Cid woke up to snow accumulating on his face. He sat up and looked around.

Vincent was gone. No surprise there.

Vincent had left the window wide open before he left. Also no surprise. Last night had been not just surprising, but had crossed the border into surreal. Vincent’s actions weren’t surprising, just the fact that he’d been real.

Or had it? Maybe it was all a dream. It made more sense that way. He wouldn’t have been surprised if his fourth grade teacher wandered into the room and started yelling at him about a test he’d missed. It would have made sense in it’s own weird way. Then again, with Vincent in the room, he was lucky to have remembered the conversation—well, the gist of it anyway.

Cid got up, still in his clothes, and looked around for some sign that he wasn’t going crazy. He glanced at his watch as he checked under the bed. He still had half an hour until he had to talk to the authorities.

Cid found his proof tucked under the pillow Vincent had tossed to him the night—morning if you’re technical about it—before. It wasn’t anything useful, such as where he was, when he’d be back, or what he was doing. It just said he’d called the crew and told them to go back to their schedule.

Cid wasn’t sure if Vincent did him a favor or was torturing him, but he was glad either way. Vincent was paying attention to him. In his worst moods, Vincent just ignored you. He’d walk away and make it known that to him, you didn’t exist; that if you were eaten alive by a gigantic monster, he’d wait until someone else was killed to start counting victims.

Cid looked around. He had half an hour to kill before telling the authorities he had no clue. The hard part would be coming back and telling it to Vincent. Vincent probably wouldn’t forgive him, but Cid hoped he at least understood how much Vincent meant to him.

Vincent didn’t have to explain anything; just asking for a favor would get Cid to agree. That was probably why Vincent had asked him to help. Vincent had Cid wrapped around his finger, probably the middle one.

Cid glanced at Vincent’s things, few though there were. Vincent apparently planed on staying for at least another night. His pack was in a corner, here was a pair of pants next to the heater, a toothbrush in the bathroom, and another note held down with a pill bottle.

After finally shutting the window, Cid glanced at the note, which turned out to be a newspaper clipping.

Woman Found Dead in Cave—

The police report they have no leads on the matter, nor do there appear to be any related cases.

Cid sighed. He should’ve known. Then again, he should’ve known he’d be treated this way for kicking Vincent out of the house.

…………………………………………………………………………………..

Cid returned to the hotel immediately after the interrogation. Although he agreed there seemed to be a related pattern to the murders, he had no idea where to start looking, or what to look for.

The police seemed more like car salesmen than enforcers of the law. They kept rewording everything, refusing to take no as an answer. When Cid finally proved his innocence, or just wore them thin and wouldn’t buy anything, they let him go saying they’d keep in touch. If he were here, it would be obvious to Cloud that he didn’t do anything.

He had been unconscious at the scene of the crime. What was there to knock himself out with? The snow? The corpse?

To his relief, Vincent had come back. To his perversion, Vincent was changing his pants.

"Don’t stand there drooling, you’re letting the cold air in," Vincent said.

"Sorry, didn’t think you’d be back yet," Cid said. "Hey, um, can I ask a question?"

"You already did. And if you’re going to ask another, it’s not like I can stop you."

"No, I’m wondering if you’ll answer or not."

"Maybe. Depends on my mood."

"So that’s a ‘No’ then?"

"Ask your stupid question."

"What’s with the pills?"

"Pills? What pill—but I left those with—"

Cid suddenly decided this might not be the time or topic for questions. Vincent said he had almost as much tact as vocabulary, and when Cid asked what tact was, Vincent said it proved his point.

"Mood stabilizers," Vincent said, fastening his pants.

Cid was getting opposing thoughts of wishing he’d brought a spare pair of his own to change into and wishing Vincent would take his off and keep him warm under the covers.

"It’s not what I think."

"Vince, you’re completely dressed, nothing’s what you think."

"I’d say you’re a bad liar, but you’re not lying. You know perfectly well what I’m talking about."

"Pants?" Cid asked.

"You saw it! I left it out last night. You weren’t supposed to see it. You don’t understand."

