WriterZilch (writerzilch) wrote in kinkfest, @ 2007-09-19 10:48:00 |
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Current mood: | tired |
Entry tags: | a: writerzilch, f: final fantasy vii, p: vincent/yuffie, september 19 |
[fic] "One of Anything is Never Enough", FFVII (Vincent/Yuffie)
Title: One of Anything is Never Enough
Author: writerzilch
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Not worksafe for graphic sex
Word count: 2000~
Summary: Yuffie is giving me That Look again. That Look means she's either going to be riffling my pockets for Materia or she's got something naughty up her sleeve.
A/N: This is the longest fic I've written in months. And it's het, which I almost never write. I have little experience writing Vincent OR Yuffie, so I hope the characterizations have come out alright. (Written in Vincent-POV.)
Being around people makes me remember, quite sharply, why I usually prefer to camp in the woods alone.
Yuffie is giving me That Look again. That Look means she's either going to be riffling my pockets for Materia or she's got something naughty up her sleeve. When she arches an eyebrow and doesn't try to slide her hands under my coat, I figure it's the latter. How strange is it, I wonder, that one can tell Yuffie is up to perverse things by the way she doesn't touch you?
She's almost giggling as she leads me upstairs, leaving the raucous drinking and general carrying-on in the barroom down below. It's a relief to get away from all the noise-- I had found myself scanning exits nervously, fingering the edge of my gun as if I expected enemies to burst through the walls. No, it wasn't that I expected an attack; it was just that, with all the distraction, how would I be able to tell?
We pause on the stairs. It appears this was her destination. "Yuffie," I say, in my lowest no-arguments voice. Most people take a step back when they hear it. Yuffie, however, does not seem affected-- not in the way I'd planned for, anyway.
"Oooh." She shivers, exaggeratedly, and then has the audacity to reach up and throw her arms around my neck, drawing me close. "I love it when you use the Sexy Voice, Vinnie."
I try to keep my face dead-neutral. "I don't know what you mean. And don't call me--"
"Right, right." She's straining up on tiptoes. I realize belatedly that she's trying to kiss me.
"Yuffie--"
"If you don't lean down, Vincent, I'm going to have to climb." She makes it sound like a threat. From Yuffie, I suppose it is.
I lean down, telling myself as I do that it's merely to placate her. I'll be gone before morning anyway; what harm can it do? One kiss.
How could I have forgotten that one of anything is never enough for the little thief?
I had meant to keep it chaste-- a brush of lips, I thought, something innocent. She really is terribly young. But Yuffie is having none of it, and before I know what is happening she's parting her lips and coaxing me with the wetness of her tongue.
I make a surprised sound and she tightens her arms-- if I pulled back now I'd only be dragging her with me. My left hand scrapes against the wallpaper as I try to keep balance. The other finds its way to Yuffie's waist-- only to brace myself, of course. I do not want to fall on her.
She giggles again and lets me draw back enough for a breath. Everything about her is radiating "trouble". I am suddenly painfully aware of the sounds of merriment drifting up the stairwell, not at all as distant as I'd like.
"You're so nervous," she says, grinning. "Aw, is this your first time? That's so cute."
I try to glare at her for all I am worth. Is she completely mad? "Yuffie, I am a great deal older than you--"
"And you waited this long? Sheesh, Vincent, if you don't let it out to play once in a while it'll dry up and fall off."
It takes me a minute to interpret her filthy implication. Where did she learn such things?
Downstairs I hear Cid guffaw. Perhaps I already know.
"You had best not take up smoking," I say, narrowly.
"Wha--?"
"Nevermind. In any case, we are not having sex in the stairwell."
Her eyes go wide, but not shocked-wide-- it's more like she's attempting to look wounded and innocent. "So if we move up into the hallway, we're in the clear, then?"
She isn't innocent at all.
I open my mouth to tell her that we are not having sex period, that she is too young and I am too... heavy, perhaps, weighted down with sharp metal and regrets. But I never get the chance; she merely walks up two steps, so that she is looking down at me, and then she grabs my hair and pulls my head up and kisses me again.
