Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ A Real Transformation ❯ Love Potion #5 ( Chapter 5 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Koji Nokemono 
Vincent's been having boy troubles, but will Sephiroth fix it? Not when he has to save Hojo when then Turks are interrogating him, nor when the scientist sends him to get more supplies with which to make his potions.
Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Shounen / Angst / Romance | Type: Shounen-ai | Uploaded On: 10.19.2006 | Updated On: 07.01.2007 | Pages: 7 | Words: 12.5K | Visits: 457 | Status: Completed
Vincent's been having boy troubles, but will Sephiroth fix it? Not when he has to save Hojo when then Turks are interrogating him, nor when the scientist sends him to get more supplies with which to make his potions.
Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Shounen / Angst / Romance | Type: Shounen-ai | Uploaded On: 10.19.2006 | Updated On: 07.01.2007 | Pages: 7 | Words: 12.5K | Visits: 457 | Status: Completed
Vincent had slept a decent while and woke up, relatively refreshed, though queasy from his drinking and a headache pounding in his temple. He groaned as he rolled over only standing up to find it felt drafty. Looking confused and still groggy with sleep, he noticed his pants were stained. Swearing, he didn't recall having any wet dreams, but his only article of clothing said otherwise. Aside from that, the lack of heat from his broken heating unit made it freezing in his room. Warming his arms and shivering at how truly cold it was, he was surprised he hadn't died of hypothermia. Then again, the freezing temperature of alcohol was much lower, and it did warm the spirits. Starting to take care of himself in his pitiful excuse for a bathroom he had enough time to get naked before a sharp knock resounded from the kitchen. Sighing heavily, he ignored it, tended to the still wet, though cold, semen coating his abdomen.
When the knocking didn't die, proceeding more annoyingly insistent, did Vincent growl a response, finding clean pants to wear.
“I'm coming already!” he bit out, the knock consistent, drawing his attention away from neither zipping nor buttoning his pants. He threw the door open. Suddenly, the memories of last night flooded back him, his glare giving way to an expression of slight shock and astonishment, eyes no longer narrowed with abhorrence. Not quite a foot above the nocturnal man, making a ruby gaze look up, mako green eyes seemed amused, then slightly concerned. A hand reached for Vincent but he flinched.
“Morning sunshine,” a deep, smooth voice greeted. He blinked several times, shaking him from his mesmer, dumbfounded expression replaced with agitation.
“Sephiroth,” he nodded, his usual way of greeting the silver haired man. Inviting himself in. He frowned as he looked the raven haired man up and down.
“I thought I told you to keep warm.”
Vincent only crossed his arms, eyes narrowed. The swordsman rolled his eyes at his stubbornness before turning for his bedroom, grinning. He had watched what Vincent went through. They seemed to be getting closer. Half of the equation was good. Now, as they balanced the other half, Sephiroth would have to spend more time around Vincent to see where it was headed and what kind of reactions he would elicit. Standing before the older man's dresser, he opened the top drawer to reveal shirts. Digging through them with protest from Vincent, he held one up to the smaller man.
“Sephiroth, what are you doing? Other than invading my privacy….” He gave him a haughty glare.
“Finding your something to wear. I think this purple will match your blue lips quite nicely.” He grinned wider, a crushed velvet, violet colored shirt being compared to Vincent's frame. “Unless of course, you'd rather me keep you warm.” He arched a brow and the innuendo, smirking when Vincent glowered, his blush still faint on his cheeks. Grabbing the shirt, he didn't immediately put it on.
The swordsman took a step closer to him.
“Come on Vinny, I'm getting mixed singles. You're not <i>telling</i> me you want me to keep you warm, but you're not putting the shirt on either.” Silent as he usually was and not wanting to expand energy by arguing, his head none the better by doing so, he opted for slowly slipping the shirt over his head and pulling it down, the fabric fitting him snuggly, the arms and waist made extra long to fit the curves of his hips and nearly hide his hands. The shoulders rode low, over turned like a sash. Sephiroth was smirking, eyes playful as he backed the ex Turk against a wall.
“Sephiroth,” he winced at how loud his voice was. Next he spoke, it was softer, though still angry. “Why are you here? Why can't you just leave me in peace?”
“Aww Vinny doesn't want to see me?” The vampire frowned and cringed. The silver haired man lowered his voice.
“I'm not shouting am I?” Vincent would have shaken his head if it hadn't have made his headache worse.
“Just a headache,” he mumbled in response, eyes drifting, demeanor taking on a defeated, uncomfortably stance.
He felt soft lips pressed to his forehead, strong arms pinning him closely on either side. He swallowed, the feeling of being in Sephiroth's arms last night flooding him, making him fluster even more, albeit his gaze remained steady, even, and stolid.