"If you’re mad about the pills, I’m not going to think—"

"This isn’t about the pills, idiot! You found the clipping. You think this is about Lucrecia."

"No I don’t. If it were about Lucrecia, you’d be moping around in her cave. You’d have kept the whole newspaper. You’re not like that anymore. You think the newspaper’s lying, that this is either revenge or politically motivated."

"When did you get so damn smart?"

"Since you needed me like a chocobo needed a deep fat fryer."

"You started it."

"Vince—" Cid exclaimed, about to tell Vincent how childish he just sounded. He decided against it. It wouldn’t make Vincent any happier, it wouldn’t get them back together, and it wouldn’t get him any warmer.

"You threw me out of the damn house, Cid! You told me to go find my own life, figure things out for myself. After all that you expect me to crawl into your lap and ask to go home?"

"No.

"There were days you wouldn’t get out of bed. All you ever did was cling to me. I couldn’t stand it. Vincent, I was killing you. Don’t get any stupid ideas that I don’t want you to be in control of your own life. You’ve been through enough shit, and I barely know about any of it. If you wanna be pissed off, then go be pissed off. Whatever makes you happy."

"So you’re just going to sit there and take whatever I throw at you?" Vincent yelled.

"Whatever you want. As long as it makes you happy, I’m not going to stop you."

"You’re not going to try anything? You’re not even going to bother with me? You kicked me out of the house because I liked you too much and now I’m not worth going after?"

"Vincent, you hate me. I’d rather you hated my guts than loved me and spent to rest of your goddamn life unhappy."

Vincent grabbed Cid by the collar of his shirt and hoisted him up. "Goddamn you! I hate you! Stop mocking me!"

"Vince, I—"

"Shut up!" Vincent yelled.

Cid suddenly found the argument taking a very different turn than he’d anticipated as he felt not Vincent’s hand, but his lips.

His feet gently touched the floor as Vincent roughly grabbed his face and pressed harder, Vincent’s tongue forcing its way in Cid’s mouth.

Not that Cid was complaining. On the contrary, he was kissing back, too distracted to realize he was the tamer of the two or to wonder at the fact. Vincent’s hands moved to grab painfully at Cid’s short hair, the other to his neck.

Cid stopped, his eyes shooting open as he noticed his hand brush against something it shouldn’t.

Cid’s hands had never paid attention to the rest of him and always went wandering off and getting him in trouble. Usually down Vincent’s underwear when Vincent wasn’t in the mood, and he was never in the mood.

Yet again, even three years after a tearful and angry farewell that neither of them wanted or liked, Cid’s hands were at it again. One hand was pulling Vincent’s shirt out of his pants and the other had unbuttoned it enough to slip in over Vincent’s chest and find a nipple to tease.

The hand on Cid’s neck just slipped downward, pushing his jacket off his shoulders.

Cid wanted to ask why. He really did. He meant to ask why Vincent was letting him trace ticklish areola with his gloved thumb. He said they never talked enough and wanted them to talk more. He didn’t even mind Vincent’s angst; he figured since Vincent missed the last thirty years, there wasn’t much else for Vincent to ever say.

He meant it all, but somehow, when he opened his mouth, his tongue was on Vincent’s ear, and soon he forgot what he was going to ask.

Vincent twisted suddenly and kicked Cid’s feet slightly, intentionally tossing them both on the bed without taking his lips from Cid’s neck.

"Fuck it!" Cid said, sitting up slightly, and tearing off his jacket and shirt, then divesting Vincent of his shirt before starting on Vincent’s pants.

This was where everything dissolved into déjà vu. Cid had taken off Vincent’s pants enough times to undo them blindfolded from behind Vincent. He looked at Vincent’s eyes. He always looked at Vincent’s eyes. There was something different in Vincent’s eyes this time that jolted Cid back into the present so fast he nearly tore Vincent’s zipper off the fabric.

