Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Something to Believe In ❯ Something to Believe In ( One-Shot )

Cloud/Vincent

 

Unbeta'd but readable. Will update with beta'd copy when I get it.

 

Disclaimer: I don't own FF7 or its characters, merely borrow them for my own amusement.

 

Something to Believe In

 

It was over.

 

The world was saved.

 

The son of the woman he had loved had been killed by the hands of those surrounding him… including his own already blood-stained ones. It could not be helped… that was the way fate had played its course.

 

Vincent frowned, looking down at his hands as he leaned against the wall. One clothed in black leather, the other a glimmering golden claw almost monstrous in its appearance. That was what he had been made, something no longer human, without true form or appearance. The monster that Hojo had turned him into, the perfect creaturous soldier.

 

All around him were the sounds of laughter and celebration… the loudly thrumming music and the smell of baked goods on the air. Alcohol was quite rampant as well but he scarce paid any attention to it. He was numb more or less, numb to the events.

 

They were celebrating, all of the members of AVALANCHE, rejoicing for a world saved from a menace… for a planet rescued from the very brink of extinction. And they had killed to do it.

 

But still they rejoiced.

 

He found it somewhat ironic.

 

Vincent was not sure why he had attended the party at Cloud's villa, an extravagant purchase in the middle of a crisis, or so he had thought at the time.

 

It might have had something to do with paying homage to a memory of a woman who had tried to save the world on her own, and died in the process. A sacrifice, much like the woman he had once loved. Aeris… she had reminded him so much of Lucrecia at times, her smile, her laugh, the way she seemed to charm everyone around her. Yes, that was Lucrecia.

 

After all, he had been charmed hadn't he?

 

And look where it got him.

 

Thirty years… for thirty long years he had suffered in silence and solitude, trying to repent for the sins of his life. And he emerged only to add another to his sorrow, to add another to his already blackened heart. He killed him, or actually, aided those who dealt the blow. He had killed the son of the woman he had loved.

 

Or could it be considered a rescue? Had he saved Sephiroth from himself? Had he granted the man an eternal rest that he himself knew would never experience?

 

Too many questions… always too many questions with no answers.

 

And now, with who knew what poisons flowed through his veins, there was the possibility that he would live forever. Enduring in stillness his sins. He supposed it was punishment for his failure… as a man he should have saved the woman he loved.

 

Why?

 

Why had he chosen to fight in the first place? He could have turned away; Cloud had given them the opportunity. He had been given the chance to not aid in the death of Sephiroth but instead he returned.

Why?

 

Again, the answers eluded him. He no more understood himself than those that surrounded him; reveling in their victory… did not they see the blood on their hands? None of them knew of Sephiroth's suffering… none of them even stopped to think that perhaps the former general was not to blame, that perhaps the fault lay in something else entirely.

 

He should have gone down with Sephiroth, perhaps his death another form of atonement, one he had never considered before.

 

But no, that was not his way. He was not the type to consider such a thing. Suicide was not an option.

 

He was not so far along in his self-hatred that he considered himself unworthy of life. Love, maybe… but life, he could exist with himself.

 

Hojo's death brought him some sort of relief from the anger that was boiling in his heart; that was churning beneath the surface and fueling much of his fury. It was he, that bastard that had changed his form that had killed him only to bring him back in something that was not human. He had only the mad scientist to blame for his clawed hand and resident demons.

 

But then, the fault could very well be his own. If he hadn't had his pride, he might have brought his gun… he might have shot Hojo when he had the chance. But the man was a scientist, one who knew nothing of what it meant to be a Turk. How could he have known that Hojo would be hiding a derringer beneath his lab coat? It was something that Vincent had not been prepared for.

 

Now he had to face the facts.

 

His soul had been stained a darker shade, there seemed almost nothing he could do that would be retribution for his betrayal of his love.

 

With no world to save, what was there left for Vincent Valentine but loneliness and grief? Did he have it in him to move on? Could he forgive himself enough to belie his atonement?

 

The sounds of the celebration seemed to escalate around him, drawing his attention for but a moment. Tifa was dancing in the middle of the floor, twirling about with Barret who was clumsily trying to sway to the music. That annoying brat of a ninja was stuffing her face at the snacks table and Cid was sitting at the bar, downing scotch as he loudly argued with the bartender.

 

He formed a half-smile at that one. The pilot always did have a way with himself.

 

Nanaki was watching everyone with a quiet amusement, as if analyzing the actions of the humans around him. His tail twitched around him, miraculously setting nothing ablaze. What a fascinating being…

 

And Cloud… what was their illustrious leader doing? The only man who could have possibly felt anything similar to Vincent on what had just transpired… he was sitting at a table, drinking something that was probably alcoholic and watching Tifa dance around the floor, making a complete fool of herself. Vincent of course recognized the look. It was one he had often given Lucrecia.

