Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In this glass chamber, there is no concept of time. Does time exist outside of the viscous green liquid that he’s submerged in?

A bang. Blood. A man with glasses standing over him. A –

Cloud doesn’t really know what’s going on. The pain is real, he knows that – can feel that, every damn time a scientist hooks him up to something, injects him with something that makes his veins burn and his brain too foggy to think straight. Across from him, he can see Zack floating, suspending in mako – it has to be mako, right? What else looks like that? Cloud recognises the smell from the little mako springs in Nibelheim –

Laughter. A woman’s touch, cupping his cheek…not his cheek. Someone else. He’s someone else –

How did he get here? There was – Sephiroth. Standing there, in front of…Cloud can’t remember. Is it worth remembering? That man is the reason he’s here, he knows that. Blood, smoke, fire – so much fire. Nibelheim is gone, and Cloud still remains – what’s left of him, at any rate.

“Vincent Valentine. I’m to be your guard detail for the duration of…” The voice trails off, becomes rough. Guttural and wet, the pain starting at his throat. Laughter again – a man’s. Light glints off glasses, a scalpel raised –

Time moves slowly like the mako all around him. Cloud learns they leave him be if he doesn’t move too much in the tank and he would rather be alert (as alert as he can be with the amount of sedatives coursing through his veins) just in case. Every time he’s in the tank, he tries to catch Zack’s attention, but his eyes remain closed. Alive at least. Cloud clings to that.

“You…you’re pregnant…?” Shock, awe. Excitement. The feelings are – strange, because Cloud knows it’s not him, it’s someone else’s memories that he keeps catching glimpses of. Worst kind of movie when his vision is swimming in mako green and blood, blood, blood. So much of it, all over and –

At some point, he comes to accept that the man’s memories (definitely from a man, Cloud can feel that) are one of the only things that are keeping him sane. Or maybe he’s lost his damn mind already and he’s coming up with these fantasies, of a life he’s never lived. Of being too tall and lanky, dressed immaculately in a suit, feeling nervous in front of his peers, followed by the woman he loves – there’s a woman in these memories (fantasies?), she’s pregnant. Is it his? Maybe.

“How disappointing. I thought you would put up more of a fight…nothing more than a dumb beast, aren’t you?” Another snarl, his limbs too big, too overwhelmed by the instincts of the behemoth only he’s not but he is –

There’s a name. Vincent Valentine. Either Cloud has made up something so generic and boring, or that man has to have existed at some point, right? Otherwise he wouldn’t be seeing all these memories, of a life not his, of –

There’s an etching in the glass of the tank. Cloud hadn’t noticed before, but it’s…it’s there. On his side, no less – jagged and faint, but there. V.

There’s a glimmer of hope that is quickly extinguished with the realisation that just because the man existed before, doesn’t mean the man still exists. Does anyone get out of these tanks? When was it? Cloud couldn’t tell when all those memories had taken place but in saying that…

Did they take place? Or had he been the one to etc the V into the glass? That day, he starts his own etching into the glass, hoping Zack will be able to see it. A few times he’s caught the other man’s eyes, knows he’s barely hanging on – just like Cloud – yet still so very much alive. No matter where they’ve been hidden away, they are still alive.

“Forgive me, Grimoire. I didn’t…mean for this. Any of it. But I’ll make it up to him, I promise.” The incandescent glow is like a magnet, his whole body thrumming in anticipation, though he doesn’t know what it’s for until –

Flash grenades give off less light, Cloud thinks. That memory had been painful, right in his very chest. Feels like something’s there but he can’t quite move his arms today to check. Barely managing to crack open his eyes, he looks down and sees – nothing. Just green, green, green. No light. No phantoms knocking around in his chest and head, echoing a name over and over again.

Who’s Chaos?

“My poor, sweet boy. This life wasn’t meant for you. I can only ease your suffering, not erase it. You need to be prepared for what’s to come. The beginning is the end of one existence, the end of suffering for the last of her kind and the Planet spirals towards death anew. End the cycle.”

Chapter Text

There is something familiar about Vincent Valentine that Cloud cannot quite put his finger on. Not that he’s met him before, that’s impossible, but it feels like he knows him from another lifetime ago.

Which is equally impossible. At least, Cloud thinks so (even if those strange flashes of recognition seem to tell him otherwise) and he’s not going to talk to anyone else about it because…well, he’s just not going to. There’s no point; it’s just the whole…working for Shinra and the fact that Vincent is a former Turk so of course he seems familiar. All Turks are basically the same.

(So Cloud keeps telling himself).

Still, he finds himself drawn to Vincent, watching the way the man holds himself, how he seems aloof yet there’s something there that says otherwise.

Elegant.

The word constantly echoes in Cloud’s head every time he catches Vincent’s side profile, his fingers itching to tuck his hair behind his ear or into his bandana. And it’s not – he should be concentrating on what’s ahead, on finding Sephiroth before Shinra does, and still he –

Pretty.

