it was a bit louder. It sounded more like a man, too.

Determining that he was indeed in a room with a slumbering man, Vincent stretched his limbs first to make sure they worked before he nimbly snuck over to the door. There was no handle to try and when he pushed on the door, it would not open. He wasn’t the least bit surprised by that, though. It was most likely an automated door that required a password on the other side of the door. In other words, he knew the only way out of the room was if whoever was holding him prisoner decided to open it for him.

Vincent weighed his options carefully. The only rational thing he could think of doing was approaching the sleeping man. Should he wake him up or wait?

The dark-haired ex-Turk opted to gingerly seat himself in a plush red chair and wait for the sleeping man to awake. He would wait for him to wake up and if the man proved to be dangerous, he would deal with him accordingly.

As Vincent waited for the inevitable, he mused on how he wished he could just crawl back into his coffin and sleep. Even though his dreams were filled with the worst of nightmares, he somehow preferred his torment, his punishment to this, to whatever was about to occur in this room.

 


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Groaning again, Sephiroth rolled over only to tumble onto the hard, cold ground with several sheets tangled around his tall, long-limbed body. He grunted upon impact as he hit the ground face first. The grouchy General jerked his face away from the ground and then realized something unpleasant was rammed down his throat. Gagging on his own hair, he ripped the hair out of his mouth and nearly threw up as a result. Hissing to himself under his breath, he then spat several strands of remaining silver hair from his mouth. Then he rolled over and fought the sheets furiously until ultimately with a few violent rips and tears, he freed himself from his black ensnarement.  

Sephiroth tumbled out of the sheets onto his stomach, nearly falling on his face again. Fortunately for him, his sluggish arm caught the floor first before his face could make out with the smooth, cool ground.

While he half lay, half knelt on the ground, he tried to think, but his mind felt fuzzy and confused. He sort of felt like he was in a drugged or drunken state. That would probably explain why he had so gracelessly fallen from his bed and how someone like him couldn’t effortlessly escape his sheets without violence.

Slowly glancing around the room, Sephiroth was surprised to figure out that this was not his room. That was not his bed. And neither was this and that and whatnot. Nothing here was his at all.

Who had dared take him from his own room and drag him into this wretched little room? Well, he had a few ideas on who it could be and as soon as the drugs wore off, he would march out of the room and possibly gut them a few new holes. But no, death was too lenient a punishment for such an offence. He would scare the offenders, yes. Then he would systematically make them regret pissing him off…by forcing them to do ALL of his paperwork for him. Mm, yes, how evil...

 “Are you in need of some assistance?” Inquired a very low and somber tone of voice.

Whipping his head towards the direction of the voice, he was shocked to find that he was not alone. He hadn’t even realized that he wasn’t alone in the room. Maybe this was the one who had drugged him and brought him here? Yes, he thought that was feasible enough.

Narrowing his glowing green eyes, Sephiroth glared at the suspicious dark-haired male. “Who are you and why have you brought me here against my will? What is this place?”

Vincent was mildly amused by the sight of the naked young man before him. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about where your clothes are?”

The General finally became aware of just how cold the room really was. His body being unclothed might indeed explain why his body was shivering.

Sephiroth looked himself over and found true to the other man’s word, he was completely naked. If he had been any other person, he may have realized just how provocative his position was and would have corrected it. He probably would have blushed madly and scrabbled for one of the torn sheets.

But he was Sephiroth. He felt no shame in being nude in front of another man. After all, he had used to shower with several men daily when he had been living in the barracks. It was something he was used to, but not something he necessarily liked.

Although he felt no such shame, he didn’t particularly enjoy being ogled, either. He was uncomfortable about some of the scars that marred his body. It was not vanity that caused him to feel bothered when people saw his scars. No, he knew the scars were ugly and that wasn’t what bothered him. His scars were not all earned in the heat of battle; some of his scars were from his time in the laboratories.

Sephiroth didn’t like to look at those scars and he didn’t like to have people stare at them. He didn’t like to talk about them or even think about them. Mostly because whenever he did, he would feel a twinge of distress. Even though he didn’t particularly remember what happened to him in Hojo’s laboratory, he still recalled bright lights, something green, pain, and then unimaginable agony. Whatever had happened, the evidence was literally buried into his body by those scars. It frightened and repulsed him in such ways that had him very reluctant to remember what had happened.

The ex-Turk scrutinized the younger man in a clinical way a healthcare professional might do. His crimson eyes did not stop looking over the other man’s body until he saw the telltale signs. The scars, the scars that indicated body modification. This man, the one that now rose rather sluggishly to a standing position, had been an experiment.

The General didn’t particularly care for the way the dark-haired male looked at him. It reminded him of his annual physicals in which he had to stand still and naked as the professor looked him over like a customer at a market trying to ascertain whether this cut of meat was still good or not. And not to mention all the poking and prodding. And the shots. By every Goddess on Gaia, Sephiroth hated the shots the most. He never admitted it to anyone before, but yes, he despised needles as much as he hated cowards.

