[personal profile] clandestine_terrors
Title: Stained
Author: [livejournal.com profile] sphinxofthenile  
Fandom: FFVII - Advent Children
Pairing: Vincent/Kadaj with past Vincent /Sephiroth
Rating: NC-17
Warning: angst, yaoi, character death
Summary:  After saving Tseng and Elena, Vincent decides to spy on the trio, and the haunting past of the gunman comes rushing back.
A/N: Vincent's POV, flashback in italics.

---
  
"The tears fall, they’re so easy to wipe off onto my sleeve, but how do I erase the stain from my heart?”

---
 
The quiet song of the cicadae.
 
The eerie glow of the white trees.
 
The light of the full moon painting soft shadows.
 
The heavy, rich fragrance of the summer night filling your nostrils, mixed with the cold scent of water playing lullabies on the shore. Above the glistening surface, fireflies dance.
 
So beautifully perfect.
 
You could be enjoying its peaceful silence alone, just another droplet of eternity. You could try to steal this moment from time, a moment without regrets, without thinking.
 
How long had it been? Two years? Two years of brooding over the past. But you know this time wasn’t enough to grant you any salvation. Maybe not even eternity could.
 
You are damned, and you know it.
 
You’ve tried to run away, to drawn the past in oblivion, but now you know it’s been futile. You cannot run anymore, it is time to repent for your sins.
 
What is two years? The blink of an eye for someone like you. Yet, it seems so long… Every day is just another opportunity to curse yourself, every day of eternity you spend breathing is torture, and you know you deserve every moment of it.
 
Can it be? That two years had passed since…
 
No. You refuse to think about it.
 
You breathe in the night air. It doesn’t make your soul any cleaner, but it’s still nice. Once again it occures to you that you could try to steal this moment, but what would be the point? After a while, the memories of clear nights and blinding sunrises always fade away.
 
Because they are pure and you are not.
 
At least you could be alone, drinking in the scent and the silence, staring endlessly at the moonlit sky.
 
Yet, you are here, crouching on a thick branch, watching the house you haven’t set foot in in two years, using every trick you’ve ever learnt to conceal your presence.
 
You are watching them for hours. You don’t rush. You don’t even move. Hours are nothing. Nothing at all.
 
They have arrived back before dark and have barely left the house until now. As you look at them, anger flares in you at their blasphemy. How dare they be here? At this lake, where she lies…
 
The feeling is only strenghtened when you think about the recent events. The two Turks, the Wutaian man and the blonde woman…
 
Tortured. Beaten. Dieing.
 
Will they live? You hope it more than you’ll ever admit. You want them to live. If they don’t, it would be your fault again. You wish you’d arrived sooner, but you know it’s pointless.
 
You cannot change the past.
 
Your training takes over as you hear them speak, you know you need information, and you watch and listen with strained attention, pushing away the bothersome thoughts.
 
It’s odd, but you feel more alive than you did in the past two years. This warmth in your chest… You have to think for a split second before you realise it.
 
Excitement.
 
Is it because the situation reminds you of past missions? Or is it the fact that they look like him? Look like Sephiroth?
 
The name pains you. After all this time… Why? You don’t know, but quickly supress the memories that are threatening to rise from a part of your heart you thought long dead.
 
You don’t want to think. Or to feel. To feel the long silver strands around your fingers, white velvet skin on yours…
 
Your grip tightens on the branch. No. Not again. Not now.
 
Not ever.
 
This is the first time you see the three of them together, and your eyes just won’t leave the bewitching sight. They look stunning. Three beautiful youths with silver hair and cat-like, mako eyes; so similar, yet so different.
 
The bulky, short-haired man doesn’t interest you. He relies on brute strength, but behind the sturdy surface you see a child. He is crying for "Mother”, someone they talk about with fear, respect and longing.
 
Your attention is focused on the slender, long-haired beauty. His similarity to Sephiroth is breathtaking. He is smaller, leaner, his features softer, but a few years spent with fighting, and he would look just like him.
 
Your eyes can’t seem to stop drinking in this beauty.
 
The one crying calls him Yazoo.
 
You look at him, and instinctly are looking for familiar gestures as memories threaten to resurface.
 
Predatory smiles. No one ever could smile like Him. Those smiles that scared you, and still, caused waves of desire washing through you…
 
The way he pushed his hair back from his face, just to have it quickly sliding back to place.
 