“We'll compensate for both,” Sephiroth murmured, lips brushing across smooth skin before reaching rather cold, pout lips. Vincent whimpered as the larger man pressed against him, one hand pinning the vampire's against the wall, the other pulling him close about the waist. Lips meshed together, he coaxed Vincent's mouth open, the older man fighting between reluctance and acceptance. He finally gave way with another louder whimper as Sephiroth's tongue invaded his mouth, warming him, blue lips being kissed and nibbled red. He left bruised lips slick with saliva, a once fierce expression now hazy, soon to be confused and quite possibly enraged. Sephiroth pulled back, Vincent's knuckle white grip having loosened.
“Good,” he voice was a breath. “You look warmer now. Don't drink too much next time okay?” He tilted Vincent's chin up, kissing the tip of his nose before backing off, winking then, turning to show himself to the door.
************************
Vincent had been thinking, contemplating what had been going on the past fortnight or so ago, brooding and mulling over the same thoughts he had approached him on several occasions, seeming to extend a helping hand, but why? And why so suddenly? Something was up, but he wasn't sure what. Maybe he was being watched, monitored—stalked. Was the legendary swordsman following him, learning his secrets, only to use and dispose of him later? He couldn't be sure of anything. And still, it went back to the same thought, time after time: Lucrecia. Lucrecia was part of Sephiroth. He'd done enough harm towards her already; Vincent reasoned that he had to just let go of his anger towards the younger man and just accept it. He didn't want to hurt the woman he loved any more. Sighing in resignation, he huddled deeper into his hunched form.
The day was passing slowly. He'd work bar in another hour though, a good distraction from his repetitious thoughts, or at least he hoped. He didn't need to screw up any orders lest he be yelled at once more. Last time, he had been threatened to be fired. So, a half hour later, dressed in a button up white shirt, standard for his bar serving duties, hair tied back, decent shoes and a dagger hidden at his ankle. With a long hooded black cloak over one arm, he pulled on the heavy wool as he stepped outside into the cold air. Frost had stayed, veiling the ground like a blanket. It looked like snow, but it was only ice. It would snow more once the clouds got a little heavier. Refraining from pulling the hood about his face, he pulled the neck closer, the ruby brooch cold in already chilled hands.
It wasn't long before long, brisk strides had found their way through the dirt and rumble of the worse parts of town to a small bar, squeezed between a few buildings, looking as if it might collapse between the pressure from either side. He shook the coldness out of his coat as he entered the bar.
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Sephiroth received a call later that day, towards noon.
"We need you to come to the lab. It is imperative that you do," was the only thing an unidentifiable voice said before ending the call. The swordsman glared at his phone as though something was wrong with it. Who would call to tell him to come to the lab so suddenly? If it were <i>that</i>important, they would impart all knowledge to the first class swordsman. If it were a milk run, he'd be upset. Still though, as stubborn as he was, his curiosity was peaked. The number didn't show up on his recently received list, other than it was a blocked call. Chewing his lip, standing from his place on the suite bed, he hit a quick dial button. Hojo. He got a dead line. Dammit, what was going on? If that crazy bastard was setting him up for something trivial, he was going to have hell to pay. Flipping the PHS shut, he grumbled, situating his accessories, over a long sleeved shirt. It was lightly snowing in Midgar, so it was sure to be three feet under in Nibelheim; what with how close the mountains were, though precipitation wasn't expected this early into the season.
Not bothering to pack anything aside from his necessities that could be carried on him, Sephiroth left, telling the hotel clerk that he might be a few days and to hold his room for him. Exiting the pristine place, he placed a call for an airship. ShinRa always complained when he abused their systems: air transport was reserved for missions that had to be undergone quickly, or VIP members such as the president and his family. Sephiroth was a first class soldier, highly respected, and renowned for his accomplishments and strength in battle, but just because of his rank, they could only give so many commodities.
"Air Station Management, how can I help you?"
"This is first class general Sephiroth speaking. I'd like to book a flight to Nibelheim ASAP on the airship Sierra." There was a pause.
When the voice replied it was hesitant.
"I'm sorry sir, but Sierra is only accessible to those with registration for boarding flights on our airships." He sighed exasperatedly and rolled his eyes.
"Well of course I'm registered!" There was a pause, clicking of a keyboard before the woman spoke again, uncertain.
"Sephiroth sir? I don't see—"
"Of course you don't! Would they put president ShinRa in the registry to board flight on his own airship? Of course not!"
"We apologize sir but we cannot let you board this flight."
"Look, if you make me come over, I'm going to put Masamune to use. If you make me take the airship by force, that would make me have to fly the damn thing, and if you ever want to see Sierra in one piece, you wouldn't want me driving."
This wasn't entirely true. In his training for soldier, some of his missions required manning flying crafts, including how to steer and fly them. Sephiroth was reckless but he was able. He snapped his phone closed before the lady could respond. He was off to the airship station.
*************************
He was growing impatient—had been as soon as the lady had answered his call and told him he couldn't board the Sierra for an emergency flight. Masamune was gripped threateningly by the hilt, pulled out enough to show the glimmering of a fine and rather long blade.