“Are you quite finished eye-raping me now? I demand some answers from you…whoever you are. Why am I here and what happened to my clothes? Or better yet, give me one reason why I shouldn’t run you through right now,” drawled Sephiroth as he curled the fingers of his left hand, briefly imagining the feel of Masamune’s hilt in his grip.

“It would make a mess all over this beautiful room,” Vincent bit out sardonically in response. In spite of the death threat, he was not afraid. He looked like he felt; calm, cool, and collected.  

Not at all amused by the smart ass comment, Sephiroth stretched his left arm out and summoned his blade. He was surprised and then disappointed when his hand met nothing but air. He called out to Masamune again and again, but still, the sword would not come. He knew where Masamune was, he could see the blade very clearly in his vision, but it would not come to him. Why?

“Having some trouble there?”

“Be silent,” barked Sephiroth who quickly shot the black-haired man his best glare. It only lessened when he actually met those ruby orbs with his own green gaze. He felt a twist in his stomach and not only did he not understand it, he flat out did not like it. The man standing a few feet away from him was attractive, yes, but that didn’t explain his sudden fixation on him. Why would he feel drawn to someone such as this…well, whoever he was? Sephiroth didn’t need anyone and he never cast a second look to anyone until now. But why now? He was a young man and unlike his other, ahem, peers, he never felt the need to partake in their indiscretions.

Sex, love, fun, friendship, and family meant nothing to Sephiroth. He had never been introduced to any of those things before. None of those things were things that he needed, or at least, he was told he didn’t need them. He was perfect and above what everyone else did with their lives.

“I can’t offer you my coat if I remain silent.”

Finding it odd that a perfect stranger would offer him something as personal as clothes, Sephiroth wrinkled his nose slightly in response. Not only was this man’s red and black attire questionable, but it looked like something Genesis would steal from that man. As dramatic as his clothes looked, it was obviously very worn and tattered in some places and it probably had seen better days.

Suit yourself, then,” murmured the red-eyed male with the hint of a faint sad smile.

Sephiroth didn’t happen to miss the insult weaved into those few words. He snorted, but didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he merely fixed his green-eyed gaze on the dark-haired man and shivered when he felt the foreign stirring in his belly grow even stronger. Something about this unnamed person felt oddly familiar. Had he seen him before? He didn’t know, but he was still intrigued nonetheless. “Do you have a name or should No-Name suffice for now?”

Something flickered across Vincent’s features, but it was unreadable. In a low voice devoid of feeling, he apathetically replied, “Vincent Valentine.”

Even the name felt familiar, but from where? Why couldn’t he remember him? Maybe he…and then it hit him almost like a solid blow to the face. Perhaps this Vincent Valentine was lost with his memories from the laboratories. If that were true, what exactly had his role been?

Sephiroth narrowed his slitted eyes. He grew even more suspicious by the second even though something inside of him told him to calm down and to trust him.

The ex-Turk didn’t show it, but he was increasingly alarmed by what Chaos and the other demons were whispering inside his head. They were all, including Chaos, intensely attracted to Sephiroth. He could feel their arousal as if it were his own. It was getting out of hand to the point that he found it very difficult to control them.

For whatever reasons, they wanted to claim Sephiroth and do sick, depraved things to him. It didn’t bother Vincent because Sephiroth was male, it bothered him because he knew without a doubt that he was Lucrecia’s son. And yes, he remembered more now. He remembered that this was the child that he himself had failed to protect, to save. It was his fault Sephiroth had been subjected to such cruel and inhumane experimentation since conception. He blamed himself for everything and felt that this was his sin. Vincent had failed to save the woman he loved and he had failed her child as well. For that, he couldn’t and wouldn’t forgive himself.

That was also the reason why he was disturbed by the notion of what Chaos wanted to do to the young man before him. Sephiroth had already suffered too much as it were and now the demons wanted him up for slaughter.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Vincent turned his back to Sephiroth as he panted from the exertion of literally battling his inner demons.

Lucrecia’s son was at least 18-22 years old. He was already fully grown with a powerful, sleek physique that reminded Vincent of a wildcat. It was obvious he was a soldier of some caliber by the way he was built and by the way he moved. In spite of that, he was still so very young, so innocent.  Sephiroth was still a kid to him. There was no way he was going to…

Said silver-haired man didn’t fail to notice that something was amiss with this Vincent Valentine. He could feel it thickening in the air. Conflict. That man was obviously fighting something, but what? What was wrong with him? Perhaps he was mad…?

“Who do you work for? You have the air of a warrior about you,” Inquired Sephiroth in an effort to distract the obviously crazed Vincent. Even though he rummaged through the room in search for clothes, any clothes, his eyes never left that incredibly handsome but crazy man.