“Fuck,” Cloud exhales, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand before falling back into a fighting stance. A combination of Hojo’s failed experiments and whatever fiends have snuck into the mansion have truly made this place their home – no wonder Vincent didn’t venture all that far from the room they found him in. Which…Cloud has some questions around that, too. Maybe when he’s not preoccupied with making sure he doesn’t lose his head or accidentally catch on fire, ‘cause he’s pretty sure that fireball came from a fiend and not Aerith.

(Flung across the room by the blast of fire, snow falling outside, and a voice telling him to – )

Glancing around quickly, he can see the number of fiends dwindling slowly – their efforts are paying off. They’ve come this far, it would be ridiculous to die here and now, wouldn’t it – to have gone so far, only to meet his untimely demise right where it all started. And then what? The others would continue on – they would have to, with the Planet at stake. Which means he needs to fight harder for survival.

Finally – finally – he can breathe a sigh of relief as soon as the last monster falls to the ground, sliced neatly in half and Tifa’s grateful smile lighting up her face. Holstering his blade, he turns to assess how everyone else fared when –

“Watch out.” A quiet growl and a swirl of red and black lands before him. Quick as can be, Cloud blinks as a fiend with – two heads? Two fucking heads. At what point does it ever end, he wonders, but it’s surprisingly not the most pressing question at hand.

One hand is outstretched in front of him, the gold gauntlet glinting in the dim light. Surprised, Cloud looks up at Vincent, gun drawn and pointed, stepping into a position that Cloud is all too familiar with – yet hasn’t been in for a long time.

Look. He doesn’t need protecting. He’s done just fine on his own and continues to serve as the group’s leader only by virtue of his enhancements. Said enhancements mean he doesn’t exactly need as much protection as the others, but Vincent doesn’t know that.

Just like how he doesn’t know such a simple gesture has Cloud’s heart skipping a beat, cheeks feeling entirely too warm.

Huh.

Their objectives overlap in some way, enough for Vincent to join them on their journey. Which means keeping Cloud alive in some capacity, right? That has to be the logic going on in Vincent’s head as he fires off enough rounds to send the fiend lurching backwards and down, hitting the floor with an audible thud.

“Thanks,” Cloud mumbles, earning nothing more than a slight nod of acknowledgement before the others dart over to join them.

“Gods, what was that?” Tifa murmurs, to which Vincent shrugs.

“One of Hojo’s. Dead now.”

“Exactly,” Cloud adds, like he’s not having a crisis over some shockingly beautiful man he found in a coffin all but saving his life. “Which means we should get out of here before we find more.”

No crisis whatsoever.

Chapter Text

To say that Cloud is drawn to Vincent is an understatement – his fascination is slowly turning into something more, a feeling entirely too familiar that reminds him of someone else just as tall and equally as striking.

Except he doesn’t have to worry about killing Vincent any time soon. Hopefully. Cloud is fairly certain Vincent doesn’t pose that much a threat to the others.

His transformations, on the other hand, seem to pose more a threat to Vincent himself more than the others. After their initial shock over the fact that the newest member of their ragtag group of terrorists-turned-Planet saviors happens to also be able to transform into…well, questionable beings, they had been reassured that those beings wouldn’t harm any of them.

Unless you count Galian Beast’s overenthusiastic tendency to express affection after a battle. Cloud still isn’t sure how he feels about being pinned to the ground by a monstrous behemoth, however he finds that every time it happens, he’s not…willing to complain.

(Kind of fucked up to think about, but there isn’t a lot right with everything they’re doing in the first place, so the fact that Cloud may or may not be turned on by Vincent and the beings he turns into is probably the least questionable part about the journey they’re on.)

From what he’s learnt about Vincent so far, he doesn’t think being hit on is an option. At all. Ever. And it shouldn’t be in the first place; Cloud needs to concentrate on finding Sephiroth, not trying to flirt with the recluse they found in a coffin. Besides, he…likes Vincent as a friend, even if he’s about as sociable as Cloud on a good day. They seem to have developed an understanding, one that feels different to what he shares with the others, like the man is closer to being his equal compared to anyone else.

Or that’s how Cloud feels. He knows Vincent more than likely doesn’t feel the same way, has come to terms with that possibility already.

Still…

Cloud finds himself pondering their dynamic a little more than he should, stealing glances and straight up staring when he thinks no one is looking.

And okay, maybe he’s been caught once or five times, but Vincent has yet to say anything so that means it must be fine, right? Surely if he was uncomfortable with Cloud always looking at him, he’d speak up or just straight up shoot him. Nothing fatal, just…a warning shot. That feels like something Vincent might do.

In his quest to try to get closer to Vincent in any way possible, he finds himself lingering after they fight – while everyone is concentrating on fixing themselves up, Cloud watches Vincent, as though monitoring him for any injuries because it doesn’t seem like the man gets injured.

