Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Someone to Hold On To ❯ Someone To Hold On To ( One-Shot )

Disclaimer: I neither own nor profit from the characters in this fanfiction. Square-Enix owns Final Fantasy VII. I am only borrowing. I'll put them back when I am done, a little worse for wear but nevertheless whole.

 

Believe it or not, I had originally planned this to have no sex whatsoever, but Cloud threw a fit, and Vincent was not too happy with that idea so it turned out differently. Oh, well.

It's not nearly as long as the prequel, but I am still satisfied with it. Also, this one-shot is the second in a four-part arc (Mirrors of Guilt).

Someone to Hold On To
One-Shot Cloud/Vincent
Warning: Language, Lemon, M/M, Yaoi, Anal, all that good stuff
Takes place between FF7 and Advent Children

- - - -

Crimson eyes opened with the coming of the dawn as they had for years before he had been locked into his slumber. His body was trained to do so, to awaken at the rising of the sun no matter how little sleep he had gotten the night before. He could feel the warmth of the body next to him in bed, bare skin curled up at his side as blond spikes tickled against his shoulder. Cloud always slept like that, clutching and close, as if he was afraid Vincent was going to leave him.

And perhaps he was right to fear that. Everyday the ex-Turk questioned why he had remained, why he had not left Cloud those twenty months prior after the celebration party.

Everyday, he tainted the memory of the woman he loved by giving his body to the blond soldier, by allowing his heart to be overtaken by such a simple relationship. He was even tempted to forget his sins, if only a while, tempted to forego his repentance. Yet, remembering how Lucrecia had suffered and his hand in her fate always brought him back to the truth.

That “something to believe in” Cloud had given him had been a start, but he was still a far distance from his reconciliation. He still dreamt of death on black wings, blood-soaked pathways, and of cackling and evil, bespectacled men with cold eyes and dripping syringes of questionable substances. At times, he still found himself, pushing away what Cloud had to offer and going off on his own to brood of worse times and the fate of his beloved. He still had yet to set aside his atonement.

Cloud was much the same in that regard. They were two ruined men, two beaten souls that were struggling to make lives for themselves in a world that snapped them up before chewing and grinding for years. Afterwards, it spat them back out because it had gotten weary with tormenting their pitiful spirits. Still, they persisted in living, together more often than not, in a small home on the very outskirts of Kalm.

Vincent could not lie to himself, however. He knew that deep within him, there was a stirring of emotion for the blond swordsman. That day almost two years earlier had only been the beginning. Cloud was stronger, certainly stronger in spirit than Lucrecia, and would not be that easy to desolate. He refused to allow the ex-Turk to slip into apathy, even the times when he himself could barely function as the weight of his own grief threatened to consume him.

They certainly cared for each other that much was obvious. Otherwise, Vincent would have long been gone. Meaningless sex held no interest for him, not with the type of fate that had been wrought in his life. Still, they had their secrets, dark ones never spoken, and they were like thin tendrils of thought that constantly wiggled their way between them. Silence was often the prevailing noise in the house.

They both had their dark places they were unwilling to share, perhaps afraid to share, for that would mean bringing it into the light and overcoming it. Vincent knew just as well that he was merely clinging to his atonement to give himself a purpose. Similarly, Cloud was staunchly refusing to blame anyone but himself for the deaths of his friends… deaths he could not have prevented. The ex-Turk knew it wasn't his place to say such things, not when he couldn't overcome his own addictions to the darkness inside.

It seemed Cloud suffered from the same addiction. There were times that the blond swordsman was absent from their small home. He would sleep in the church when he needed time to brood, focus on his thoughts with no one around to say anything. As if sleeping on cold hard wood on the floor of Aeris' church would somehow mollify his guilt. Or Vincent would find him standing at the tiny bluff that overlooked Midgar, either staring down at the city or merely gazing at the grave that he had erected in memory of his dear friend. He would stand there for hours, just blankly staring as his mind tormented itself with “should have been” and “could have done”.