How he used to lick his lips when he was thinking about something he wanted… And made up his mind to get it.
 
Your face is hot. You are not blushing, are you? No way. It must be the warm air and the concentration. What else?
 
Your attention is back to the slender beauty, who’s trying to console his crying brother and calm down the other at the same time, with little success.
 
He disappoints you. It’s an unreasonable feeling and you know it, but it’s still there. Yazoo doesn’t smile. He shows so little emotion that you find yourself wondering if you are imagining it or it is really there.
 
He seems cold, unapproachable. You look at him and your chest is constricting with longing and pain and sorrow.
 
He is empty. Like a beautiful work of art, he is the very copy of his beauty, but this young man is not Him. He’s not Him, and never will be.
 
Suddenly you feel so very tired…
 
The youngest one is still ranting, and his words are catching your attention. He too, looks like Sephiroth, but not as much as his brother. This one is so impossibly young…
 
He carries a sword. There is a flicker of interest in you, you find yourself wanting to see him use it, to see his moves, to hear his laughter. But it’s not him you really want to see, and you know it.
 
You want something that is gone forever.
 
Tears are stinging your eyes, but you refuse to shed them, as you’ve always refused to shed tears for him. After all, Sephiroth wanted to destroy everything you held dear.
 
Why would you mourn the Nightmare?
 
You prepare to leave, soundless, as you came, but before you could move, the youngest of the three suddenly looks up. There is no way he could’ve heard you, and still, he is looking directly in your eyes; and you are breathless, your heart racing and your eyes opening wide.
 
You see Sephiroth in his eyes.
 
In those intoxicating depths of azure and emerald there is the same insane cruelty, the same cold fire, from behind the sheer beauty of it all, there is the mocking laughter of a dangerous mind.
 
And as you stare at each other, the young clone smiles at you. He smiles, and you feel like banging your head against something, anything that is harder than your bones.
 
A swirl of your cape, and you are gone, but his malicious laughter follows you into the shadows.
 
You run. You don’t know why or where, it just feels good, the wind caressing your face and combing through your hair, every movement bringing you further away from that cursed place.
 
You should’ve never gone there.
 
You involuntarily end up at your favourite place, the small clearing next to a tiny lake, the little sister of the one you came from. You lean to one of the trees, covering your eyes with your hands, but to no avail.
 
That one smile is burnt into your mind.
 
Your pulse races, your breathing is shallow, and it feels like your chest is about to explode with sudden feelings, feelings you don’t even dare to name. The memories you succeeded in supressing for all this time are not rings on the water anymore, but a violent tidal wave washing through you, and there is no way to stop it, there is nowhere to run.
 
Where could you hide from your own devils?
 
You wake to gentle caresses, slender fingers exploring your skin, and your terrified eyes look into emerald depths, your blood running cold.
 
"Sephiroth?”
 
Everything feels like a dream. You look around and see the red satin interior of the coffin. Then you try to sit up, but there are strong hands holding you down and hot lips descending slowly to touch yours.
 
And when they do, everything turns to fire.
 
Your body, deprived of life for so long takes control, and your tongue eagerly slides into the kiss, your impatient hands tearing at the black leather to feel warm skin.
 
You know it’s not right, but the blood in your veins rushes like a thousand horses, and the kiss just feels too good, too delicious to stop.
 
How did he find you? Why did he come? It doesn’t matter. Only the fingers exploring your ribs, only the wet, slick tongue playing with yours. The primal hunger you see in his eyes, the one you know is in your eyes too.
 
For all these years your body slept, and the awakening is sweeter than it can take. When his sword-calloused hand slides into your pants and starts stroking your swollen flesh, you come hard, groaning into his mouth.
 
He breaks the kiss, dark amusement on his face, and he starts licking and kissing his way up your neck to your ear, his voice a low, seductive purr.
 
"How fortunate… that we have… all night…”
 
You can still feel his breath on your skin, his bite on your ear. You kneel down and wash your face with the sweet-tasting water.
 
Do you want to wash away his touch?
 
Or do you want to wash away the shame you feel for enjoying it so much? The guilt for giving in to him… again and again?
 
You sleep, and in your dreams a bizarre, chaotic whirlpool of the past events spins. Fights, monsters, Mount Nibel, mako springs, Hojo, Jenova, the Nibelheim laboratories, even the inn you are currently staying at.
 
And a man, a man with a black cape, a man who brings fire and destruction, who treads blood and smiles triumphantly through the flames…
 
"Sephiroth!”
 