Or at least, that had been what Cloud initially thought. This is proven wrong after a battle with a nasty group of what looked like worms but with too many teeth – that left them all feeling knocked around. Even Cloud finds himself fatigued, though he tries to keep it to himself; isolating behind a tree, he takes out a medikit and starts to patch himself up, working quickly so no one notices he’s gone.

A low groan sounds from behind him and Cloud lifts his head, immediately on alert for any other enemies trying to get the drop on him. With one hand on his sword, he keeps low to the ground, moving around to find –

Vincent. It’s just Vincent. Exhaling, Cloud lets go of his sword and tilts his head, watching the other man. This is the first time he’s seen him without his cloak, never mind the rest of his clothing, and he’s – he’s definitely staring. The other man’s broad shoulders are hard to not look at, the swath of pale skin on display almost taunting Cloud with how close he is to touching it, marred only by the kind of scarring that wouldn’t be out of place on a corpse.

What draws Cloud’s attention isn’t just the flex of Vincent’s bicep or his bare chest – okay, it is his bare chest, however it’s the glow of something emitting through his pectoral muscle, like there’s something in there.

“Are you…” Cloud trails off, inching closer. Focusing his attention on the way that Vincent seems to be injured, he doesn’t think as he hands over the medikit, crouching down next to the other man. “Here. It’ll speed up the process.”

“I don’t need it,” Vincent says curtly, deliberately looking away from Cloud. “I just need a moment…” The large gash that runs down Vincent’s side begs to differ and for once, Cloud ignores the other man’s insistence he doesn’t need help and moves closer, taking out a potion. “I told you, I don’t…”  

They both lapse into silence; Cloud working as efficiently as possible while being respectful, watching as the wound slowly begins to knit itself together. Vincent has drawn his leg up, pointedly looking off into distance, which gives Cloud an opportunity to peer at the glowing orb – materia? – in Vincent’s chest.

“Protomateria.” Had he said something out loud? Cloud blinks, wide eyed as he looks up, meeting Vincent’s gaze. “It’s what keeps me…going.”

“Does it hurt?” Cloud asks softly, lifting his hand as though to touch it before thinking better of it. A step too far, even for him.

“Mm. No. Feels like…a pulse.”

Unconsciously, Cloud does find himself reaching up to touch the glowing skin, his eyes widening further as he discovers it is quite similar to someone’s pulse. Or really, it’s Vincent’s pulse he’s feeling, isn’t it?

“Are you going to let me put my shirt back on now?” Vincent asks in a bemused tone, to which Cloud quickly nods, blushing faintly as he retracts his hand quickly.

“Sorry. I should have asked. I…I’m sorry,” Cloud stammers, looking pointedly at the ground to avoid eye-contact. Fuck.

“…I don’t mind.”

The response has him looking up, but Vincent has already moved away and pulled on his shirt, like layers of armour against Cloud’s eyes. A fitting analogy, given how he’s overstepped today. “Are you sure? I was…I know you’re fine, you’re always fine, it’s just –”

“Cloud. It’s you. Of course I don’t mind.”

With that response, Vincent gives him one last lingering look, the gold ring around his iris flashing briefly, right before he turns and heads back to rejoin the others.

Of course I don’t mind.

Letting out a groan, Cloud falls backwards, looking up at the sky. In the distance, he can hear someone calling his name – Aerith, most likely – but he doesn’t want to join them just yet. Not when his heart is beating impossibly fast in his chest and his face feels like it’s about to burn off.

Of course I don’t mind.

Chapter Text

Silence is deafening, more so at night than during the day. It’s easier to distract himself from the grief swirling around in his guts, reminding him that this is all his fault always his fault he’s never –

Like a nightmare he can’t quite shake. Cloud knows he’s not alone, that everyone is hurting, that everyone lost someone they love, and even knowing that…it’s his fault. No matter what anyone says, it’s his fault.

 (He saw her, once, after falling asleep and she didn’t blame him but she should and he doesn’t want to see the look on her face when she finally does.)

Night is the worst, Cloud has decided. Alone with his thoughts while everyone else slumbers, there’s only two others who would be alert at this hour and one of them is currently keeping watch by the tree line, while the other looks to be heading back to camp. Which Cloud should be pleased about, to have Vincent’s company, but even that nowadays feels…wrong to enjoy.

Still, he doesn’t move to get up – instead, continues on cleaning his sword, like this is just another evening trying to fight the good fight, whatever the fuck that means to him right now.

Not very much of a good fight if Cloud is the reason that people he loves keep dying.

When Vincent approaches and sits down on the log alongside him, the temptation to walk away starts to build up inside him until he realises that Vincent is just settling in to clean his own weapon, deliberately not looking at Cloud.

That’s…fine. They don’t need to talk – in fact it’s one of the things that he appreciates the most about Vincent, the lack of needing to make small talk or talk about what happened.