Vincent didn't need his lover to tell him why he did such things. He already knew, but the ex-SOLDIER never shared his thoughts. He merely bottled it all up inside, holding in the anguish and the grief, the utter and meaningless guilt. Truthfully, Vincent didn't have any rights to claim about meaningless guilt. He suffered from that same disease.

Yet, they found their escape in each other, learning to live again for someone else as they could not find it within to live for themselves. It was a faulty existence, one that couldn't last forever, but it was what they clung to, like their actions the night before. It was the reason Vincent was still lying in bed, wondering whether or not he should rise but knowing his body would allow no further sleep.

He felt tired, achy, but it was the good kind of weary, the kind that came from allowing passions to run free and dictate ones every thought and desire. The kind that he and Cloud had given themselves to over and over, until they collapsed in the bed, a sweaty and tired mass of jumbled limbs and rumpled covers.

Vincent found comfort in Cloud's touch, and he knew it was the same for his lover. It was easy to forget his pain and suffering when the blond was kissing over his scars or wrapping a warm mouth around his aching shaft. It was easy to remember that he was human when he brought pleasure to the swordsman, clutching at Cloud with a tight hold as the blond thrust into his body, small whimpers escaping from his mouth and that lip pulled between his teeth. Always that lip.

There was something indeed inspiring about being on the receiving end of that pleasure, not that he hadn't also taken his turn at claiming the blond. Whether giving or taking, the very act between them was enough.

Above all else, Vincent needed that. He needed to be reminded that beneath what Hojo had done to him and what he had suffered, he was still human. He still lived, though he no longer aged. That beneath the crimson stains of his blackened heart and the whispers of demons for blood and death, there was something akin to hope and trust… if he could only just reach for it.

With a small sigh, he realized he could no longer lie about in the bed, his instincts calling for him to rise and greet the day. He gently disengaged Cloud's hand from around his waist, and the blond swordsman made a small sound of protest in the back of his throat. The dark-haired man pulled himself out of the bed, grabbing his black pants off the floor. As he dressed in silence, simply pulling on clothes until he felt like bathing a little later on, he wondered if this would be him for the rest of his life.

Would he continue living on funds leftover from the fight with AVALANCHE, having no purpose other than simply existing, sharing moments with Cloud, and the occasional monster slaying just so he was no longer rusty. He couldn't very well rejoin the Turks; that was not an option. And no matter how comfortable he had become in his own skin, there were others that would shy away from his dark demeanor and bronze claw, which he had found no reason to remove. It was a part of him now, part of his new life.

They suffered the same fate, and yet… Cloud had a purpose in this new life: his delivery service. Vincent wasn't sure what the man delivered or how that sort of business was even profitable, but it was something. The blond was creating his own new life. And then, there was him: stagnant, doing nothing but living for Cloud. He wasn't even living for himself. How could he continue such an existence?

With a frown of thought to his face, Vincent pulled his familiar black clothes over the rest of his body and quietly opened the door, slipping out into the hall before shutting the bedroom door with a barely audible click. Cloud, he was sure, would awaken soon when the bed began to get cold. Until then, the gunman was going to retreat to the kitchen as was usual and brew a pot of coffee. Even after thirty years of sleep in a dusty old coffin, he still could not get rid of that simple addiction. It was odd how such things come, while others go.

He made his way down the hallway, quickly entering the small room to the right. It was brightly lit, the sun rising and shining through the one window over the sink, bathing the room in a glow of pink and orange. It was beautiful and yet strangely horrible as well. There was a multitude of colors in the sky, created by reflection of light across all of the pollution, the smoke, the haze. What a paradox.

Vincent got the coffeepot going and stood at the sink as it brewed, the smell of the rich bold flavor quickly filling the kitchen. He stared almost blankly at the rising sun, signaling the start of a new day. He needed to find his own purpose. It wasn't fair to Cloud… and it wasn't fair to himself to continue in this charade.