"Look lady, I need to board this ship. It is an emergency and it is imperative I do. For all I know, people are dying because you're too stubborn to let me get on a renowned and honorable ship. It's one of the fastest in production so far. You won't let me touch the HighWind, so please, just comply to my request and we'll all go home happy." His tone was gentle, though firmly even, letting the woman know he didn't want to, nor did he have any intention, of hurting her, but that he also was not going to back down just because she refused to let him ride Sierra.
She was nervous, having stood and backed away from her desk in defense, putting more space between herself and the threat.
"General Sephiroth, sir," she bowed politely, short brown hair swinging forward under her small cupped hat, "I apologize but I simply cannot allow you to board Sierra." She bowed once more to show her sorry. Sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose with one leather-gloved hand, he let Masamune slid all the way into its sheath with a metallic chink. He walked around the side of the high countered desk, those mulling about the station too busy to pay much attention, or else on break and wanting to deal with anything, though the swordsman did attract some onlookers. He let himself through the small swinging door, his towering frame making the much smaller lady cower.
"Please, general, sir," she almost seemed to beg, paling that Sephiroth would advance on as if intended to kill or rape her.
Invading her comfort zone, he place an arm around her shoulders, an amused smile on his face. How he had seen that frightened look before, many times, though more often desperate as well as terrified.
"Now Miss...." he looked for a name tag, "Carol. I'm going to ask you once more, very nicely. I have urgent business that demands my attention. I ask you just once to bend the rules for me a little. If you need to do your job and call security afterwards, please feel free to. If this is brought to attention with the Turks I will personally answer to them and plead in your defense. All I need is the access card, and the key. I'll pay standard amount for a first class, whether I have to drive Sierra myself, or if I have a captain. Am I clear?" His voice was soft, smooth, and gentle. It was dangerous, and to those who only looked once, dismissing it for perhaps a plea or gentle nature, were mistaken.
After a short moment, the woman seeming as if she might faint, nodded vigorously.
"Y-y-yes sir!" Wiggling uncomfortable she was finally released, unlocking a drawers where the keys were kept. Handing him an access card and keys to access the many functions of the beautiful airship known as Sierra, she quickly retreated to a corner of her desk area, enclosed by the high counter walls. Sephiroth smiled, nodding and offering her a wink.
"Thank you Carol." It sounded more like mockery than sincerity.
*************************
Having made it to Nibelheim in record time, learning to work the ship's feather sensitive system with confidence, maniacally daring the ship to try something if it met turbulence or reacted in a negative way to his guidance. He touched down next to the mountains, several hundred feet away, looping around to the inside of the town. Its ram-shackled buildings and dirty streets still looked the same. The scrawny dogs and dirty children didn't look out of place. With long strides, the city much colder and heaped with snow, being so near the mountains, he reached the rusted black gate to ShinRa mansion and pushed them open on frozen squeaky hinges. He kicked snow aside, finding a path already leading to the front door. The dark and foreboding house didn't appear to be hiding anything, but then, after being in the lab before and seeing what was inside, he knew better. Smirking, he futilely wiped his feet on a dusty dying mat outside the front door.
He entered the building comprised mostly of dust and rotting wood, decrepit furniture and the up kept lab the only other things residing within the pitiful excuse for a house. He was already navigating his way down the winding wooden planks used for stairs. The dirt in the cellar, which served more for a catacombs, wasn't trampled as though a brawl or scuffle had taken place. There were footprints, but he assumed it was from Hojo or perhaps from when Tseng had come to obtain the potion from Hojo a day and a half ago. Aside from that, there were tracks from the various monsters wandering the lonesome earthly corridors, such as Yin or Yang, or both.
He heard the slither of something retreating into the depths of the shadows as he near the laboratory door. Not bothering to knock, he cautiously opened the door, just in case some sort of surprise was lurking in there, just waiting for him to come forth and announce himself. When nothing jumped out to attack him, he slowly entered, pushing the door open, hand on the hilt of his sword in case he needed to draw Masamune. The contents of the lab looked as they should be, Hojo being the only missing element. Was the deranged scientist even here? His answer came in the form of a shout, no doubt Hojo's. He sounded like he was in pain.
The silver haired swordsman only hoped he wasn't dead yet; he could care less if Hojo lost an arm or two, as perverse and masochistic as the man was. Entering the room, Masamune ready to be drawn, Sephiroth peeked around the corner to the library section before advancing. There, he beheld an interesting spectacle. Hojo was cornered by a Midgar Fang, growling a guttural warning, two Turks, one a dark skinned man, bald with black shades, stood quietly with his arms crossed, there for merely intimidation, it seemed. The other was nonchalantly bouncing an electro-mag rod on one shoulder, bright red hair trailing down his back, his navy blue suit ruffled, disheveled, and just out of place. Hojo didn't appear to be taking the Turks for a threat, but the animal was a little different. Sephiroth stood, ignored, his posture defiant as he observed.
"I assure you, I am merely a humble scientist that serves ShinRa corporation. I have laid my hands on none of their employees!" The one doing the talking rolled his eyes.