The minutes tick by, until finally, Cloud is satisfied with how clean his sword is, and the dull ache inside of him feels like it’s threatening to burst out of his chest in a flood of emotions, with the most predominate being that guilt threatening to eat him alive from the inside out. Finally, he decides to just ask Vincent the one question that’s been bothering him because if anyone would know the answer, it’s the guy who spent how many years in a coffin? Surely he has to know.

“Does it get easier?”

“Hm?”

Cloud tries again, gaze darting around to make sure everyone is still asleep. The last thing he wants is to incorporate another person’s grief into the conversation that he barely wants to have, despite being the one to initiate it in the first place.

“Y’know. Losin’ someone,” Cloud finally mumbles, running the cloth over the handle of the blade, avoiding even looking at Vincent (for once) just so he doesn’t see his reaction.

“Ah. That’s…complicated.”

“’Course it is,” he mutters under his breath, only looking up when Vincent lets out a breathless chuckle. The glow of Vincent’s eyes in the firelight is just as mesmerizing as the shadows that flicker across his face and – what is wrong with him to be thinking any of that?

Fuck.

“Not…hm. Not in the sense of how I would explain it, if that helps?”

“Kinda. But sure. It’s complicated.”

“Grief and sorrow…they’re like…the tentacles on a Malboro.”

Cloud immediately blanches and looks down at his sword, nose crinkling. Another huff of laughter, and Vincent shifts on the log, placing him closer. Which is nice, he’s decided – rather than being belligerent (a word he learnt from Cait Sith, in response to Cid), he really should listen to Vincent when he’s the one who started this in the first place.

“…That’s not the best analogy, is it? It was one that was used for me, the first time I lost my first partner in the field.”

Pausing in his act of polishing his sword, Cloud looks up again expectantly. The expression on Vincent’s face is…he looks distant, most likely lost in his own memories. “As a Turk, yeah? That would have been tough. I don’t…think I ever got that conversation.”

“Doubtful. This was given to me by a close friend, who later became my…partner. He had said they may be all reaching, desperate to get you in its clutches, but you can fight it. Keep it at bay.” Vincent pauses, turning to face Cloud, present in the moment. “I think it’s not applicable for people like us.”

A part of Cloud wants to ask Vincent just what he means by that, however he stays quiet. It’s rare to have this kind of solitude with the other man, he doesn’t want to ruin it by asking too many questions, no matter his curiosity. “Then how would you describe it? Or I guess…what method worked for you?” Cloud asks carefully, feeling as though everything slows around them even further, lost in their own little bubble.

With a contemplative hum, Vincent gives a shrug of his shoulders, loosely gripping his gun with one hand, the other coming up to rest on the log between them, the gauntlet glinting in the firelight. “I wouldn’t say any method worked. We carry our grief with us wherever we go and soon, it becomes a part of us. Ingrained, if you will. The…method? I hate that. The trick, the best way to process loss and death is to accept it. But such an inevitability is just as daunting and can be worse, no?”

There’s a pause – Cloud isn’t sure if that’s a rhetorical question or not (it’s hard to tell with Vincent sometimes), and he watches, waiting for the man to continue. His patience pays off for once, and Vincent continues, as though it had been for dramatic effect. And any other time, it would have been, but not now.

Somehow, Cloud knows that.

“I don’t have any words of wisdom for how you should process Aerith’s death. I just know that you’re stronger than the sea of sorrow threatening to drown you. Rise above it. Embrace it. Death is part of the cycle, the spiral of this planet and all its inhabitants. Do not let it define you.”

Cloud blinks slowly, allowing Vincent’s words to sink in, before the other man quietly adds, “I will keep watch. Go rest. We have a long day tomorrow.” Wordlessly, he nods, moving to stand but not before Vincent sets his gun down and reaches out, grasping Cloud’s wrist. “If you do not believe in yourself right now, allow me to continue to believe in you.”

As soon as he lets go of his wrist, Cloud wishes – just briefly, with all his heart – that Vincent would stand and sweep him into a crushing embrace. Instead, he just turns his attention back to cleaning Cerberus.

That night, Cloud manages to sleep, his dreams unremarkable and the ghost of Vincent’s touch still lingering on his skin.

Chapter Text

Cloud groans, peering out at the dark sky from under the awning of the building where he’s just dropped off a package. While he tries to make sure that the weather is decent enough o ride in, sometimes he misjudges – and okay, maybe he’s misjudged by more than just overcast weather today.

Granted, he hadn’t expected the ride to be so long either. With a sigh, he casts a quick glance down at himself and back out to where his bike is currently getting drenched by the rain.

“Fuck it,” he mutters under his breath before he braces himself for the onslaught of bitterly cold rain.

And a jacket. He should have brought a jacket. He needs a fucking jacket; what good is having all these SOLDIER enhancements if he still gets cold? Gets colds as well, for some forsaken reason.