 

In that moment, he realized that he was in a place he did not belong. He no more believed in celebrating their victory, than he did that Yuffie was ever going to stop thieving their materia.

 

With the world saved, there was naught left for him to do but return to his solitude and silence, trying to atone for his mistakes. Hojo had been killed, more blood, though necessary and there was not anything that he had to do within the world of the members of AVALANCHE.

 

He was not sure what he was going to do or where he was going. But he did know he no longer belonged in the ball room, celebrating a victory that he would have rather forgotten. With a final glance to make sure that no one was watching him, Vincent stole out the back door with all the noise of a shadow.

 

He did not think anyone would notice his absence.

 

* * *

 

Cloud looked up from where he was sitting at the table idly watching as everyone around him seemed to be enjoying themselves fully. Well, everyone except Vincent. The man had been a constant dark presence in the shadows since the party began. This suited him fine as he wasn't exactly feeling up to celebrating either.

 

Sephiroth was defeated, so why did he feel like shit?

 

Maybe because at one point, he had cared for the former general. The entire time they had fought against him, Cloud had felt like they weren't really fighting Sephiroth, but more a ghost of him. Either way, it was painful to strike the killing blow on a man that had once owned his heart.

 

None around him could understand how he felt.

 

Tifa had her anger towards Sephiroth, deeply ingrained because of her father's death. There was no convincing her. Nor was he about to try. He had given up on trying to win her affections long ago, and now that he no longer wanted it, she was trying her very best to give it to him. What a paradox.

 

It might have also had something to do with the fact that now that he had his memories in something similar to proper order, he could finally miss his best friend…. both of them. He had been too weak to save them, either Aeris or Zack. He should have been stronger, should have done something to prevent their deaths.

 

Cloud sighed as he scanned the room once more, idly taking a sip of his vodka. He wondered what he would do now that the world was saved. He wasn't really cut out for mercenary work. His only reason before had been his freedom from the chains of Sephiroth and Jenova, so once they were defeated, his purpose had been gone as well.

 

Mako blue eyes took in Barret and Tifa dancing, Yuffie scarfing down all the food, Nanaki calmly observing, Cid at the bar… and empty darkened corner….

 

Wait.

 

He returned his gaze to where Vincent had been standing, just catching a glimpse of the tail end of a crimson cloak disappearing out a side door. So, the ex-Turk had decided to bail on them.

 

Cloud frowned, wondering where Vincent thought he was going to go. Was he going to disappear and never speak to them again?

 

Without another thought, the swordsman placed his glass down on the table and got up from the chair, intent on chasing after the dark-haired man and seeing where he was going. He moved across the dance floor, almost immediately getting waylaid by a drunk and somewhat clinging Tifa.

 

“Where ya going, Cloud?” she questioned, slurring her speech only a little.

 

He gently pried her off of his arm as he moved towards the door. “Just for some fresh air, I'll be back,” he promised, urging her towards Barret.

 

She grinned at him. “You owe me a dance!”

 

He nodded in response before turning away and making for the door. It wouldn't hurt to dance with her when he came back. She would probably be too drunk to remember.

 

With that taken care of, Cloud exited through the door he had caught Vincent leaving from, immediately looking around for the ex-Turk. The hallway was unsurprisingly empty. However, he had very few choices. Either Vincent had gone to the balcony, or returned to his room because he wouldn't leave without his guns or belongings.

 

Peering down the hall towards the balcony, it didn't appear that anyone was out there. Not wanting to waste the time in checking, Cloud decided to go to the dark-haired man's room first. After all, if Vincent was on the balcony then he was intent on staying, if he was in his room, he might be planning on leaving. At the very least, Cloud wanted to say goodbye.

 

He understood entirely, not that he wanted to see him go. He had grown quite attached to the quiet and contemplative ex-Turk over the past few weeks. Of course, Vincent being attractive and intelligent might have had something to do with it. He wasn't about to deny that he wondered at times, what it would be like to be with the dark-haired man.

 

Cloud was; however, realistic. He knew that Vincent had been in love with Lucrecia at one time or another. Therefore, he was either bi or straight, but Cloud was more inclined to believe the latter. The gunman did not strike him as the type to take his pleasure wherever it lay.

 

He pondered that thought as he strode down the halls, finally finding himself outside the ex-Turk's room. The door was open only a couple inches

and he could see a flutter of crimson going back and forth across the sliver that was visible. Cloud frowned, wondering if Vincent really was intending on leaving before he reached up to knock on the door.