He cared for the blond; yet, Cloud didn't have all his heart. There were still pieces of it he kept to himself. There were pieces he was afraid to allow the light to touch for fear of what he would truly see. In his mind, Lucrecia was absolute; she was an angel that could do no wrong. He still loved her dearly, even all this time later. It was something to cling to. It seemed that he was not ready to give up the past to make room for the present. And without that, he could never give himself wholly to Cloud.

Nor could the blond return the gesture either, not when he spent countless hours, gazing into nothingness as he contemplated his faults and weaknesses. Definitely not when he shied away from the others of AVALANCHE, Tifa especially, because he blamed himself for something he could not prevent. Or perhaps he truly thought that there was something he could have done, should have done to protect Aeris, to aid Zack in their escape, to save Sephiroth. Yes… the blond even tormented himself for the man they had been forced to kill to save the world.

It was then that arms slipped around him from behind, a warm front pressed to his back as lips pressed a tender kiss to the side of his neck. He could feel the slight pressure of the Fenrir pendant, which was the clasp for the sword sheath, and knew without a doubt that it was Cloud behind him. Not that he had expected anyone else to embrace him. None of their group knew of their relationship, not even Tifa. Cloud stayed with the bartender from time to time so that she was assured of their closeness. Though Vincent shuddered to think of how she might have misconstrued that act.

It must have been difficult for the blond swordsman, dividing his time between Vincent, Tifa, his business, and his brooding. More than likely, he was stretching himself thin, and Vincent wondered how long it was before he would crack. He wondered if Cloud would ever think of himself before worrying only for others. Yet another reason why he felt that he made the right decision. It was time that he chose what was best for them both as Cloud was of no mind to think clearly.

“I don't see how you can rise with the dawn every morning,” murmured the swordsman in his ear as he lightly brushed Vincent's groin with his black leather gloved hand. “I would much prefer to still be in bed at this time, despite the fact that I have a delivery to make.”

Cloud had changed his apparel over the past twenty months, trading in the tattered and battle-weary sweater and navy pants for a more distinguished black, zip-up turtleneck and black slacks. His new attire was suited better for his separation from ShinRa as the blond looked more like his own man than a ShinRa cast-off in his new outfit. The Fenrir symbol was also something new that he had adopted, and it was both the name of his motorcycle and the style of earring and charm that he wore. In a way, it was also Cloud's tribute to Zack, the SOLDIER having always been considered something of a wolf. It seemed everything Cloud did, every decision he made, was some attempt at atonement, even every moment he spent with the ex-Turk.

The swordsman's body pressed against him suggestively as a warm tongue traced a shivering path across the skin of his neck, an attempt at seduction, perhaps trying to convince Vincent to return to bed before Cloud was forced to leave and make his delivery. Whatever it was… the ex-Turk gave in as always, finding his only solace in the man's warm lips and surprisingly smooth skin. He tilted his head to the side in a silent acquiescence as the coffeepot gurgled its last few drops.

“It is a habit I cannot break,” Vincent responded as his eyes shuttered closed on their own accord.

Subconsciously, his pulse began to quicken as another questing hand rubbed across his stomach, reaching for the hem of his shirt and dipping beneath the black fabric. Unlike Cloud, the ex-Turk had not changed his attire, preferring to remain cloaked in black and crimson. He was not ready to invoke change in his life… nor was he willing to completely separate himself from who he was /before/ his awakening in the ShinRa mansion.

Cloud made a noise in the back of his throat, some kind of response to his lover's words that didn't really make sense as he continued his sensual attack on the dark-haired man's senses. A nagging in the back of the Vincent's mind attempted to remind him of the conclusion he had drawn the night before when he had been brooding as he lay within an empty bed. However, he ignored the voice, especially when shivers of arousal danced across his skin, and the gloved hand rubbed continuously over his clothed groin.

Vincent turned his head and grabbed onto Cloud's lips with his own, pressing insistently at the blond's mouth and forcing his tongue inside, nearly memorizing his unique taste. His unclawed hand reached up and tangled in blond spikes, encouraging Cloud to continue the onslaught of affection.

He still had not had the courage to attempt removing the bronze weapon, afraid of what he might find beneath. More scars? A monster's appendage? Or nothing at all, simply an ugly stump?