With that cry you sit up in your bed, and you look straight into those dreaded mako eyes, watching you from less than a breath away with that ever-present, mocking smirk that promises you things that can only be spoken of in hushed whispers in the darkest rooms…
 
"Did you miss me?” he asks in a smooth, dangerous voice, and you know you’ve lost the battle before it started. You’ve lost it the first night he visited you during the chase.
 
His hands run through your long hair, and you are doomed before those perfect lips meet yours in a searing kiss.
 
After that, even more so.
 
He places hot, open-mouthed kisses on your chest. He knows how you like it best, and he loves to tease. You remember your last time together, when he tied you to the bedpost to prolong your torture and his pleasure.
 
You are grateful for the darkness, for he can’t see the blush spreading on your face at the mere thought.
 
But soon enough, all thoughts leave your mind as his teeth scrape your nipple and a wave of molten pleasure floods your senses.
 
When you have the ability to think again, you are already arching into his touch, your hands entwined in silver hair, pulling his head closer…
 
You know it is wrong. You know you should tell Cloud first thing in the morning, no, that you should push him away right now and run to the others and confess them everything this very moment…
 
But you can’t. You don’t even want to.
 
By the time he licks his way down to your hip, you are panting with need, trying to push his head lower, to the place where you most want that talented mouth, but you only earn a dark chuckle in return.
 
He loves it when you beg.
 
But you won’t, right? Never. Never again. However, before you realise it, the words have already left your mouth.
 
When the burning hot wetness engulfs you, you almost scream, but his strong hand on your mouth gently silences your cries.

 
Why is this pain in your chest? You should feel ashamed of what you did, for keeping the secret ever since, for still occassionally waking from troubled dreams about a silver-haired angel. You should feel guilt for betraying everyone’s trust in you.
 
But pain?
 
Your first time in the strange house next to the lake. The quiet breathing of the others filling the darkness, the sweet music of the waves kissing the shore.
 
So quiet, so peaceful…
 
You can’t sleep. You’ve already slept three hours and that’s enough. You listen to the night, watching the moonlight playing on the waves.
 
Something moves among the trees, and you stare with awe and a lump in your throat as he casually walks closer and finally looks up at the window you are standing at.
 
The usual sinister, smug smile never leaves his lips.
 
He is waiting.

 
You instinctly step back, and Cloud sighs in his sleep. You freeze, but the room is quiet once again. For a moment you watch the blonde, then you silently leave the house.
 
Sephiroth gestures you to stay quiet and leads you into the woods. There he stops, leaning to a tree.
 
You cautiously keep your distance.
 
"Sephiroth, it’s still not too late to stop this madness! Just give up whatever plan you are following.”
 
You can be proud, your voice is calm and collected, even though it is everything you are not. You wait anxiously for him to reply something, anything; but he just smiles at you like a father at his silly child, shaking his head a little.
 
Which is downright ridiculous, considering that damn, you could be his father!

 
"Vincent, Vincent.” His silken voice is mocking you.
 
Everything happens so quickly. His arms around you, his lips on yours, his tongue conquering your mouth with animalistic hunger, then licking at your ear while his deft hands get rid of your cape, his lips finding their way to your neck.
 
He is biting down so severely, you know it will leave marks, and you can only hope that the cape will conceal it.
 
He soon finds the spot at the junction of your neck and shoulder that he knows will send you wild, and places a kiss there.
 
No, you don’t want this, you haven’t come for this…
 
"Sephiroth, please…,” you whimper, but what is it now you are really asking for?
 
He starts sucking, and smirks when he hears the moan he always manages to elicit with it. His hands wander to your shoulders, his lips to your ear as he breathes the command hotly on your skin.
 

"On your knees.”
 
This is the point where you should come to your senses and leave, but you just don’t care anymore. You are too far gone, and would do anything just to hear him say your name again, to say it in ways only he can.
 
As you obediently lower yourself to the ground, he removes the red bandana holding your raven locks.
 
He loves your hair.
 
And you shudder with pleasure as his hands run through it, holding back a smile as you pull down the zipper.

 
You want to forget it, pretend it was just another nightmare, but in dreams, you embrace the memories, as if they would continue to keep a part of him alive; as if by forgetting him, you would kill him with more certainity than any weapon could.
 
There is the crack of a twig, and a few moments later you can hear the carelessly approaching footsteps, and you automatically rise.
 