"Sure you haven't, and that's why the woman called rape right?
Listen, ya greasy haired monkey, we were ordered to come and collect evidence that you were up to something, and we aren't leaving, whether we get a few useful words from you or not." The dark man nodded, a shifting figure catching his gaze. Surreptitiously, he glanced, and out of the corners of his eyes, found that first class general Sephiroth was watching them. Once he had been noticed, the swordsman raised a hand as if to abate the withheld commotion sure to come.
"So, why another visit from the Turks hmm? What did you need from this gentleman exactly?" Hojo was relieved, though his apprehension was deterred in the least, occupied with the growing Midgar Fang crouched before him. The red head turned sharply to regard the unknown intruder.
"Hey!....There," his voice trailed as he took a full look of who it was. He had heard only rumors and descriptions, but he was quite sure it was Sephiroth in all his looming and blood-lusted glory.
"Well now, if it isn't general Sephiroth!
Allow us an introduction: I'm Reno, and this is my friend Rude. Since we're strictly on business that's none of yours, I suggest you leave." The one called Rude stiffened at how amiably and carelessly Reno was compromising the situation. Did he really know who Sephiroth was? Or did he just have a death wish. Recognizing that at least one of the two did indeed know the precedence of his reputation, Sephiroth smiled and stepped forward, giving the Midgar Fang some girth. The creature was still ceaselessly growling.
"Oh? Well then, I'll just make it my business," he replied casually, voice edged with an underlying threatening tone as he thumbed the hilt of his blade. Reno regarded him with bright blue eyes, apparently thinking better than to try and match wits with him. Besides, have you seen the length of his sword?!
"Then what brings you here?"
"I was summoned by an unknown person that I was needed. From the situation as I've seen, you're masquerading as ShinRa Turk wannabes and I'm here to finish you off." The expert swordsman took an imposing step forward, one that he was happy to say sent the cocky younger man taking a step of his own backwards.
"Uh.... Rude?" What a coward.
"We are only here to interrogate Hojo."
"Interrogate hmm?" He took another step towards the quaking red head, trembling in fear despite his will to cover it up.
He really seemed more peeved that some stranger was able to stand above him, but his resolve for a fight was swiftly melted when he found his friend didn't agree with him.
"Physical evidence doesn't sound like part of an investigation. But here; I'll humor you." He withdrew Masamune from his sheath, eyes of all spectators widening, save the Midgar Fang who had been edging hungrily towards the scientist, still trained on him and snarling. Hojo attention was no longer on the threat with too many teeth but the sharp blade protruding through its chest. As if suddenly realizing that it had been wounded, the confused beast stopped, cocked its head, whimpered, and then fell in two, blood pooling quickly, innards spilling out in a warm rush of putrid air. Hojo cringed back against the bookshelf.
"Good, it's quiet now. I was afraid the thing might never stop. Now then, 'Reno,' take your dog back and tell whoever is in charge of you that you couldn't make it past the front door." Wiping his blade on the carpet, he sheathed Masamune, turning and walking back to the main room of the lab, waiting for Hojo to come and explain himself. Did he really need to further his point? No, not with the way the red head trembled before him.
Only a moment later did the pair of Turks walk briskly by, Reno daring to throw a glare Sephiroth's way, muttering and swearing under his breath. The door closed behind them with a slam. It was several more minutes before Hojo appeared, feet shuffling, straightening and re-straightening his dirty lab coat out of nervousness, eternally crooked glasses being pushed up the bridge of his nose.
"Why did you call me here Hojo?" Sephiroth asked, voice firm and causing the scientist to be on edge. He cleared his throat.
"Well, you see, I've run out of certain resources that are required for this experiment." He was leery to admit that it really was just a milk run. The swordsman's faintly glowing eyes narrowed, lips pursed as he waited for Hojo's hasty explanation.
"The Turks are already on our backs, or I surely would have asked ShinRa to provide them, but even then the soonest I would get such rare materials would be weeks, if not perhaps months. As you're surely aware, my research is not at the top of the president's list for funding, unless he deems it dire. Therefore, I would like to ask you to retrieve them."
"And what makes me so special?" Sephiroth asked, intimating a mocking and callous tone, uncrossing his arms to lean back against a desk.
"Well, the dragons that live within Mt Nibel provide most of the ingredients I need, but they are highly dangerous—not something I would hire just anyone to do. Please, I beg you see my situation here!" The crooked old man was wringing his hands, still slightly hunched from stopping to observe work for so long. Sephiroth looked him over. Yes, the silver haired man was still interested in concocting a potion he would test on Vincent to have his fun with the overly beautiful man, and, more usefully, persuade people as he saw fit be in for his own wants and needs or for the betterment of ShinRa corporation. He was a smooth talker, so if he just happened to slip something into the president's drink, he just might be able to ask him for better status, such as being registered to ride Sierra with no hassle.
"So what do I get out of it? I do your dirty work and risk my life. You're so confident that I'll win but if I am ambushed, I might not make it out alive. Then what for recompense? What guarantee do I get?" He was pressing Hojo for benefits.