(Cloud isn’t going to admit that to anyone, given how much they already worry in general. Not just at him, but each other. It’s…heartwarming. Isolating. Heartwarming. He doesn’t know how to fit that in with the rest of his assumptions and beliefs about everything around him. Not yet – he’s trying to learn. Slowly.)

Jogging across the road, it’s just as miserable as he’d expected, but it’s not that far to run, just a little while –

“You look like a freshly bathed chocobo chick.” The sudden shadow that appears above his head is enough to make Cloud automatically reach for one of his swords that’s not there because he left them on Fenrir. Wincing at his rude reflexes, he tilts his head back up, this time regarding the tall figure walking next to him.

“Yeah? Y’look like a drowned cat,” Cloud retorts, watching as Vincent’s face crinkles into a smile, bemused at the comparison.

“That’s the gratitude I get. Way to win a man over, Strife,” Vincent says, and –

What?

Before Cloud can process exactly what he’s saying, the other man draws his cloak up, holding it over his head as a makeshift umbrella. The simple act alone has Cloud blushing darkly, though he doesn’t say anything as they walk over to Fenrir in companionable silence. It’s not often that he finds himself alone with Vincent nowadays compared to when they were travelling together; their schedules hardly line up and Cloud ends up being far busier than he’d like to be with deliveries, the kids, helping out at the bar…

Which is why he doesn’t want this (whatever it is) to end as soon as they reach his bike. With Vincent still holding his cloak over Cloud’s head, it feels entirely too rude to just ride off back to Edge – and so, he takes a deep breath, fiddling with the keys in his hands, and –

“…There’s a restaurant, nearby…” Vincent says almost too quietly for Cloud to pick up on, were it not for his enhancements. Taken by surprise, he tilts his head back, noticing the way Vincent’s cheeks are rather pink and wet. He’s so wet it’s ridiculous – the whole situation is comical and absurd to the point of caricature.

“I doubt they’ll let us in lookin’ like this. How ‘bout we meet up in a few hours there? Get dry an’ all that…” Cloud suggests, realising belated that again – they’re far from Edge. Where is he going to get dry? Either of them? “That is, we could…”

“There’s an inn. Less nice, but the food is good.”

Inns continue to be a luxury that Cloud doesn’t feel like he’s earned or even deserves, and he knows Vincent feels the same way. That makes the suggestion even more telling and all those feelings he’s kept bottled up over the years are threatening to overflow in Vincent’s presence and a loud, flashing sign is going off in his head of –

WHAT IF HE FEELS THE SAME WAY?

His heart feels ready to burst out of his chest and Cloud finally nods, flashing Vincent a faint smile. “Then let’s head there.”

Of course, the awful weather means that Vincent takes longer to reach their destination, however the extra time gives Cloud a chance to properly get dry and presentable, grateful that he’s smart enough to have stashed an emergency set of clothes in the satchel on Fenrir.

Vincent isn’t so lucky; as per the text he’d been sent by the other man a couple of hours after Cloud had checked in, it had simply read ‘waiting for clothes to dry’.

That’s fine. It’s all fine. He’s so nervous that he doesn’t know if it’s even fine or not, but fuck, it has to be, right? There’s no guarantee this little meet-up means anything in the first place; they’re just two friends who happen to have run into one another and now they’re just catching up for dinner at the same inn because it’s convenient.

It doesn’t have to mean anything.

Exhaling heavily, Cloud stares up at the ceiling from where he’s reclined on the bed, tapping his fingers on his chest. The more time passes, the slower it feels, like he’s been hit with a spell –

Knock. Knock.

Nowadays there’s no reason for Cloud to move out of bed quickly, however it doesn’t stop him from all but leaping up off the bed, only catching himself right before the door. Too eager. Waiting a few moments, he finally opens the door, looking up at Vincent, who appears far less drenched and more amused by the wide-eyed expression on Cloud’s face.

“Hi,” he murmurs, unsure of what else to say. Dinner. That’s it. That’s all they’re doing.

“Miss me?” Vincent says, and that’s –

finally.

he misses him constantly.

Cloud takes a deep breath and reaches up, grasping Vincent by his mantle and yanking him down to his level, moving up on his toes to press his lips firmly to Vincent’s, giving him the answer to what was probably a rhetorical question.

Chapter Text

The kiss catches Vincent by surprise, the way Cloud’s lips are softer than he’d ever thought, the warmth seemingly radiating out of his skin like the sun’s rays. Too surprised; he doesn’t know what to do with himself, and a few seconds pass before Cloud pulls back, hands loosening on Vincent’s cloak, flattening against his chest.

Another moment. This time, Vincent is determined to capture its effusiveness, to express just how this all makes him feel.

Radiant.

Like mako in his veins, the protomateria in his chest…there is nothing more destructive or painful than love. There are a hundred and one reasons why this cannot work, why he shouldn’t encourage such behaviour, why he can’t – not when Cloud has the rest of his life ahead of him, he shouldn’t be wasting a single precious second of his time that’s wrapped up in his life essence on something like Vincent.