He steps out of the darkness, and in the moonlight he looks even more enthralling than before. You knew it was him before you saw him and still, you stand there paralised, wondering if you have ever seen anything as sinfully endearing as the youngest remnant.
 
"Kadaj! What do you want?”
 
"What do I want?” He seems genuinely amused by the question, his dark, sensous laughter sends shivers down your spine.
 
He slowly comes closer, the tight leather outfit outlines his slender body, his hips are swaying lightly as he walks, his movements are graceful like those of a panther, so innocently wanton.
 
You feel a sudden warm tingle of desire, and force yourself to look at his face instead of that temptingly rocking body. If you feel anything, that is only due to the fact that the night is warmer than usual.
 
But as soon as you look upon his face, your crimson eyes start wandering. To those beautiful mako eyes challenging you from behind the silver veil of his hair. To the pearly white skin. To the defiant curve of his jaws. To the lustrous mouth curving into a mocking, knowing little smile…
 
So beautifully perfect.
 
You step back. He tilts his head a little to the side, the devilish smile widening, and steps forward. The two of you play this game until your back is pressed to a tree, and his body is pressed to yours.
 
"Oh, but I think you know the answer to that…” He purrs in your ear. He looks up at you, licking his lips, and suddenly grinds his hips to yours, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. You bite your lower lip to supress a moan.
 
His hips only stop when you bite down so hard that blood trickles down your chin. Then he leans closer and laps at the crimson droplets, his tongue licking playfully at your lips, asking for entrance.
 
Instead of granting it, you push him away, just to switch your positions. Seeing the surprise in his eyes, you feel a smirk tugging at your lips.
 
Now he is pinned to the faintly glowing tree that surrounds his head with a barely noticeable silvery halo. He doesn’t seem discontented with the turn of events, though. He doesn’t struggle, he doesn’t protest, just shots you an expectant glance that is so promising at the same time that your blood starts racing.
 
You don’t know what do you want to do more, slap him and leave, or kiss him until the both of you are out of breath. In your grip he seems so young, so fragile…
 
But the the muscles under your fingers are taut, the body strong and agile. You must not let your guard down. This is the body of a fighter, and a rather dangerous one at that. You know that much from experience.
 
Oh, but you want to know so much more…
 
You want to know how those perfect lips taste; if that white skin is really as silky as it seems. You want to see sweat trickling down that muscular abdomen, you want to hear him moan with pleasure and see that elegant body writhing under yours…
 
 No! You are here to repent for your sins, not to commit new ones. You have enough information to leave now and go to the Seventh Heaven to warn Cloud and Tifa. You’ve already betrayed them once, it cannot happen again…
 
The next moment your lips crash against his, teeth colliding with teeth, tongue sliding against tongue in a heated, bruising kiss that leaves your mind emptied of all conscious thought.
 
Your hands find the zipper of the leather outfit, revealing smooth skin. You shower his neck and collarbone with light, teasing kisses, and he throws his head back, hands making quick work of the buckles of your cape.
 
You slide the leather further down, until your mouth has access to the round shoulders and the already hardening nipples.
 
The salty taste of his skin is maddening, but it is nothing compared to his scent. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply.
 
He smells of snow, of rainwashed air. Summer grass and mako, and something sweeter than the flowers growing in the old church.
 
You could stand like this for an eternity, but he pulls you into another kiss. It starts out almost as wildly as the first one, but it ends slowly, gently.
 
His hands continue to undress you, but your gauntlet is in the way. A flicker of anger, and you are free of the damned thing, the shirt quickly following suit.
 
He looks at your terribly scarred arm with sudden affection, his hands moving to touch the marred skin, but his own gloves are still on. He tears at them impatiently, but you grab his wrists.
 
"Let me.”
 
You take his fingers in your mouth, gently pulling at the leather with your teeth. He watches with lust-filled eyes as you slowly remove the annoying pieces of clothing, a hiss escaping his mouth when you decide to kiss the exposed fingertips.
 
Once his hands are bare, he starts caressing your scars. Your first instinct is to pull your arm away, but then he covers them with kisses, as if the touch of his lips could make them fade away…
 
You are stunned and touched to tears. Nobody has ever done anything like this. Is it because he knows how you got them? Is it because it was the same hand that tortured him and you? The same hand that created the both of you?
 
You push away these thoughts. He is just a pawn, just a pretty puppet. Just a substitute to quench your thirst for lust. Tomorrow, he will be nothing. Nothing at all.
 