Every other time, there was something Cid could never describe in Vincent’s eyes. He knew what it was, he knew why it was there, but he could never describe it. It always made him wonder if Vincent would be happier if they never went that far, if his pants stayed on and they just curled up together, half-naked.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t there anymore. In fact, Vincent seemed rather annoyed that Cid stopped. Then Vincent turned away to the drawer.

The drawer that was the only reminder, save for their temporary insanity, of what had made Cid tell Vincent he couldn’t stay. Not the drawer really, it was just innocent furniture. But it was harboring the bottle of pills. The plain gray pills were meant to prevent panic attacks. The clipping under them was completely ignored for the time being.

Cid went back to Vincent’s pants and slid them down his long legs. Whenever Vincent would let him, Cid would find a way to get as close as he could to actual sex with Vincent.

He’d slip fingers and even his tongue up Vincent’s boxers, his hands all over Vincent’s legs. He’d always focus on Vincent’s legs. They were the most pleasurable place he could get his hands on, and from his experience of Vincent waiting until Cid was pretending to be asleep to change out of sticky boxers, it was the most pleasurable place for Vincent as well.

For once, Cid’s mind was elsewhere. He wondered what happened to that unnerving gleam. He wished he’d been there to see it disappear, he wished it had been him who made it disappear.

They’d made love only once, total, and Cid always knew it had been during a panic attack. Vincent had snapped, and waking up with Cid still next to him, not wanting to leave, not caring if they never did it again, put him back together.

After that, Vincent never let Cid take his boxers off again. As much as Cid tried to please him, Vincent refused to ever have sex again. Sometimes Cid got away with making Vincent come all over the inside of his boxers, which Vincent always kept closed. Cid had stayed awake and watched Vincent change out of his underwear in the middle of the night, unable to bear the fact that he’d gotten them sticky and wet afterwards, though.

Cid had contemplated ‘accidentally’ waking up and consoling Vincent, but always rolled over and tried to fall asleep for real. It had been a mistake to try it when he did, and it drove gigantic wedge between them.

Cid flung his gloves off and spread a hand over Vincent’s abdomen, pushing the band of Vincent’s boxers lower until a thin streak of black hair was uncovered.

Cid looked up again, wondering how far Vincent would let him go. It used to be the worst he ever got was Vincent would stop everything then and there, roll over, cover himself tightly with the blankets and give Cid such a long and chilling silence and Cid would end up on the couch. Now was a different situation. Cid didn’t doubted Vincent had regained enough of his stoicism and strength of will to point the Death Penalty at him and pull the trigger.

As he looked up, something flew at him and stabbed him in the eye. He looked at it and realized his question had been answered.

Before, Vincent had come to some crazy conclusion that he wasn’t human. Cid had managed to convince him he was no monster, but Vincent refused to have sex, ever.

Cid tossed the thing aside, still not yet aware of how they had switched, the tame and the aggressive.

It was a small, thin, silver package; a wrapped lubricated condom.

Cid, having learned the to do nothing but tease over the years of trying to get Vincent to relent, pulled Vincent’s boxers down, but only enough to reveal his unruly black pubic hair and ignored Vincent’s erection, still buried under delicate silk.

Vincent let out a noise somewhere between a word with too many vowels and a gasp. He struggled to free his leg from the last few inches of his pants and wrapped it over Cid’s back as he felt Cid’s tongue in his pubic hair.

Finally, giving in to both of them, Cid pulled Vincent’s boxers down to his knees. Cid had seen Vincent naked before, and it wasn’t like what was between his legs was any different from any other man. Still, Cid let out a hungry purr before closing his mouth over Vincent’s erection.

Vincent gave a tiny, sharp moan and began to squirm. The noises from him didn’t stop as Cid continued, spreading Vincent’s legs and adjusting himself between them.

Vincent couldn’t help trying to move. Cid put one hand on Vincent’s hips while the other played over Vincent’s pubic hair and the sensitive skin of his testicles.

Aching from the desperate need to move, to do something, Vincent sat up and buried his mis-matched hands in Cid’s hair, bucking into Cid’s face against the hand on his hip.