Despite being armed with this knowledge, despite knowing this can only end in the worst possible way, despite even the fact that he knows this is partially his fault for not discouraging Cloud when he should have…

Vincent doesn’t allow Cloud to move even an inch further away; reaching out, he grasps Cloud by the back of his head and pulls him back in, his other arm draping over his shoulder. It’s messy – there’s no real rhythm, just lips smashing against one another, entirely too much tongue (Cloud), too much saliva (oddly, Vincent), but it’s – it’s everything he’s ever wanted in this lifetime.

In hindsight, renting two different rooms had been a mistake, however Vincent hadn’t wanted to be presumptuous in thinking something might happen when he’d been uncertain of his own intentions. Truly, he’d wanted to spend time alone with Cloud, but not like this – intertwined on the bed, breathless and trying desperately to keep at least most of their clothes on.

Well. Vincent is trying – Cloud has other ideas. On this, he’s been subtly discouraging those wandering hands ever since they got back from dinner, yet it doesn’t appear to be enough of a deterrent.

There’s a lot more that they need to talk about – such as what this means for Cloud, whether he understands what he’s getting into (a question Vincent has already asked, to which the answer had been “I’m not an idiot, Vin. Now can I finish this somewhat edible stew so we can go back to our room?”), whether they should tell the others or if this is just...a once-off.

Which doesn’t seem likely, given the tension that’s been building between them for how long? Could they even settle on it being a once-off?

Vincent knows he couldn’t. That is why their first time isn’t going to be in a cheap inn, in the middle of nowhere because that isn’t what Cloud deserves.

“Okay, you gotta get all this off,” the other man says in a breathy exhalation, tugging at Vincent’s shirt. To appease him (and to prepare him for what to expect, really), Vincent has already shed his gauntlet and armour after dinner, reluctantly showing Cloud the discoloured, clawed hand Hojo’s experimentation had left him with.

All Cloud had done was hold it gently, threading their fingers together and shrugging in such a nonchalant manner, Vincent had thought that he had been dismissing how much anguish it had caused him over the years.

“Doesn’t hurt, right?”

“No.”

“You hate it?”

“Yes.”

“It’s still a part of you.”

“…Yes.”

“There’s worse things to be left with. Doesn’t make it…I don’t know what it’s been like but…y’know, it doesn’t scare me or anythin’ like that.”

“You’re not…repulsed?”

“Fuck no. Now shut up and kiss me.”

For the longest time, Vincent has likened Cloud to the sun, however he finds a better analogy to be a sunset in summer; warm and inviting with the brilliance of the setting sun splashed across the sky, a beauty he’s never been able to capture anywhere but in his memories. And laying in bed, with Cloud’s overly eager hands moving all over him, Vincent finds himself basking in the glow, in that warmth he’s not sure if he’s ever felt – at least not to this extent.

“C’mon, get it off,” Cloud groans, and Vincent laughs quietly, earning a less-than gentle punch in the shoulder for the sound. “Why’re you laughin’?”

“Our first time isn’t going to be here, Cloud,” he explains gently, entirely surprised by how he pouts at the response. “Don’t give me that look. We haven’t got lubricant, for one.”

“Spit,” Cloud says with more enthusiasm than Vincent expected – a worrying amount.

“Oh, it’s…not ideal. For one…”

“Done it before. It’s fine. ‘Sides, enhanced, remember? I’ll heal. I don't mind either way, I've done it both ways.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Vincent simply says, shifting one hand from where it’s been grasping Cloud’s waist and taking his hand, moving it to his crotch. Though he’s hard, it’s not urgent, even if the pressure of Cloud’s hand is enough to make him involuntarily exhale.

“You wo—oh.” The blush that spreads over Cloud’s face is just as endearing as the pout, the realisation clearly dawning on him as to why using spit is perhaps not the best idea.

“Mm. Now, this doesn’t mean I can’t…help you out. In other ways,” he points out, leaning in to nip Cloud’s lower lip gently. “Perhaps I could give you a hand…?”

That earns him a quiet moan, Vincent’s face breaking into a soft smile at the sound. It doesn’t mean they still shouldn’t talk about it, but this for now…for once in this new lifetime, he wants to savour the moment, savour this quiet intimacy with Cloud. There are a hundred ways he could make Cloud happy, he knows it – all he needs is to not fuck up this one chance he has.

Chapter Text

THREE MONTHS LATER

Cloud stares at his phone in contemplation, wondering just how he should phrase the one question (many, if he’s being honest with himself) he has and whether it’s something he can search or if it’s something that he actually needs to talk to someone about.

The latter of which he’s wanting to avoid at all costs. Not like he’s embarrassed by his question, not at all, it’s just…

Well. There’s no way he’s able to put them out of his mind quite so quickly. Like whether or not gender-swap materia exists because he’s fairly positive that’s the only way he’s going to be able to get Vincent to fuck him six ways into the Lifestream.