Obviously, Sephiroth was merely playing the scientist. He could easily take on every beast on the mountain at once and make it out alive, but still, he wanted to see what he would get out of it.
"W-well....." Wringing his hands nervously, shifting, and swaying slightly, Hojo thought. "I can assure you that when this experiment is perfected, I'll have whoever you wish delivered to you to exercise the use of the brew as much and often as you like; that is, also, how ever much and whenever....if it interests you..... I can make....."
"Until you need more resources, right?" He cocked his head as he watched the twisted man fidget, then cough.
"Yes, well... supplies such as these are not endless." He cleared his throat again. It was such a feeble attempt at bargaining. But Sephiroth would entertain him.
"All right then, what do you need?" Hojo seemed shocked that he even asked, much less considered it.
*************************
Adrian happened to be that person above him. He placed both hands on Vincent's waist as he turned the tap on, hands full of soap. He tried to ignore it, stiffening at the unwelcome touch.
"Vincent, my dear employee," he purred in the ebony haired man's ear. "Wanting to leave early?" Vincent made no response. "That wouldn't be very responsible of you, you know that. You should be a good boy Vincent, deliver a few more drinks before you head home." He hooked one arm around his waist, fingers tugging at Vincent's tucked in shirt.
"You know Dale wouldn't allow shirking your duties." Vincent tried to edge away from Adrian's touch, preferring to work the bar than stay in there and be tortured by the man. He ignored everything as best he could. Drying his hands on a cotton towel, he turned within his captor's embrace only to find no opening to shrug the man off and stalk off. His eyes held an abated glare.
Sadly, Adrian could always get away with what he did. Vincent would have been fired otherwise, but sometimes he thought it might be for the better. He had slept on the streets before, but with the onset of winter and with Sephiroth stalking him, putting up with his boss's lecherous acts didn't seem so bad. He sighed, his voice quiet.
"What do you want Adrian?" The man smiled, brilliant blue eyes sparkling. His long dark chocolate hair was tied back.
"Well, we have a few minutes. How about a kiss?" Was that really a suggestion? He felt so helpless, like a puppet in Adrian's grasp. Did he really have much of a choice though? He averted his eyes, still trying to find some way to escape; if only he could punch him out or turn into the Gallian Beast..... Adrian's smooth complexion was so close to his, eyelashes nearly brushing across delicate skin as the devil dressed in debonair clothing kissed him. He could feel searching hands moving down his ass with a faint grope, down his thighs as the man settled himself between Vincent's legs, somehow managing to wiggle his way in. But, when the ex Turk tried to jerk away from roving hands, he only succeeded in thrusting against Adrian and deepening their kiss.
He tried to fight, wiggling, pushing against Adrian, but he had him pinned, already beginning to push him up to sit on the sink. Vincent would have thrown him aside if it didn't cost his job. He resisted as best he could, trying to keep his mouth closed tightly, biting where he could but it only elicited a soft groan from his eager boss, compelling him to do more. After a long moment when Adrian seemed as if he wouldn't stop any time soon, Vincent gave up, sitting limply atop the sink, his boss wedged between his legs, kissing him passionately. If the bar had been busier perhaps someone might have seen them kissing in the back storage room, but as it were, they remained undisturbed. Closing his eyes out of weariness, he tried to let his mind wander, but after a few silent seconds, he felt ashamed to admit that Adrian was a good kisser. A rather good kisser, and after a breathless moment, Vincent's mind still drifting, he was shocked to find himself kissing back, hands clutching the sides of the sink tightly. Pulling back abruptly, his slackness lowering his boss's guard, the vampire blushed faintly, eyes wide.
Biting his lower lip, he met Adrian's smile, turning away from a gentle caress to his cheek, wishing he could just crawl away and hide. Internally, he was berating himself. How lonely and pathetic could he get? The brunette pulled him from the sink, giving him room to bolt but still holding him close, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other brushed into raven hair. When Vincent evaded another kiss, he settled for kissing the corner of reddened lips instead.
"Take care of yourself," he whispered in Vincent's ear before pulling back with a smile and departing. Vincent caught himself on the sink, still stunned. He actually kissed the man he loathed back. He brought a finger to his lips, slick and kiss bruised. His heart racing, he couldn't breathe properly. Shaking the ludicrous feeling off, he square his shoulders, finding his cloak and pulling it over his shadows before ignoring the goodbye he received and entering the embrace of winter outside.
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He had his list, and before him, a dead dragon. He was panting, voice coming in labored puffs. This was the—how many had he killed?—third one at least. It was that the battles were tough, merely that the buggers were harder to find in the winter when they curled up in their caves to reserve heat and enter a nearly comatose state. He had his list, and before him, a dead dragon. He was panting, voice coming in labored puffs. This was the—how many had he killed?—third one at least. It wasn't that the battles were tough, merely that the buggers were harder to find in the winter when they curled up in their caves to reserve heat and enter a nearly comatose state. Sephiroth went to work collecting what he needed: scales from specific parts of the body, the tongue, dragon blood while it was still fresh and steaming, spiked horns that would be ground into powder, and finally the dragon heart. This particular dragon was too small to have developed any innate ornaments, the jewels that were produced by waste products in the dragon's skin.