The hand over his sensitive skin continued to play between his legs, overwhelming him so that Vincent could hardly take it. The hand on his hips crawled over his buttocks, tickling as they went, until Cid lightly grabbed the fleshy curve in his hand.

Cid slid one finger up into Vincent from behind, pressing lightly against a sensitive spot Vincent never knew he had.

Vincent was already dribbling into Cid’s hot and eager mouth as he spread further, hoping Cid would take in more, despite how close he was to climax, and stretching the elastic of his boxers further.

Vincent was already making tiny noises. Even Cid’s warm breath against his cold skin set him off, and he let out something louder as he suddenly spilled into Cid’s mouth.

A tiny hot trickle of white leaked its way between Cid’s lips. Cid pulled his face away and swallowed, before disentangling Vincent’s hands from his head.

Vincent struggled out of his boxers and pants completely, with Cid watching intently, until he remembered that he was still wearing his own pants, which were uncomfortably tight.

Vincent rolled Cid onto the bed and contented himself with licking at the sweat on Cid’s face and slid a hand down Cid’s pants once Cid had the belt undone.

Vincent reached behind himself and searched for the condom with his free hand, then pulled Cid’s pants down, eager to repay the favor of being such an agonizing tease and making him wait so long.

Cid was already aroused, having enjoyed playing with Vincent with his mouth. Vincent played with the elastic on Cid’s briefs and rubbed his hips gently on Cid’s legs, testing to see when the refractory period was over.

Cid beat him to the chance to touch him when the rest of him was in the mood again. It was a beautiful, warm contrast, rough hands moving almost daintily over his sensitive skin, easily getting him hard under the light touch. Vincent never thought Cid was capable of going slow and softly with the way his hands always crept where they weren’t wanted.

Vincent, hardly as interested or trained in foreplay as Cid, tossed Cid’s hand away and opened the package with his metal hand.

Vincent couldn’t help chuckling at Cid’s expression as he applied the condom on himself. He yanked Cid closer to him, positioning himself between Cid’s legs.

Never in his life had Vincent had this opportunity, not even before Hojo. He’d joined the TURKS at a very young age, learned fast, and never had time for anyone. The last time he’d done this he wasn’t thinking straight. It’s had been absolutely surreal, the only thing he could think of to stop a panic attack that lasted for hours and wouldn’t go away.

There was no precision, no grace, and hardly any rhythm as Vincent drove in and out, his lustful avarice stifling any attempts to go slow and be gentle on Cid, who didn’t mind in the least.

Vincent stopped trying to hold himself up or push Cid’s hips to his. He wanted to spend all his energy enjoying the sensation of finally having Cid, body and soul… mostly body.

Cid’s body couldn’t take it any more. There was a sticky spray of white all over both of them and a loud grunt from Cid. They both kept moving. There weren’t done yet.

Then there were the noises again, this time from both of them. The friction, the heat, the tightness, the pressure… the contact so perfect and so wild, they could both forget everything but how good it made them feel to be with each other and without clothes.

Cid’s hands were at it again, grabbing Vincent’s buttocks again, squeezing to encourage Vincent’s wild movements, pulling him closer and tighter.

Vincent spilled into Cid again, with one last noise before collapsing completely on Cid.

Vincent pulled out, removing the used condom and flinging it into the trash. They were both exhausted and lay there in the heavy afterglow, hearts pounding so loudly they didn’t doubt the occupants next door would hear. If they were still there at all, considering the noise they made already.

Cid meant to ask Vincent why. What made him come back and why he was so mad and why he took him back? He really did mean to ask, but by the time he caught his breath, Vincent was asleep, his head pinning Cid’s shoulder down.

Cid shrugged and kissed Vincent on the forehead. He didn’t get to see it often enough and appreciated the headband taking a vacation.

Cid pulled the thin blankets up over himself and Vincent. Lying under the sheets would provide more warmth and Vincent would be clinging and crawling on him all night, he never had enough fat and muscle on him to keep warm enough at night.

Cid was finally starting to appreciate the Icicle Inn.

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