But right now, he is everything you want.
 
He continues to kiss burning lines on your skin, up your arm, your shoulder and down your chest, stopping to lick and suck at your nipples, his swirling, hot tongue making you groan with satisfaction. He smiles at you smugly, working even harder to shatter your self-control. His hand moves to caress the bulge in your pants, but you gently, but firmly push his palm away.
 
You can’t wait any longer. It is your turn to make this beauty moan.
 
You quickly finish undressing him and yourself, and with nothing better to use, you lay him down on your cape. In the moonlight it seems like he is lying on spilled blood, his perfect body spread out in front of you is drawing you like a magnet is attracting iron.
 
Your hands and lips are finally allowed to wander and explore freely, and you are more than eager to learn all the secrets this body holds.
 
Every time you find a sensitive spot, it makes you smile and tease a little more, his sighs and needy little moans are like music to your ears.
 
His fingers are curling around your hair as he is arching into your touch, and you just can’t hold back any longer. Your fingers find the pocket of your discarded pants and the small vial inside. Potions are not the best things to use for lube, but it will do.
 
You use a generous amount to coat your hand and your length, then push two fingers in, preparing him hastily. You don’t want to cause pain, but your desire is too strong by now. He hisses, but instinctly pushes down with his hips. You give him a quick, reassuring kiss, then position yourself to enter.
 
Before you do, he takes your face in his hands, looking deep into your eyes.
 
"Vincent…”
 
Suddenly he seems years younger, his huge eyes beseeching and suspiciously bright, the previous pride and confidence gone in the blink of an eye.
 
"Please… do it to me, not to Him…” He is pleading, and this simple request breaks your heart. You kiss his forehead, you place butterfly kisses on his brows, his eyelids; you caress his cheekbones, his temples soothingly, whispering incomprehensible little things, that he doesn’t have to fear, because you won’t hurt him. Ever.
 
And you mean it. And it doesn’t even frighten you as much as you thought it should or would.
 
Your eyes never leave his as you push into him, silently conveying it is really him you see. For a moment you wonder how did it happen, how could it happen. Because for the first time in a long while, you are not engaging in some quick fuck. You are making love.
 
Your bodies move in unison, hands entwined with hands, lips caressing lips, until you are both engulfed by hot whiteness.
 
When the waves of pleasure are gone, you roll over, breathing in that wonderful scent, and you feel like smiling at the bright summer stars.
 
You have stolen a moment from eternity when you didn’t even want to.
 
You rise on your elbow and look down at him. He looks back with half-lidded eyes, a cat after lapping up a bowl of cream. Smiling a little, his eyes slowly fell closed as he gives in to exhaustion and falls asleep. On your cape.
 
Such moving trust…
 
How can he trust you so much? You are his enemy, and you are a man who betrayed his own friends. You don’t deserve trust. And you definitely don’t deserve this.
 
You look at him, and you suddenly feel a sharp bite of attachment. You want to hold him in your arms as he sleeps, you want to protect him, so fragile, so easy to break…
 
You want to make sure no one ever makes him cry again.
 
You hold him close, filling your eyes with his beauty, listening to his peaceful breathing, wrapping yourself in his wonderful scent. You cradle him until your own eyelids grow heavy and finally you too fall asleep.
 
When you wake up, your arms are empty. He’s already gone.
 
---
 
You watch his fight with Cloud from the Shera. Your wish had been granted, you can see him fight. Fight with the grace of a feline, every move measured and perfectly executed.
 
You watch him turn into Sephiroth, and your heart skips a beat. He is exactly how you remember him, and while everyone is staring worriedly at the fighting men, you avert your gaze.
 
You don’t want to see him die again.
 
But it is not him who collapses at the end. You watch as the young remnant falls into the arms of Cloud. You watch as he dissolves into the Lifestream, and you wish you could’ve heard his last words.
 
You wish you had been the one holding him. He looked so lost, so helpless…
 
Yuffie asks if you are all right, you turn away from the window and nod.
 
Because you can’t speak from the suffocating black pain that is suddenly back to your chest.
 
Nothing remains of the beautiful youth you’ve held on a moonlit night, just the fleeting scent of snow and summer on the fabric of your red cape.
 
You turn your head away and pray that the others don’t see the two tears sliding down your face.
 
---

"The tears fall, they’re so easy to wipe off onto my sleeve, but how do I erase the stain from my heart?”