He had killed only one so far that was old enough to have made some of those precious jewels—gems surely any woman or aristocrat would covet—and they were damn hard to get off too, being embedded in the bone. He could still do with a few dragon tongues and stones though. Two more maybe, if he was patient enough. With his dirty work of prying off scales and dissecting the already lacerated and unfortunate dragon like some primitive man who had to provide for himself in a barbaric way, he set off, trudging through the deep snow, toting his ingredients along. Hojo had better be happy.
*************************
It was almost a week later, Adrian having assaulted him only once more and provoking another kissing session from him, having caught him on his break, meandering outside and pressed the older man against the brick wall of the bar. It wasn't exactly forceful, more over, it just kind of happened. One moment Vincent was brooding and wallowing in his thoughts, the next Adrian was there with a soft smile, those mischievous eyes of his captivating by any standards, and though many might think they looked like a clear autumn sky, Vincent thought of them as icy cold. One gloved hand was woven with his on nearly numb with cold, but Adrian's body was warm, pressed so closely against him. The darkling wondered if he could feel his erratic heartbeat. He was flushed, his boss suckling at the skin on his neck. He hated how weak he felt. He was sure that if he had someone... like Lucrecia... he would never allow it. He would have been fired long ago, his stubbornness the only thing keeping him alive on the streets in the middle of winter. His breathing was shallow and soft, faint clouds of frozen breath the only evidence that he was in fact still breathing.
Vincent could feel a sensitive spot on his neck being neared, above the middle of the collarbone, at the middle of the jugular and settling into the dip of his neck. He mouthed the word `no' when Adrian's traversing of his anatomy brought him there. The ex Turk tensed, breath catching, eyes wide. Adrian paused, warm breath soft, and Vincent involuntarily shuddered at the sensation. He could feel his boss smiling against his skin before continuing, noting how sensitive his subordinate was and abusing it. Vincent gasped when teeth nibbled at tender skin, arching into the touch, head thrown back, and squeezing Adrian's hand tightly. He tried to swallow, tried to breath. Finally, his boss withdrew, the cool wind against his now marred throat tingling to the touch. The brunette exhaled deeply, falling slack against the wall, eyes fluttering shut in fluster, not wanting to see the man that had given him such an effect for fear of hating himself even more.
"Are you okay?" It was another whisper in his ear, one Vincent turned away from, both hands on Adrian's shoulders and weakly trying to push him off. His boss had stayed for a few more long moments, comforting him.
The bastard....always taking advantage of him, whispering lies...... that was two days ago and Vincent was still brooding over the matter, the hickey on his neck diminished but still recognizable. That was why he wore a turtleneck. Standing in a lonesome part of the sector, leaning against a dead lamppost, he stared at the snow at his feet, the white flurries collecting in his hair and building up on his cloak and in the hood. He was zoned out, almost unblinking and he easily startled when he felt a hand on his arm. Turning suddenly in his surprise, completely off guard, he made to fend off the attacker but found Sephiroth bearing upon him with a smirk.
"You look cold," he said. Vincent was pale with the coldness, but he didn't mind.
"I'm.... fine," he murmured, but why didn't he sound so sure of himself? He edged away from Sephiroth's closeness, shying away from the touch creeping around his waist and softly brushing ink black hair from his face.
"Sephiroth?" it was almost a cry of alarm as the silver haired man took Vincent in a hug, face pressed against his temple. Vincent could have drawn his elbow back in a sharp thrust, leaving his attacker winded, but he was more caught up with how fast his heart was racing. It was like when Adrian was kissing on him, sending him into a state of flushed heat. He wiggled uncomfortably. The snow falling soundlessly about them, Vincent was frozen, eyes wide, Sephiroth whispering in his ear.
"What happened, sweetheart? Your feathers are ruffled. I've been keeping an eye on you for a while and you've been very pensive. I want to know why."
Vincent remained silent, but he knew not responding would only arouse suspicion.
"There's nothing wrong with thinking, is there?" he replied, tone flat, trying to sound scathing but not having the required energy to be fully angered. Sephiroth slipped his hand under Vincent's shirt, cool fingers automatically making the ex Turk draw away, only succeeding in pinning himself further, something caught between a grunt and a short surprised cry emitting from his throat. Those fingers tickled sensitive skin with their soft caresses, drawing lines and circles against his flesh. It was a moment before Sephiroth responded, too absorbed in his ministrations to remember what he was doing.
"Thinking? Of course not! How would we ever get by otherwise? Brooding though—for quite some time—tells me something is weighing heavily on your mind and I want to know what it is." His free hand began to undo the zipper at the top of the turtleneck's front. Remembering the marks Adrian had left, Vincent's hand flew to stop Sephiroth's progress, too late in realize that he had advertised physical proof that something was indeed wrong.