Everything about his budding relationship with Vincent has been almost everything he could possibly want out of being with anyone romantically. Time permitting, they do their best to spend time outside the bedroom on dates (that Vincent always insists on paying for, only to realise he’s left his wallet at Cloud’s place or elsewhere), creating a sense of normalcy that Cloud finds he’s not experienced before – at least not to this extent. Appreciative though he may be, there’s one avenue he’d like to explore further.

For some reason, Vincent doesn’t seem to want to fuck him. Everything else, they’ve done (with enthusiasm and over enough hours that Cloud can say with full confidence he’s never felt worn out over sex until now), but that one act…

Cloud should ask. He needs to ask, instead of getting all caught up in his own self-induced paranoia about not being enough for Vincent because if he’s not what Vincent wants, then they wouldn’t be doing everything else under the sun, right?

Surely.

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters under his breath before tapping out a quick message to Vincent. No, he’s matured. Grown as a person. He can confront his unfounded fears head-on. Besides, it can’t be any worse than confronting Sephiroth and he’s done that how many times now?

His phone chimes – Vincent must be free, and the answer confirms it.

‘of course I’ll come over. see you soon.’

In hindsight, Cloud knows he should be more communicative, straightforward with his needs and all that. However, he’s not sure if bringing up his desire in such a way earlier would have made it happen sooner or even prepared him.

See, he knows Vincent is on the larger size. The man’s cock has given Cloud enough of an ache in his jaw that he knows what he’s dealing with, thank you very much, which is why he knows he could handle it elsewhere. What he hadn’t been prepared for was just how enthusiastic Vincent can be when he commits to something – in this case, it’s his mouth on Cloud’s cock and three fingers buried inside, wringing yet another orgasm out of him that leaves Cloud whining for more (or less, it’s hard to say with how overstimulated he feels).

What also hadn’t prepared him was just how much Vincent is into him. The whole thing feels like a fever dream; the other man coming over, the two of them making small talk before Cloud had all but jumped him, deciding to go with the more straightforward tactic of action rather than words (because that’s worked so well for him in the past).

At some point in between Vincent doing his best to milk Cloud dry, he reaches down to grasp Vincent’s hair, only to find –

“…Oh?” Cloud exhales, eyes widening as Vincent pulls off his cock with a wet sound that has Cloud’s cock twitching against his stomach. “You…”

“I’m sorry. I…give me a few moments to calm down,” Vincent says quickly, looking embarrassed as he tries to pull away. In response, Cloud just gently runs his fingers over where Vincent’s horns are budding out of his head, shaking his head.

“No. I like ‘em. You…are you okay?”

“Never better. But are you sure? We can…stop here? I’m not sure to which extent I can stay in control of myself…”

Suddenly it all clicks for Cloud and gods does he feel bad for feeling like he’s subtly manipulated Vincent into fucking him. That alone is enough for him to flush brightly, his hard-on wilting ever so slightly, as he finally says, “I…I just really want to be with you. Doesn’t matter if you’ve got horns or a tail, you’re still you. Do you want me?”

Vincent gazes up at him and not for the first time, Cloud finds himself overwhelmed by the way those crimson eyes look at him like he’s something precious. Even the faint gold ring in his left eye seems to glow brighter whenever it’s fixed on Cloud, as though responding to his very existence.

(That knowledge is something he doesn’t want to find out more about. Not right now. It’s too soon to put such a heavy label on what they are, however, that doesn’t mean Cloud doesn’t feel the same way.)

“Always. I always want you. I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into.”

“Other way ‘round. You gettin’ in…me,” Cloud jokes weakly, earning himself a raspy chuckle out of Vincent as he shifts on the couch, sitting up a little further while trying not to dislodge Vincent’s fingers still inside him. “I know what I’m gettin’ into. Don’t worry. You can’t hurt me like that. Not on purpose. And even if you did accidentally, that’s...it could happen either way, y’know? So…yeah. I want you to fuck me. Today. Now. If you want to as well.”

For a moment, it looks like Vincent is at war with himself, before he finally nods. “Alright. Then I’ll fuck you. But only if you promise to tell me if it becomes uncomfortable.”

The wording seems deliberate, though Cloud cannot find it in him to complain. When Vincent pulls his fingers free, he feels the loss keenly, clenching around nothing in their absence. “D’you want me to –”

“Floor.”

Rearranging their positions means getting on the floor, with Vincent thoughtfully using one of the couch cushions under Cloud, manhandling him in such a way that Cloud finds he adores. Whether it’s being taken care of, or the sheer fact that he knows Vincent could throw him through the wall and then some – it’s enough of a turn-on that he hopes they can…well, Cloud isn’t sure how to explore that, but he makes a mental note to actually bring it up later with Vincent because he thinks that might be fun to explore.

That is, if this goes well.