 

But before he had the chance, the door swung inwards, bathing both he and the dark-haired man in light. They stood, staring at each other for a moment as Vincent regarded him calmly and Cloud slowly lowered his knocking hand.

 

“Strife,” commented the older man with a nod of his head as he shouldered his pack with a slight shift of his arm.

 

“Leaving already?” questioned the blond as Vincent stepped out of his room, pulling the door shut behind him.

 

The ex-Turk paused in his movements, considering his responses before nodding only slightly. “Yes.” He left it at that, not feeling a need to explain himself to anyone. Not that he would be understood… or anyone would bother to miss him.

 

Having answered the swordsman's question, Vincent turned away from him and headed towards the exit at the end of the hall, only getting a step before Cloud spoke again, causing him to stop in his tracks. He hadn't expected the blond to try and stop him as much as he did not think anyone had noticed his disappearance.

 

“Without saying goodbye?” He paused as he considered his next question. “Where?”

 

Where indeed? “I have finished what I have come to do,” answered the ex-Turk by way of explanation, though that was not exactly what Cloud had asked. He knew that the swordsman did not expect a clear answer from him. They never did.

 

“Yes, we did, didn't we?” murmured the blond in response, something in his tone causing the ex-Turk to turn around and glance into his eyes, finding an emotion he had not expected. Was that… regret? Sorrow? He could not be sure.

 

“It was an unfortunate necessity,” commented Vincent, choosing his words carefully as he gauged the blond's reaction.

 

Mako eyes narrowed in accusation. “Bullshit. You don't believe that any more than I do. That's why you are leaving.”

 

Vincent clenched his jaw before turning on his heels. “Believe what you will,” he cast out, not bothering to face him as he said so.

 

“Was there… no other way?” pondered the swordsman aloud, not quite sure if he was speaking rhetorically or actually expecting an answer.

 

His gaze was trained on the floor as he asked, idly running a nervous hand through his spiky locks. For some reason, the ex-Turk's answer… Vincent's approval was something he craved. The sound of boots hitting the floor stopped as the gunman paused, the question something he had not anticipated. It seemed the swordsman was full of surprises that evening.

 

“If there was… I would have found it,” responded the dark-haired man plainly, as if he was certain there was no other truth.

 

Cloud sighed, leaning against the wall. “Is there… no other chance that you might stay?”

 

There was something in his tone, some emotion or inflection that knocked at the door to his hidden emotions. It seemed familiar but distant, achingly needed yet absolutely forgotten in the face of circumstance. Whatever it was, it made the gunman look over his shoulder, more staring at the floor than at Cloud.

 

“There is nothing for me.”

 

There was a rustle of fabric as the swordsman moved away from the wall; two clomps of his boots on the floor. He now stood behind Vincent, the gunman sensing it more than actually seeing it.

 

“Are you so certain?” asked Cloud softly, his voice carrying no further than what the two of them could hear. “There might be something you have… overlooked.”

 

If it had been someone else, or another time and place, that might have sounded like a promise, or an offer. But to Vincent, it only sounded like a pathetic half-hearted attempt at a reason. There was no finality, no assurance of worth. It was nothing that would convince him what he needed could be found at the villa.

 

“Nevertheless, I cannot remain here,” denied Vincent.

 

The dark-haired man took a step forward, intending to forget about the spiky-haired man and his sad attempts. He felt no more need to be around the member of AVALANCHE. But before he could get anywhere, a hand reached out and grabbed his arm… grabbed his claw. He froze as Cloud spoke.

 

“Why?”

 

“Thirty years have gone by, Strife,” spoke Vincent softly though he didn't try to remove the hand that had grabbed his arm. “I do not belong in this world.”

 

Cloud's face softened. “What about us? We are your friends.”

 

A shadow passed over the ex-Turk's features. “I have yet to finish my atonement. I cannot stay where I am reminded of my own sins.”

 

The spiky-haired blond was not quite sure to what Vincent was referring. He did; however, know that he did not want him to leave. He knew if he let the ex-Turk go, he would disappear into the night, possibly never to be seen again. For some reason that produced an ache in his heart that he hadn't felt in a long time.

 

“We all have our sins,” responded Cloud in kind, thinking of his own. “But running away doesn't make bearing them any easier.”

 

But the dark-haired man didn't appear to be listening to anything he had to say with an open mind. Black gloved fingers wrapped around his hand, gently dislodging his hold. The ex-Turk wanted to escape.

 

“I'm not running,” insisted Vincent. “I simply know that I will not find my penitence here.”