Sephiroth smirked behind him, and Vincent could feel his smugness.
"Vincent," it was almost a command, but the raven haired man's grip remained steely. A pinch to Vincent's inner thigh corrected the situation, Vincent's hands jerking to defend himself even though he knew it was a ruse, giving Sephiroth the opening he needed to unzip the shirt a bit farther than need, rosy pink nipples standing chilled in the open breeze. A faint scar ran down the middle of his pectoral bone, and there, standing as blatant proof of his previous assaults, were Adrian's marks, from both teeth and kisses. Sephiroth quirked a brow.
"Found yourself a boyfriend, did you?" His tone was belying his jibes, followed more with concern and hurt that someone would be touching his property. In a part of his heart, Vincent wanted Sephiroth to find out, knowing that the swordsman was pursuing him in some way for some reason, and that if he knew about Adrian he could solve Vincent's problem of dealing with the man.
The ex Turk hated his boss and how he so openly took advantage of him. He refused to see how humane and gently passionate Adrian could be when given the chance. Passion and tenderness was not something Vincent deserved. He didn't particularly want Sephiroth to end up killing him, as was apt with the general, and he didn't entirely want Sephiroth's perception to pick up that Vincent wanted to use him against his unwanted lover, proving that Vincent felt some sort of gratitude or desire for the swordsman.
"No," was his terse response. He shivered slightly as the snow fell against his partially naked body.
"Well I certainly haven't had the chance to leave those..... I seriously doubt seeing you comfortable with anyone. At least anyone who you would let do something like that to you. There too soft to be abusive." With his unusually perceptive remark stated, Vincent almost blanched. He had hit the nail on the head. He shivered when Sephiroth ran his fingers gently over the fading red marks, but the general wasn't sure if it was from the cold, or his own doing. Perhaps both.
He grinned, finding place for his cheek to rest against Vincent's jaw line, an idling and perfect place to threaten an already kiss stained pale neck with more ravaging. Vincent shifted uncomfortably away, lips pursed and tinged with a frown. Sephiroth grinned toothily, mirth and mischief in his eyes.
"Besides, if it were me, I would have done it more like... this." He almost hissed the last word before attacking Vincent's neck, making him stumble in slight alarm at his sudden ferocity, hands prying at Sephiroth's hands now settled on his stomach and inched under the waistline of his pants. He leaned to one side, trying to avoid the attack. A sharp bite was administered, making him whimper, wincing at the initial onslaught but swallowing hard, eyes worried over the sensation of the swordsman kissing and suckling the spot he had just condemned for administering his own long-lasting mark. When the silver haired man was quite thoroughly done with his repetitious bites on the spot, he attacked the surround area, but more gently, latching on and marring once snow pallid skin to a bright pink.
Had Vincent wanted, he could have thrown Sephiroth off, making it difficult, but as it were, he stood passively and helplessly in a stronger, broader embrace. Fingers trailed up his chest and he shuddered. Sephiroth had to wonder though. Had Vincent given up completely? With a last kiss, saliva trailing from his lips, licking them clean, he blew gently over the spot he had chosen to bruise, right on the side of the darkling's neck, not far from his jaw line. Vincent was unusually quiet. His mind had wandered back to Adrian. Would Sephiroth leave him alone if he remained placated, the way Adrian would? Holding Vincent's chin in one hand, stroking his throat, face pressed against Vincent's, he turned his face slightly, tilting it to look him full in the face. He was glossy eyed, out of it entirely, but that faint blush never left. Sephiroth face fell from doubt and mischief to concern, gazing sternly at the seemingly oblivious brunette.
"Vincent?" His voice was nearly a whisper. The ex Turk finally breathed, letting out a shuddering exhale, his once tensed body now falling, his stature seeming to shrink several inches, as if he was falling into the snow beneath him. It took a long second before he focused on Sephiroth, now supporting him fully around the shoulders and waist having turned around to nearly straddle the vampire's legs that didn't appear to be working properly.
Slowly Vincent slipped to the snowy ground, Sephiroth following with him so he wouldn't crash entirely. His brows creased with agitation that Vincent would not speak when something was clearly long. He hated how those thoughts and emotions were so easily bottled up inside the ex Turk. Vincent leaned heavily into his arms, forehead propped against his shoulder. It seemed as if the brunette had fallen asleep. But a shuddering and an inaudible sob were the only sources that gave away the pretense. Sephiroth stroked ebony hair softly, almost feeling triumphant that Vincent had fallen so easily in his arms. He didn't care that much about the nightling's feelings; that kind of drama was not something he liked or looked forward to and he wanted nothing to do with in.
Sitting a moment as Vincent inhaled sharply, tears streaking his face and wetting the swordsman's shoulder, Sephiroth finally stood, scooping Vincent's up in his arms and cradling him against his chest, the cloak 's hood serving to veil a beautifully tear stained face, hung forward, bowed as if in utter defeat.