Her tongue is in my mouth; surely it's only instinct that brings mine out to greet it. She makes a sound-- a whimper, high and sweet-- and it's getting hard to remember what I had been about to say. Her hand in my hair feels too good when it pulls, and I'm not sure I want to examine that response too closely.
This is dangerous.
My hand tightens at her waist.
She pulls back, eyes sparkling, grin as wide as a shark's might be. She looks so damnably pleased.
"No," I say, but it comes out like a question instead of an order.
"Why nooooot?" She mock-pouts, but her eyes are still bright. Does she know I'm wavering?
"We. We just can't." I'm having trouble thinking of a good reason. I hear more laughter from the bar and seize on it-- "Someone could come."
She laughs. "That's kinda the point, Vincent." I feel like I must be missing the joke. She shakes her head. "Nevermind. C'mon, don't you know that the risk is half the fun?"
"Being caught naked in the stairwell of Tifa's bar is not my idea of 'fun'," I say.
"So we'll move up to the hallway. And you don't have to get naked. That's what strategic zippers are for, right?" She fumbles with mine, actually starts to drag it downward before I grab her hand. I'm breathing just a little too fast.
"Get up here," she says, tugging my coat as she walks backwards up the stairs. Her expression is so assured it makes me follow after. At least one of us knows what they want.
Yuffie leans back against the wall and pulls me down into another kiss. It's hard to protest at this point, especially since I'm biting her lower lip, sucking on it until she gasps and arches against me. I bend my knee slightly when I lean down, and she takes it as a liberty, lets it slide between her legs when I kiss her again. She's moving against me and I can't think anymore. Resistance to Yuffie is futile.
She wriggles and I want so badly to press forward, meet her with friction and heat. It takes me a moment to realize that she's wiggling out of her shorts. There's nothing underneath, no panties at all, and suddenly I feel overheated, almost dizzy. I kiss her, hard, and without even thinking my normal hand slips down to stroke her.
She keens, and it echoes in the hall. "You and your... stupid glove..."
"It doesn't feel good?" I start to take my hand away.
She grabs my wrist, holds me there, presses against my palm. Her hips jerk slightly. "If you stop I'll murder you," she snarls.
I believe her.
We don't have time for subtleties, however. Yuffie is tugging at my belt, yanking it open with sharp motions even while she moves against my hand. I kiss her, almost distractedly: mouth, chin, forehead. I hear the sound of my zipper, startlingly loud in the hallway.
"Lift me up," Yuffie says, and I do.
It shouldn't be so easy, I think, to lift her, to press her back against the wall. I brace with my metal hand and wrap the normal arm around her waist. Her legs draw up, thighs close and tight around me, and I rub myself against her. She's hot and wet and this is going to happen, I'm going to despise myself in the morning but--
"Vincent, please."
All thoughts vanish. Who can say no to Yuffie when she pleads? It's a virtual impossibility.
I press inside. I grit my teeth and try to go slow, but it's been so long and now my body is remembering and it's screaming at me for neglecting it for so long. How could I forget this? How could I go so long without this? When it's over I'll be able to tell myself I don't need such things, but right now there are no lies. I want this. I need this. I need her.
She whimpers as I move. I don't want to hurt her...
"Is this... am I... the first?" It's agony to pause, but I do.
"Yeah, right," she says, but her eyes are squeezed shut, her teeth gritted.
"Do you want me to st--"
"Vincent, just shut up and fuck me already."
"Language," I say. When she opens her mouth to spit more invectives I thrust the rest of the way in, and she lets out a high-pitched noise instead, clutching at my shoulders.
She's breathing fast and hard. I hope it isn't all from pain. I should have known better than to--
"D'you like it?" she says. "Am I tight?" The ghost of a grin drifts across her face.
"Where did you pick up such filthy language?" I say, even though her words send a shudder through me. She is tight, beautifully so, and in a moment I'm going to start moving whether she's ready or not.
"Maybe someday I'll tell you." One of her hands cards through my hair. "Are you gonna move, or are we just gonna sit here like this all night?"
"I'm going to move," I say, and then I do.
She makes a sound, a little gasp, and her legs tighten around me. "Yeah, c'mon, Vincent," she says. I can't tell if it's bravado or not, but I continue to thrust, trying out a slow, shallow rhythm. She tips her head back and closes her eyes.