 

Cloud reluctantly released his hold on the ex-Turk, not planning on restraining him against his will. But Vincent didn't leave… not just yet. He paused for a moment as if he were going to say something. The swordsman took that opportunity to say his peace.

 

“Maybe that is because you have nothing to atone for,” suggested Cloud. “Maybe what you need isn't repentance… but something to believe in.”

 

A sardonic half-smile crossed the gunman's features as he considered Cloud's words. “Something… to believe in, you say?” he asked, repeating the blond's words. Crimson eyes searched mako blue before he shook his head. “I think I've forgotten how. Nor do I know where to look.”

 

With that said, Vincent turned away completely, heading for the door. He felt there was nothing more to be said, that Cloud now understood that there was nothing that could be done that would convince him otherwise. Nothing anyways, that the blond could provide for him in the darkened halls of the villa.

 

It seemed the spiky-headed swordsman had other thoughts on his mind.

 

Before the gunman could react, he found he was being pushed gently up against the wall, soft lips pressed to his own as Cloud clutched his arms with an almost desperation, as if begging him to say. He could not help himself as his lips parted, allowing the younger man to slip his tongue inside for a tender, languid kiss.

 

He could not even resist.

 

Cloud pulled back from the kiss, with a final gentle lick before eyeing Vincent with a soft mako gaze. “Let me be the first to offer a reason,” he murmured softly.

 

Something indistinguishable passed over Vincent's features as he registered the younger man's words. It was as if the blond had heard his reasonings of earlier and contradicted them. A small light of unrecognizable feeling began to glimmer inside him… it was something that he had not felt in a long time and the very return of it frightened him beyond measure.

 

It was hope.

 

“I have nothing to offer… to anyone,” muttered Vincent, turning his head away as if shamed.

 

A hand grasped his chin gently, forcing him to look back into wide mako blue eyes, shimmering with some unseen emotion. Vincent wasn't quite sure how to interpret it, but he almost sensed a kinship, a keen understanding. As if Cloud knew exactly what he meant by every word he said, and that he felt the same way as well.

 

It was almost as terrifying as the unexplained hope.

 

“I'm not asking for anything,” said Cloud softly. “Just a chance…” With that, he kissed the ex-Turk again, more forcefully as he pressed their bodies together in the darkened hallway.

 

Vincent looked into his eyes, those beautiful glowing mako blue orbs and knew that he could not resist… he had no more arguments to give. With a small smile of surrender, he melted into the touch, returning the kiss with a small measure of hesitancy.

 

He could no more fight the feeling than he could run away from what he had to do.

 

* * *

 

Cloud undressed him slowly, revealing each layer as if preserving the moment. He pressed gentle kisses to scars as they were uncovered while his fingers caressed, sending tingles along Vincent's skin wherever he touched.

 

The older man fought to keep his self-consciousness at bay, knowing his body was literally a road map of scars and markings, evidence of an evil man's madness. His golden claw gleamed in the light, reminding him of the monstrous shape of his form. Unnatural pale skin and equally morbid crimson eyes, he looked anything but human.

 

Yet Cloud said nothing, only looking at him with the eyes of a man who had desires, with heat in his gaze and some unnameable emotion in his face. Finally, bared in the dim glow of the single lamp, Vincent could not suppress the slight shiver that ran through his body.

 

Without his layers of clothing, he felt as if his emotions had been laid bare, that his every thought had been thrust into the unyielding light. It was both unsettling and terrifying, this from a man who feared nothing in the face of battle.

 

Until Cloud began to undress, revealing bit by bit, flesh that was as marred as his own, some of the scars seeming uncomfortably familiar. He could not help but wonder if told the same story. To Vincent, it was almost like looking in a mirror, albeit one tainted by a madman's curse.

 

He lifted an unmetaled hand, surprised to find it trembled if only slightly, and traced the contours of a particularly nasty scar on Cloud's abdomen, crimson eyes rising to meet mako blue. The blond did not flinch at his touch or his gaze. It was a question unspoken that hid behind Vincent's lips, one that he did not ask for the answer was unnecessary.

 

To be so young, even more so than he, and suffered as much, yet Cloud was still pushing on, trying to find a small measure of happiness. In that moment, Vincent came to a startling realization. He knew that the swordsman was very wrong about himself. He was not weak… far from it. With such determination, he was the strongest man that Vincent knew.

 

The gunman's fingers grazed over the upraised flesh of the scar, tracing the path that it took from the right hipbone, across the planes of his well-muscled abdomen, only to end just below his ribcage. He felt something within him crack, a part that he had frozen in an attempt to bury the pain.