************************
Enveloped in darkness, he was surprised to blink half sleeping eyes open to dim lights. He rolled over on a large bed. His shirt had been zipped, he found when his hand flew to the now covered marks on his neck, save the slightly bruising and bits from Sephiroth's teeth peeking over the edge of the thin black material. His cloak had been laid over him like a blanket. A solitary lamp attached to the wall across from the bed was the source of light, its twins on either side turned off. Looking around, he appeared to be in a hotel room, only it was much larger and fancier. A suite? Thinking back to previous events, having been too exhausted from his stress and crying to have stayed awake the whole trip here, he remembered who had interrogated him, taking advantage of his low self esteem. Sephiroth. He whirled over on the bed, rolling to the side and to his feet, bringing him to stare across the bed at the figure whose room he resided in.
The swordsman sat with arms and legs crossed, a long sleeved black robe the only thing he presumably wore, the heavy material keeping him warm enough in the slightly cooled room. He had been waiting for when Vincent's should wake up, though it hadn't been for long.
“Glad to see you're still in one piece,” he said, his voice low, almost taunting despite its firmness for concern. Vincent straightened up. He did at least have enough to thank Sephiroth for, bringing him to his room to keep warm and whatnot. He needed time alone to think, but he had been contemplating and pondering for a good couple weeks now and he was tired of questioning everything. He just wanted to accept what was said and done without question. Cautiously, he walked towards the other room, giving wide girth for fleeing in case Sephiroth sprang upon him without reason. The second room was something of a lounge area, with table and counter, equipped with kitchen things such as a small fridge, a microwave, and a coffee maker. He stalked to sit on the wide sill that served as a ledge beneath the half wall length windows. Sephiroth trailed behind him.
Wiping his cheeks with the palm of his hands, Vincent crouched with one leg hugged to his chest, watching the snow fall heavily. The room was dark, lit only by the glowing moon outside, a thin sliver in the sky.
“Vincent?” he voice was softer still, a note of questioning anxiety lacing his voice. Vincent slowly turned to face Sephiroth with a slow blink, ruby eyes loosing crystal tears once more, falling unchecked. Turning back to the window, face contorted for a fraction of a second with anguish, he touched his forehead to the cold glass hand resting beside him, looking as if he might wish to leap from the window and into the night. With several brisk strides Sephiroth approached, robe swishing about his ankles, tied back hair bouncing slightly with his overstepped gait.
“Vincent?” His voice was louder, firmer as he nearly towered over the older man, turning his face to meet his. Glowing green eyes were searching, and he frowned. The vampire took a shaky breath, trying to turn away and finding he couldn't, the silver haired man's grip keeping him from doing so.
He closed his eyes, another droplet of his sadness escaping thick lashes and trailing delicately down one porcelain cheek. It was swiped away by Sephiroth's thumb, and he stood, holding Vincent's face and pondering a moment before letting him go to turn and hide within the corner of the windowsill. The general approached his fridge, opening it to withdraw a wine bottle and the freshly brewed potion, its color a bright red. Pouring a mixture of plum wine and potion into a glass so conveniently stocked in the cabinets above the countertop, Sephiroth brought it to Vincent's hidden form.
“Here, it'll calm you down,” he said, pressing the glass into one of the ex Turk's hands. He let out a hard racked exhale at the thought of it being alcohol. He didn't consider himself an alcoholic, but more often than naught he was drowning his sorrows in the beverage. Fingers closing tight about the cup, he sniffed, wiping his tears away with his free hand before bringing the rim to his lips, Sephiroth watching him avidly, eyes lit up. Once Vincent had tossed his head back to down the glass like a shot and thus exposing his beautiful throat, Sephiroth gaze shifted to that revealed skin, the zipper still slightly undone. So mesmerizingly beautiful…..
Taking the glass from Vincent's hand, he set it aside on the ledge, snuggling closer between Vincent's legs. The darklings memory shot back to Adrian, the way he had wiggled in, so close, to take advantage of him. Instinctively he drew back but the gaze, the person, the demeanor, even the intention, perhaps, was all different. Sephiroth stroked Vincent's cheek, a firm, masculine caress, reassuring even in its roughness. The brunette sighed, tingling with the warmth of the wine, calmed quite a bit. He was still sleepy though, and so, blinking wearily, he again—the second time that night—clutched Sephiroth's arm sleeve for support, pulling the fabric half down one broad shoulder as he leaned forward, head bowed, raven hair tickling the sides of his face. Sephiroth smirked, running one hand down his back in consolation.
“Come on.” He tugged Vincent away from the ledge and stumbled back to the bedroom, leading him held up by his upper arm and pushing him to the bed where he flopped down. Curling into a ball, Sephiroth proceeded to remove the ex Turk's tightly laced shoes before wrestling the covers from beneath him.
Once Vincent was tucked in and already only half conscious, the swordsman smirked. His prey was captured, intoxicated and half out of his mind, nestled warmly in his bed. It was like being handed his meal on a silver platter. What more could he have asked for?