Sephiroth stopped what he was doing and frowned. There it was again. Handsome, attractive! His mind had recognized Vincent as such and he couldn’t quite shake it off, but why? On occasion, he had glimpsed several attractive people and he even worked with some who were beautiful specimens, yet he had never felt obliged to refer to them as such. He had never looked at them and felt this, this…whatever it was. He didn’t like it one bit.

Shinra’s General was disrupted by his thoughts by the sound of metal boots scraping against the ground as the dark-haired man turned around to face him again.

“I used to be a Turk. I no longer work for anyone,” answered Vincent so quietly that Sephiroth had to strain his ears just to hear him.

Ah, so that explained why he sensed that Vincent was some sort of fighter. He knew better that to broach the subject further, though. It seemed like a sensitive subject for the man and Sephiroth respected privacy, especially since it was something of a luxury he himself wasn’t afforded. That and feelings and emotions weren’t exactly Sephiroth’s strong point. The logical and the rational was what he knew and right now it was telling him to back off.

“Fair enough, ex-Turk Vincent Valentine,” dismissed Sephiroth as he walked along the wall until he had reached the door. He didn’t really expect it to open, but he tried anyway. And failed.

“It is automated. I assume we’re trapped in here together until whoever is in power decides to open the door,” Vincent pointed out as he stared at the General from out of the corner of his eye.

Knowing that the ex-Turk was probably correct, Sephiroth narrowed his green eyes at the door as if he wanted to kill it. If he had Masamune now he would gracefully, albeit violently swing away until the wretched door was in shreds. If only…

Vincent sighed, “Sephiroth.”

The silver-haired man froze and then slowly turned around. Eyes narrowed and brow furrowed, he stared hard at the ex-Turk. “How do you know my name?”

The ex-Turk did not answer. He merely stared back at Sephiroth.

“Fine, do not tell me. I will figure it out eventually,” muttered Sephiroth as he limbered over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. He crossed his arms and made it a point to ignore the other man until the door opened.  It was not an easy task to accomplish.

Vincent turned away again and did his best to ignore Sephiroth as well. Perhaps if he pretended that that child, no, enticing young man wasn’t there naked on the bed, then Chaos and the others would shut up already and leave it be.

Unfortunately for the ex-Turk, his demons had other plans.

 


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Several hours later, nothing much had occurred. Both men were still attempting to ignore the other, but that in itself was an utter failure.

Vincent still stood turned faced away from the nude General. He hadn’t moved a muscle nor had he made a single sound.

Sephiroth lay on his back on the bed with his arms propped behind his head as he stared up in boredom at the dull ceiling. Occasionally, he would glance curiously at the other occupant of the small room as if to check if he were still alive.

Feeling rather parched, Sephiroth slid from the bed and then sauntered over to the mini fridge that was located right across from the bed on the other side of the room. Once he had reached it, he eased himself down until he was sitting on his haunches. Then he opened the refrigerator’s door and peered inside as if expecting something vile inside. Eyes darting around, he was repulsed by the contents of the mini fridge.

Alcohol. Alcohol. And more ALCOHOL.

The silver-haired Soldier wrinkled his regal nose in distaste. He despised booze. He hated the taste, the burn of it, the smell, the effects, and the after effects of alcohol.

There was no water or juice available. All of the bottles and cans were alcohol or contained some alcohol.

Sighing, Sephiroth settled for a fruity alcoholic drink called a wine cooler, which consisted mostly of concentrated fruit juice and was only about 5% alcohol. He wasn’t a huge fan of fruit, either, but this was more preferable than drinking his own piss.

Snagging the fruity, albeit transparent bottle by the neck, he then noticed the rest of the remaining contents in the fridge.

Chocolate. Strawberries. And whipped cream.

Befuddled by this, he slowly stood up and twisted the cap off of the drink. It was the kind that required a bottle opener, but since he was enhanced, he effortlessly opened it. He then brought the rim of the drink to his nose, sniffed it, scowled, and then lowered it to his lips and downed it like a pro.

Vincent chose the wrong moment to look over his shoulder at the silver-haired man. As he watched Sephiroth swallow the drink, he felt liquid fire burn through his veins with such intensity that he almost staggered. His eyes focused on how those lips looked pursed around the bottle and how his Adam’s apple bobbled as he swallowed the liquid.

Without meaning to, the ex-Turk imagined that Sephiroth’s hand and lips were wrapped around something else and swallowing something else. As a result of his staring and imagining lewd scenarios, Vincent’s pants felt much tighter now and were painfully constricting. He cursed bitterly in his mind as he heard Chaos laughing mockingly at him.

Half finished with the wine cooler, Sephiroth then noticed that he had an audience. He looked at Vincent and smirked devilishly at him. In a very low and sensual voice, he asked, “Do you want some?”

Startled and embarrassed by being caught openly staring, Vincent quickly looked away in shame. Yes, he wanted some, but it wasn’t the drink that he wanted.

 

 


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End of PART I



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