 

It was too much.

 

His fingers curled into a fist, trembling unexplained before he could hold back no longer. He reached out and drew the younger man into an embrace, quickly bending his head down slightly to press his lips to that of Cloud's even as arms wrapped around him in the same moment. Their bodies pressed together, skin to skin in a most amazing sensation of sparks.

 

He gently curled his metal fingers in blond spikes, mentally forcing himself not to hide the appendage behind his back in shame even as he made sure to be careful. Cloud moaned against his mouth as his hands roamed over the gunman's back, quick fingers immediately finding the worst of his mars, the true proof of the creatures beneath his skin.

 

Two scars vertically aligned beginning at the top of his shoulder blades and stretching to his mid back. Both were about an inch and a half wide and they were where his wings emerged, the wings that came from the manifestation of the fiercest of his demons, the most bloodthirsty, Chaos. Vincent stiffened for a moment calloused fingers traced the lines, those markings the most of his dismay.

 

No one had seen them yet.

 

“It's okay,” assured the blond, pulling away from the kiss only to place gentle licks against Vincent's neck, soft lips pressed to pale skin. He didn't need to say anything more, the gunman understood. He relaxed underneath Cloud's ministrations, pressing his body closer to the swordsman's and into the warm embrace.

 

The tips of his claws gently massaged at the younger man's scalp as his flesh hand lay dormant on Cloud's shoulder. Vincent was losing himself in the pleasure given by the lips and tongue on his skin, igniting trails of hot fire and passion, sending messages straight to his groin which immediately rose to attention, matching the arousal that he could feel pressing into his thigh.

 

The swordsman began to urge them backwards, toward the bed against the far wall. They walked slowly, Cloud continuing to lave his skin with tender touches, until Vincent felt the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed. The blond pushed him gently downwards until they were lying on the bed, Cloud between his legs and pressed down over his body, warm skin like a blanket to him.

 

And then it was lips and teeth and hands and tongue, all over, more than he could register. Warmth… so much warmth and tingles, fire racing through his veins and soft sheets beneath his flushed body. A mouth on his neck, licking… warm heat on his nipples, sucking, biting and he lost himself in the blaze. A brush of an equally hard arousal against his own, electricity raced across his skin and caused him to gasp.

 

His sensations whirled around him, blending and thriving, becoming a series of sounds and tastes and touches that knocked at the door to his emotions and demanded entrance. His body trembled, his groin ached and his skin flushed with fever, not an illness but a desire. It felt so terribly right… and he needed it more than anything he had ever thought before.

 

Cloud moaned above him, whimpering softly with each returned caress. Even a scrape of a metal claw down his back caused him to arch as they writhed, limbs rubbing, and skin melting in blissful erotic heat. A hand tangled in his hair, pulling his head back so that his neck was exposed before lips and teeth attacked him again, causing him to shiver as his own hand wandered, touching anything it could reach.

 

It was so much… much more than he had expected, much more than he had wanted or even thought he would ever feel again… Oh Kami, the very reality of it hit him all at once. He wasn't cold… he was not numb or apathetic… this flame racing through his body, this scrape of calloused thumbs and hard, muscled limbs against his own body… he felt every last touch, heard every gasp and moan.

 

A hand slipped between their bodies, briefly stroking hardened flesh before traveling lower, pressing to the ring of flesh and tracing the contours. It was seeking permission in not so many words.

 

“Vincent,” came the murmured voice against his neck. “I want…” he trailed off.

 

It was a question.

 

Vincent moaned despite himself, wanting something more than just the fluttery touches. He wanted to be alive again… he wanted to feel something other than numb and dead. The gunman unconsciously spread his legs wider, pushing downward on the questioning finger.

 

“Cloud…” he responded softly. “Make me feel…”

 

It was consent.

 

He looked up and found Mako blue staring back at him. Cloud leaned in for a kiss, nibbling gently on his bottom lip as if asking entrance before plunging inside his open mouth and swiping his tongue inside. Vincent gave himself up to the kiss and in the same moment, gave in to whatever the blond swordsman had to offer.

Even if it was only for a night.

 

The blond pulled away from the kiss, only to trail his lips over Vincent's jawline and down the tenderest areas of his neck. Almost immediately two fingers came to replace the tongue, pressing against the gunman's lips. He drew them into his mouth, rolling the digits around his tongue and coating them as well he could with his saliva. It was the best they had the given the moment… he feared if he waited for Cloud to get something better, he would lose his nerve and slip out in silence after all.