Whatever was there, some part of him knew that Cloud wouldn't mind in the slightest. In fact, he actually seemed to like Vincent's gauntlet.

The swordsman murmured something unintelligible against his lips then wasted no time in quickly and hungrily latching onto the dark-haired man's mouth, delving deep inside the warm cavern and pressing their bodies together. Vincent was trapped helplessly between Cloud and the sink, not that he minded it too much.

“Have you… time… for this?” Vincent asked the first moment that his lips were free, when Cloud began to make nipping licks along the side of his jaw and on his neck. Gloved hands were quickly making short work of his black pants, unbuttoning them and freeing his unrestrained shaft, which was already hardened.

Cloud nodded imperceptibly. “I'm only making a quick run to Junon. It will take me less than a day if the weather holds,” he murmured against Vincent's skin, one hand tightening around the ex-Turk's erection and stroking him. The other made swift work of Vincent's pants, quickly pushing them down and caressing pale globes of flesh.

The ex-Turk nodded in understanding, his hands gripping onto the sink for balance as he leaned forward, and Cloud ground against him, firm shaft pressing insistently into his backside. The stroking hand left his erection, and Vincent heard the distinct sound of a zipper being lowered. Both men knew that the ex-Turk was still slightly loose from their excursions of the night before… and that in their nearly two years of being together, Vincent had developed a small fetish for the pain that came with being taken quickly. Perhaps it was some sort of unconscious training from his past that his body remembered, or maybe he was just kinky. Either way, Vincent moaned beneath his breath when the pre-cum slicked erection pressed against his entrance, almost teasing him.

He unconsciously shifted backwards against the intrusion, silently asking for Cloud to take him. The other man rubbed a hand down the ex-Turk's back, an almost comforting and romantic gesture, before he gripped Vincent's hip with the other. Without another word, the blond thrust inside the puckered entrance, the way slickened with his own pre-cum. Vincent stifled a gasp as the pain crept up his back, causing his hands to tighten their hold of the sink. The swordsman waited a moment before he pulled out and began to thrust once more, pumping his hips in a slow and steady rhythm that rocked over Vincent's prostate with each move.

He pushed his chest against Vincent's back as one hand slipped back around the ex-Turk, wrapping the now unclad hand around the gunman's weeping shaft. Vincent leaned into each thrust, pressing backwards and encouraging Cloud to go deeper, fill him with every movement. The blond moaned, his head falling forward to rest against Vincent's shoulder as he pumped his hips faster, breath coming in short gasps.

It was there, that feeling that Vincent had been looking for: the sharp stabs of pleasure mixed with pain, the shiver of arousal racing down his spine, and the fire rising in his belly. It was the cloud of emotion and desire that blocked out thought and demand until all he could think of was the thick shaft within him and the hand on his own arousal, stroking him firmly. Cloud's free hand had wrapped about his chest now, pulling his lover into almost an embrace as he continued to drive into him with steadying thrusts.

Vincent could feel it, rising within him in continuous waves as he clutched onto the sink, giving into the romantic embrace and giving up to the pleasure coursing through him. Little cries of pleasure escaped from his mouth with each brush over his prostate, and he moaned helplessly. His mind faded until he knew nothing but his desire for Cloud, his very center only aware of the pulsing blood in his veins.

With a gasp and jerking of his hips, white light surrounded his vision, and he exploded in the blond's hands and all over the kitchen sink. Cloud came in nearly the same moment, clamping down on the back of Vincent's shirt with his teeth as he clutched tightly onto the front of him and spilled himself into the ex-Turk's clenching body. It was a struggle for the gunman to remain upright as he leaned against the sink, his fatigue from the night before now flaring back to life.

Cloud panted quietly as he rested his head on the ex-Turk's back for a moment, and Vincent attempted to bask in the calmness that usually came with such an act. But for once, it did not work. The gunman knew of what he was about to talk to Cloud about, of the decision he had made. The blond lifted his head in the same moment that Vincent turned his to the side, and they shared a brief kiss before the swordsman pulled back and began to collect himself, wiping his hand on a dishtowel and fixing his attire, Vincent doing the same.