Vincent’s hand on his thigh brings him back to the moment, moving him until he’s comfortably pressed against Vincent’s front, the hard line of his cock pressed between Cloud’s cheeks that has him squirming a little too eagerly to get it inside him. Tilting his head back, Cloud finds Vincent all but looming over him, his cheeks flushed and tension visible in his expression.

“Hey. I’m here, Vin,” he murmurs reassuringly, watching as the expression shifts to something more closer to acceptance. “I’ll tell you to stop if it gets to be too much, okay?”

Unsurprisingly, that seems to help; Vincent nods and behind Cloud, he can feel him positioning himself, the blunt head of his cock pushing against his entrance. “Promise?”

“Promise.” As soon as the word comes out of Cloud’s mouth, he can feel Vincent’s cock breaching him and his eyes slip shut, a low groan forced out of Cloud’s chest. Slowly, Vincent works his way inside, with each inch pushing air out of Cloud’s lungs. Maybe it really is too much – Vincent hadn’t felt or seemed quite this big until –

“…Cloud?”

“…Yeah?” Low and quiet, he manages to look back at Vincent again, feeling lightheaded and full. “…’S’good.”

“With me?”

“Always.” More coherent – Cloud can string at least sounds together that resemble a word that makes sense. “Are you…”

“Now I am,” Vincent finishes his sentence with a slow grind of his hips and – yeah. Yeah, he’s all the way inside and Cloud doesn’t know what to do with himself. Luckily, he doesn’t have to do anything with the way Vincent rocks into him, his thick cock opening Cloud up even further, pressing insistently on his prostate.

So far, sex between the two of them has been fun. Enthusiastic even, especially when Cloud has fucked Vincent. But this isn’t sex, it’s making love – that’s the only thing that comes to mind when Vincent fucks him slowly, finding each spot that has Cloud tensing and moaning, the kind of sounds he’s not even sure he’s ever made before. It doesn’t help that he can physical feel Vincent getting bigger as the minutes tick by, from his hands to his cock, his tail –

The tail is new. That – he didn’t notice that before. Despite how simultaneously tense and lax his body feels right now, he manages to look back at Vincent, mouth slightly agape and thoughts becoming nothing more than a pleasantly, fuzzy blur of sensations that permeate throughout his entire body. “Y’good?” Cloud asks, a lazy smile on his face.

“I…am close,” Vincent says and gods, if Cloud hadn’t been close before, he’s borderline about to come without being touched at the sound of Vincent’s fucked-out voice. Throaty and raspy, he sounds like he’s halfway through a transformation – which makes sense, given he is.

Cloud trusts that he won’t hurt him. Not like this, not ever, which is why he melts back into Vincent’s embrace, allowing himself to be maneuvered as Vincent sees fit as he picks up the pace and fucks him faster.

When Cloud comes, it’s with a whimper; body tense and shaking, he reaches back to grasp at Vincent’s hair, hips jerking back onto Vincent’s cock and completely out of time with his own thrusts while he rides out his orgasm. No matter how many times Vincent gets him off, it always feels intense, something Cloud wonders if it has to do with how he feels towards the other man. Emotional connection and all that, them being together and not just hooking up – makes sense.

But it makes Cloud feel vulnerable and weak for how emotional something as straightforward as an orgasm makes him feel. Ripped open and laid bare, eyes burning hotly as he tries to catch his breath – an impossible task with how hard Vincent is fucking him. And Cloud can feel when he comes inside of him, each thrust pushing Vincent’s come into him, mingling with the lube that makes everything feel too wet and Cloud is far too overstimulated to appreciate how filthy of a sensation that is.

Eventually, he stops, the two of them breathing hard. Cloud feels like his namesake, his whole body sagging back against Vincent’s large frame. Much larger than when they started and he doesn’t feel like he’s suddenly transformed into Galian Beast even if his cock feels like it.

“…Cloud? Are you…hurt?”

Forming a coherent sentence is a lot more difficult than Cloud had anticipated; swallowing hard, he nods, allowing his eyes to close. The position is still mostly comfortable, he’s very appreciative to Vincent for taking on his entire body weight without complaint. “No, but your cock is…”

“I’m so sorry, I’ll –“

“If you pull out right now, we are never doing this again,” Cloud says quickly, feeling a little more like himself. Still too raw to look at Vincent (or even open his eyes), but more in control. “Jus’ give me five an’ I’ll be good to go again.”

Vincent laughs throatily and Cloud feels claws trailing down over his side. “Take as long as you need.”

What they need to do is talk about the fact that Vincent is partially-transformed right now, or maybe the fact that Cloud still feels like he’s about to cry for no reason right now, but instead, he finally blinks his eyes open and looks up at Vincent, who is watching him with the most serene expression Cloud has ever seen on him.

The same kind of expression he’s seen before, when they used to spend long nights in front of a campfire. Only this time, he knows what that expression means – even if they haven’t talked about that yet, he knows because he feels it, too.

Love.