 

Cloud moaned at the feeling of Vincent's tongue around his fingers, mind already wondering how it feel to be wrapped on another part of his anatomy, one that was weeping and begging for attention. He decided his fingers were sufficiently lubricated and withdrew them from the moist heat of the older man's mouth and maneuvering them to the ring of muscle between Vincent's legs.

 

The dark-haired man took that opportunity to turn his head, sucking and biting on the younger man's neck with his lips, unnaturally long canines grazing the tender skin and leaving small red marks in their wake. Cloud didn't mind that so much, too absorbed by trying to stretch Vincent and not hurt him in the process.

 

He pressed in one finger, gasping aloud when he was gripped by tight heat. He waited for a moment, for the gunman to adjust, before he began to stretch him carefully. He didn't want Vincent to remember anything like pain, just pure pleasure, and want… and feeling.

 

Vincent moaned at the hesitant and gentle touch. He unconsciously began to move against the man above him, sliding their slick skin together and soaking up every shuddered breath and trembling muscle. He memorized every sound, every gasp and craved each burst of fire over his own over sensitized flesh.

 

He was beginning to forget… why he even wanted to leave in the first place. He wondered why he never knew Cloud could make him feel that way. He was beginning to question why he had never tried…

 

Fingers… stretching him, filling him, making him overlook the past; forget why he had locked himself to begin with. And the younger man was being so gentle with him… almost as if he were afraid that he would break.

 

As if he could. He was Vincent Valentine; he was built to be strong, taught to endure it all. Even the heartbreak of being turned down by the women he loved. Even suffering through death and torture and rebuilding. Even thirty years locked in a coffin… he couldn't break. He was not even sure he knew how.

 

A twist of fingers and Cloud brushed over something electric within him. His back arched, his breath caught, he clung with fierce abandon to the man above him as he rode the feelings, wanting more… so much more. He ran a hand down a muscular chest, feeling soft skin and scars, reminding him that he was not alone. That Cloud did not know how to break either…

 

Vincent felt the blunt head of the blond's erection press at his entrance and he steeled himself for the slight pain that he knew would occur, no matter how well the younger man had prepared him. It had been so long since he had done such a thing… not since…

 

The memories hit him with the force of one of his guns, pounding into his brain loudly and obnoxiously with taunting words and cold fingers.

 

“Damn, dirty Turk,” hissed the voice, calculating and cruel, unrelentless in his anger or his torture. “You deserve it. You deserve every last bit of punishment I will lay on you. You failed her.”

 

Ah gods, the pain! Like a burning hot fire racing through his back and making his limbs literally turn to jelly. He could not stand, he could not even cry out as his breath was stolen from him. But he knew he had to endure, he knew he had to suffer, because Lucrecia had gone through more. It was because of him, and for that reason he would submit… for that purpose he would bear every last pain and solitude.

 

Vincent's fist clenched against the covers, unconsciously shredding the fabrics as the memories tore into his senses, overlapping with reality and merging it all into one. He could feel it, he could feel it as if it were happening all over again and he fought back. He knew this time that those methods were not a proper atonement and he fought against the madman.

 

His flesh hand flailed, whether in reality or in his mind he did not know as he cried out unintelligible phrases, garbling in the face of the merging of two different times. He cursed, he hissed, he thrashed about in a desire to see Hojo pay, retribution for the pain that he had not deserved. He dimly heard someone calling his name but he ignored it, not wanting to hear anymore lies. He had his own suffering; he did not need anyone else's…

 

Smack!

 

His head reeled for a moment as clarity returned in an instant. He found himself lying in his bed, breathing heavily as Cloud hovered above him, worry and fear etched into his face.

 

“Goddammit, snap out of it,” ordered the younger man in a voice that might have been considered angry, if Vincent had not caught the trace amounts of concern laced in every word.

 

Though the slap had brought him out of his flashback, he found the necessity for it angering. He fought to push off the blond, eyes narrowing. Cloud had no idea what he went through…

 

“Shut up, Strife!” he growled, shoving at the swordsman. His hands slammed into the blond's chest, not even noticing as his claw scraped a small cut into toned skin. “You wouldn't understand!”

 

Cloud grabbed his arms and pinned them down to the bed, using his body to try and restrain the somewhat taller ex-Turk who's struggles were getting fewer and fewer by the minute, anger being replaced by something a bit more resigned, less volatile and subsequently, more terrifying.

 

“I wouldn't?” demanded the swordsman, forcing Vincent to look at him. He released the ex-Turk's arms and gestured towards his own body. “We have the same fucking scars, Vincent. The only difference between you and me is that I've accepted what's happened to me and you're still stuck in the past, dwelling there in apathetic guilt.”