The ex-Turk turned and opened his mouth to say what had been on his mind, but he was interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing… and quite loudly at that. The blond sighed and grabbed the annoying device, taking a look at the display before raising an eyebrow in surprise. He had expected it to be Tifa.

Vincent immediately noticed the look. “Who is it?” he asked.

“It's Tseng,” Cloud replied before pressing the TALK button and answering the phone. Vincent mused quietly, while the blond spoke to the Turk commander, wondering for what purpose Tseng would be calling. It wasn't as if ShinRa and the ex-SOLDIER were on good terms at the present moment, though he wasn't at all surprised that Tseng had Cloud's number either. He was a Turk, after all. That sort of information wasn't exactly difficult to come by. Threaten the right person, wave a gun around, and many people were willing to listen, even disobey privacy laws.

As Cloud spoke, Vincent turned and grabbed a dish rag, wiping off the side of the sink as he half-listened to the conversation.

“What does that have to do with me?”

*pause*

“Don't you have lackeys for this sort of thing? I don't work for ShinRa anymore. Remember?”

*pause*

And a rather lengthy one at that. Vincent turned to catch a strange expression crossing Cloud's features, one of anger and irritation. Perhaps there was even a bit of guilt. The dark-haired man was slightly confused by this, wondering what could evoke such a mixing of emotions.

“All right. I'll take care of it,” the swordsman responded with a sigh. There was another pause, briefer this time before Cloud gave a curt reply. “I'm sure you are.” Then, with a click, the phone was disconnected and quickly deposited into the back pocket of his pants.

Vincent raised a brow. “Well?” he questioned.

The blond shrugged, seeming momentarily distracted. “He told me that there have been some strange events up on the Northern continent. He asked me to check it out.”

“Why you?” In his heart, Vincent had a sneaking suspicion that he already knew the answer. ShinRa was most assuredly looking for a scapegoat… but there was also something more.

“They're occurring near the City of the Ancients.”

Aeris' grave… of course. It was the only place that ShinRa could entice the swordsman to go without him immediately dismissing them. They knew that Cloud would rush over the moment he heard of the possibility that somebody defiled the burial site of her. It would have had the same effect if ShinRa had called Vincent with concerns over the Waterfall Cave, and the gunman couldn't fault Cloud for it.

“You are going then.” It was a statement, not a question. Vincent had no doubts as to what Cloud's decision would be.

The blond nodded. “As soon as I make this delivery, I'll catch a boat to the Northern continent.”

Vincent inclined his head in understanding, already falling into a musing state when an idea occurred to him. He crossed his arms over his chest as he thought. Cloud was already beginning to move, planning for his trip to the north and throwing things into his bag that fit easily on the back of Fenrir.

It was perfect. They had existed idly for far too long, losing themselves in their own guilt and worries, living for each other… but not living for themselves. They couldn't even hope to have a real relationship, not with things in their current state. It wasn't fair to either of them, and even if Cloud couldn't see it, to Vincent the truth was clear as day. He couldn't lie to himself any longer nor could he allow Cloud to do so either.

“I will go,” spoke up the gunman, causing Cloud to freeze in place and turn to look at him from his position near the doorway of the kitchen. Mako blue eyes were confused, brow furrowing as he considered the ex-Turk's words.

“What?” the ex-SOLDIER questioned, stepping back into the room, boots clomping noisily on the tiled kitchen floor.

Vincent looked up from the floor and met those eyes easily. “I said that I will go to the Northern continent. After all, you cannot just abandon your business.”

“But--“

The gunman interrupted him with a wave of his hand. “Do you not trust me to protect her final resting place? Do you think that I would allow someone to defile the grave of a dear friend?”

Cloud winced. “That's not what I meant.”

“I know,” the ex-Turk replied with a slight sigh. He unfolded his arms and moved away from the sink, coming to stand before his lover. “I am probably more suited for information gathering than you, and well, we need the separation.”