 

The dark-haired man visibly winced at his words and slowly paled with every truth that was thrown into his face. “It is what I deserve,” he attempted to explain. “For my failure…”

 

“At what? Convincing a woman who was already set in her mind to not do what she intended? There was nothing you could do.”

 

Vincent frowned. “You cannot presume to tell me what I was capable of when you still harbor guilt for deaths you could not have prevented either.”

 

It was Cloud's turn to narrow his eyes. “Maybe so… but I do not let my fault consume me as you have. Tell me Vincent, what have you outside your atonement?”

 

The gunman opened his mouth to retort then promptly shut it again, knowing there was no truth he could answer that with. In all honesty, he had nothing. His life was gone, thirty years past, everyone he knew faded with the years having forgotten Vincent Valentine. Lucrecia was by all accounts dead and he had pushed away all those that might have even tried to remain his friends. He closed his eyes in resignation and turned his head away from the blond.

 

“There is nothing.”

 

A hand grasped his chin, causing him to open his eyes to see Cloud looking down at him, no longer angry or upset, but more contemplative. How had he never noticed his reflection before?

 

“You haven't tried looking,” murmured the blond before leaning down to kiss him, pressing their lips together in a gesture that would have almost been innocent had they not both been undressed and lying in a bed. “Thanks for the chance,” he added quietly, pulling back from the almost chaste kiss. “I should go.”

 

He made moves to get up from the bed but he had not counted on Vincent trying to stop him. Arms wrapped around him, pulling his body down until he was lying in the gunman's embrace, enveloped fully in his warmth and his scent, something spicy and exotic, manly and comforting.

 

“Forgive me,” murmured the ex-Turk. “I fear that in thirty years I have forgotten how to be human.”

 

A hand tangled in dark hair as he pressed their bodies together, accepting the apology for what it was… a slow acceptance of the truth. Or as close as two men such as they could come to it.

 

“That is not something you can forget,” retorted Cloud quietly.

 

“Then perhaps I just need to be reminded.”

 

The blond pulled back enough to look into crimson eyes, making sure he saw only truth. “Are you sure?”

 

He thought about it, mulling the choices over in his mind. He could say no… walk away now before either of them got in too deep. He could run from a chance at finding something more than atonement, he could hide from the possibility that he was in fact alive. Or he could take the chance that he was not alone… he could dare to believe in something beyond himself for once… even if it was just the one time. Did he want to return to his numb state of existence, for all intents and purposes, merely going through the motions of reality or did he want to feel one more time…

 

After having that one taste, the answer was painfully obvious.

 

“Show me…” he murmured, no need to explain what he meant by those words. He took comfort in the fact that the blond understood.

After slicking up his arousal with the copious amounts of precum it had produced, the swordsman shared a kiss with the gunman. Vincent trailed his flesh fingers down the blond's chest, tracing the scars as if in silent acceptance as the blond aimed for his hidden entrance.

 

Cloud began to press into him slowly, Vincent biting his lip against the pain. It burned so very much but it also felt good, the pleasure mixing with the pain until the two were nearly indistinguishable. Flames raced through his body, reigniting every nerve and setting his senses to sing. He felt so deliciously full, Cloud melded to him at every instance that there was no way he could feel any other way.

 

The blond's arousal throbbed inside him, almost to the beat of his heart, and Cloud bent his head, to push their lips together as his hips began to move, slowly, luxuriously. It was a steady pace of back and forth, two bodies moving in tandem with gasped breaths and sweaty, slick skin. The smell of sex thickened in the air and cloaked them like a layer of anonymity.

 

He lost himself to the slide of their bodies, the slap of flesh of flesh and the rising feelings with each brush over that electrical core of him deep inside. Each warm gasped breath in his ear as Cloud pressed his body down on top of the gunman's almost as if trying to meld their bodies into one, only served to make him feel alive. How could he not with that strong heart beating around him, those impassioned moans and whimpers filling the air?

 

The fire began to build deep within his belly, all pleasure coursing through him until it collected there, becoming a pressure he could not escape from, becoming a bliss that was inevitable. His movements became more hurried, more frenzied as he pushed up into the man that had sped up his own thrusts, plunging into him with abandon.

 

They climbed to higher and higher planes of ecstasy until there was nowhere left to go. Vincent's back arched, his grip tightened, claw cutting into flesh that just as quickly sought to heal. He screamed as his world turned white, unintelligible nothings that probably echoed throughout the entire building but he cared not. His world exploded around him as he came. His body shook and shuddered, encasing him in hot rapture as Cloud called out his name, filling him and marking him with his essence in a way that Vincent knew would not fade for some time.

 

He almost felt as if he were floating, and in that instant… he was more alive than he had been for thirty years. He forgot about Lucrecia and Hojo, forgot about the demons and the alterations, his guilt and his obsession, it all became null in the face of such harsh and unyielding truth.

 

Time slowed, he didn't know how much had passed before they collapsed against the bed in a pile of sweaty limbs and disheveled hair. Gasping for breath, struggling to calm their racing hearts and return to some semblance of normal. Vincent didn't even feel the weight of the younger man on him.

 

Minutes passed, crawling like hours, before the swordsman even stirred, breath evened enough to find a hint of regularity. He forced himself to roll off of the gunman, lest he crush him but wasted no time in rolling them both on their sides and drawing the taller man into his arms. Vincent didn't even resist the hold, didn't resist the familiarity. He simply relaxed into the touch, allowing himself that comfort.

 

They did not say anything to each other as their bodies cooled and drifted off towards sleep. There was no need for words. Not in that moment.

 

Vincent's body thrummed strangely with something he recognized but did not yet want to admit to. As his body pulled him into slumber, he gave in to what he had been given. The reminder of life and all that it offered… that had once been taken but now restored. Those were the last of his thoughts as he joined the blond in sleep.

 

* * *

 

Vincent woke up slowly, immediately surprised by the fact that he had slept a night without dreams, a night without bloody tears and demonic howlings. The ever vocal monsters within him had retreated to the furthest depths of his subconscious, not even muttering cruel jibes.

 

His nightmares had faded into oblivion chased away by shining mako eyes and the tender kisses of a man who had the same scars. He reveled in the warmth of the muscular arms wrapped around him; he was content in the face of kinship.

 

He had not forgotten Lucrecia… or his hand in everything that had occurred. He could not deny his fault or his guilt… but he could accept it. His atonement was not yet complete, but it was no longer the only darkness he clung to. Somewhere there was a light…

 

With the honest truth thrown into his face, Vincent could no more lose himself as a member of the world. It was time he ceased existing and learned to live.

 

He did not know what was going to happen between he and Cloud, did not know his true feelings for the swordsman as cluttered as his heart was with guilt and unrequited love. But he was willing to wait and see what happened.

 

He was willing to try.

 

Content with that knowledge, Vincent snuggled down next to Cloud's warmth, a half smile threatening to tug at the corners of his mouth as the younger man muttered something unintelligible and tightened his hold.

 

“Go back to sleep…” murmured Cloud against his neck, warm breath washing over his skin and sending shivers down his spine. “It's early…”

 

He owed this man much, for showing him another path, for giving him that frightening ideal of hope. He wondered if Cloud even knew how much his life had changed in one single moment, how his world had tilted on its axis. Not that it would be easy for him to become entirely new… but that it was all a possibility now.

 

“… Thank you, Strife…” he murmured, eyes already sliding shut of their own accord as his body tried to pull him into more restful sleep… something that he had not had in nearly thirty years.

 

“Mmm,” responded the blond, voice already drowsily returning to sleep. He had nothing more to say other than that, Vincent already knowing that he didn't think he needed such words. But Cloud was so very wrong.

 

Because he had given the gunman something he had never expected to have again. Not after losing his heart to a woman who would never appreciate it. Not after losing his form and identity to a crazed scientist. And not after tormenting his soul in silent shadows for thirty long years locked in a forgotten box in the basement of an abandoned mansion.

 

Those shreds of what had remained after his suffering, those tattered pieces of dreams and hopes, ideals he hadn't considered after understanding the world he once knew was no more… words to cling to in the dead of lonely nights and the pain of unhealable wounds.

 

Cloud had given him something worth more than money. He had shown him what lay beyond the pain, beneath the crimson stains of his soul and with his honest painful words of truth; he had given the anguished ex-Turk a reason to live.

 

Vincent had found something to believe in, beyond the atonement of his ineptitude.

 

It was frightening.

 

It stirred his apathy with feelings he had long buried. It cracked his ice and stone façade, shattered his walls of abandon and revealed the man underneath.

 

And yet, he took comfort in the fact that he still had a chance.

 

Even if he and Cloud never amounted to anything more than that one moment, than that one time of shared passion and flesh, he would still be able to continue, he could grieve as he hadn't been able… perhaps even be brave enough to consider love again. And maybe one day, if he was feeling particularly cheered, he might even be able to set aside his atonement.

 

Perhaps one day.

 

It was that final thought that tossed him into slumber, falling into peace with all the grace of a child, wrapped in the warm arms of a man who understood one last truth.

 

The scars that bound them were the scars that healed.

 

Only time would tell.

 

* * *