Mako eyes widened. “What are you saying?” The hurt was there, but also something else, another emotion that Vincent couldn't quite identify.

“You know as well as I do that while satisfying, this…” He gestured to both of them. “This is not healthy for either of us. You can't live your life for someone else, Cloud; it doesn't work that way. You cannot define your existence by what you have with me… or the guilt that you feel for past mistakes.”

Cloud narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “You're one to talk, Vincent,” he muttered bitterly. “Don't pretend as if you don't still wallow in your so called sins from time to time.”

“I never claimed that I didn't,” the gunman responded quietly. He had expected anger and refusal; he had expected for Cloud to cling to the familiar, especially when he was still teetering on the edge of his own existence, unsure of what to believe within his fractured psyche.

The blond searched his face for some sort of clue, some way of convincing Vincent to believe otherwise. He settled for a memory, a reminder of the time when they had first got together.

“You're running away then,” he commented as if he understood completely, “disappearing into the shadows because you think you belong there.”

Crimson eyes softened. “I never said I would stay.” He neither confirmed nor denied his plans. What he was setting out to do was far too complicated to explain in a few meager words.

“But you never said you were leaving either!” There was desperation in his voice now, a pleading that Vincent stay. However, it was a plea that the gunman had to turn deaf ears on. For the sanity of both of them, he had to go through with it.

Vincent shook his head. “I cannot stay and remain in pieces. Neither can you continue to hold on to me.”

It seemed that was the last straw for Cloud. He gritted his teeth, clenched a fist, then whirled around, pivoting on his boots and snatching up his travel pack as he did so.

“Fine,” he practically snarled. “If that's the way you would have it. Go to the Northern continent. Wallow in your guilt, but don't expect me to be here if you return.” Each word was punctuated by an angry grab of some random item, and each was shoved into the leather bag. A sword was slid into its respective sheath.

Vincent expected anger, he expected hurt, but he had not been prepared for the relief that accompanied each bit out word. Perhaps Cloud had been thinking the same but was afraid to speak it?

Nevertheless, Vincent remained silent as Cloud shoved the last of his needs for the short journey into the pack and stormed towards the door. Crimson eyes followed the blond's movement. It would have been so much easier for them to live in happiness… had their pasts not tried to intervene with the future. It would have been easier to continue ignoring their somewhat fake existence, to deny their problems. And it would have been much less painful for his heart if he didn't have to watch Cloud angrily prepare to leave their home.

Cloud jerked the door open, bag in his free hand clenched tightly, but he paused just inside the frame. He didn't turn to look at Vincent, speaking nonetheless. “Just promise me it's not the end,” he said quietly.

Whether he meant he was worried for their relationship, Vincent's life, or his own fears in general… the ex-Turk wasn't sure. There were so many conflicting emotions that swirled within him, feelings he was certain echoed deep inside Cloud as well. And there was only one way he could respond to such a cryptic question.

“I cannot because I do not know what fate has in store for either of us,” Vincent answered, his tone just as soft.

Cloud stood for another moment in the doorway, seeming to contemplate something before his hand relaxed on the knob, and he disappeared out the door. Just like that, the house was silent.

It hurt, a raw and scratching pain inside, but Vincent forced himself to push it aside, to keep from running after Cloud, telling him he didn't mean it… what was a lie so long as it meant fake happiness? Still, he knew without a doubt that he felt something for Cloud. Perhaps it was love. Maybe it was dependence. Perhaps it was just affection for someone with a soul as tattered as his own, but he wouldn't be able to distinguish the truth until his own grievances were settled.

With a barely audible sigh, Vincent moved from the kitchen and began considering the things he would need to pack for a journey to the north. He ignored the crying deep inside, keeping close the memories of that “something to believe in” that Cloud had so eloquently preached, and prepared to find himself.

Sometimes it took tearing his heart open just to feel.

* * *

In case you haven't noticed, I've been borrowing lyrics from Papa Roach's song `Scars' to end these one-shots. I find that song fitting for this couple.

With that said, please review. I write quicker when I know that people are looking forward to the sequel.