"You might use your hand," I suggest. "It might make things better for you. If I weren't holding you up I would do it myself..."
She looks confused for a moment, but then her hand slips away from my shoulder to fondle her own breast. "Like... Like this?"
"Whatever you like." My voice comes out low and husky, almost a growl, and I thrust a little deeper on the next stroke. Gods and monsters, I think. Yuffie.
She lifts her shirt, showing off perfect white breasts, and as I watch she rolls a hard nipple between her fingertips. I feel like I'm going to go mad. She smiles up at me, eyelashes lowered coyly. "Oooh, you like that, huh?" She sounds almost normal again, aside from the hitching of her breath.
"I do." There's no denying it. "Do it again."
She obliges me by moving to her other breast, tweaking the nipple and then squeezing herself, palm flat against the mound of her breast. I duck down and lick at her skin, lapping at fingers and soft white skin, and when she offers it to me I suck at the delicate pink peak like it's candy. I am rewarded with a moan that makes me lose the timing of my thrusts. When I pick it up again I'm moving faster.
"It's good," she says, sounding almost surprised. She presses against me, hips moving to meet mine, and I think, This won't last much longer. Every thrust bangs her against the wall but she doesn't complain, not even when I bite her too hard, leaving a mark at the join of her neck and shoulder. I kiss it in apology, but I don't slow down.
It's getting close. "Touch yourself," I say, breathlessly. "Yuffie, stroke yourself for me."
She knows exactly what I mean this time. Her hand slips down to her clit and I watch, unashamed, as she strokes it rough and fast. "Harder," she says. "I'm almost--"
I don't know if she's lying but I do it anyway. I take her hard and fast against the wall, and my claw-hand tears furrows in the wallpaper. Yuffie is gasping, bucking against me, murmuring a litany of please please please. I couldn't stop now if I wanted to.
A moment later I find out she wasn't lying. Yuffie stiffens against me, hips grinding so hard it almost hurts, and then she lets out a cry of release and, I think, triumph. I can feel her tighten around me in waves, and that's when I lose it as well, biting my lip as I thrust in as deep as I can go, shuddering through orgasm with Yuffie still grinding in short, sharp movements.
We pant for a few moments, and I lean hard against the wall. Yuffie's legs tremble, and I want to warn her that there will be a great deal of soreness tomorrow, but all things considered, she probably already knows. The look on her face is pure satisfaction. I suppose a bit of soreness is worth it.
Completely too late, I hear feet on the stairs. I have only enough time to turn my head and then Cloud is in the hallway, freezing as he catches sight of us.
My expression must be aghast. Cloud's expression is aghast, with embarrassment thrown in to turn his face cherry-red. Cherry, my mind thinks, stupidly, and I quash the thought mercilessly. It sounds like something Yuffie would say.
"Uh. Hi Cloud!" Yuffie says, brightly. She is attempting to look innocent, which works remarkably poorly for a woman when she is pressed against a wall with her shirt pushed up and a man's length still inside her.
Cloud turns on his heel, moving stiffly back toward the stairs. I cannot blame him for being appalled. If my brains weren't still quite distressingly goo-like, I might have the presence to be appalled, too.
"Just. The wallpaper." Cloud's voice drifts back as he heads down the steps. "Tifa is going to kill you if she sees what you did to the wallpaper." Then he is gone, back into the bar proper, and the hall is quiet again.
I look at Yuffie. She looks back at me. For once, I cannot tell what she is thinking.
"...Maybe she won't notice if we hang a picture over it," she says, finally.
The only explanation is that I've gone insane. I laugh until I can't stand anymore. When I fall, sitting heavily on the wood floor, Yuffie simply curls into my lap and smiles up at me like she's just won some sort of prize.
"I think I should get some kinda reward, making you laugh like that."
I'm still chuckling. I can't seem to stop. "Keep your hands off my Materia."
She winds her arms around my neck. "I'll keep my sticky fingers to myself if you let me stay in your room tonight."
"Deal," I say, and then I wonder when I agreed to spend the night.
Well. One night. What harm can it do?
How could I have forgotten that one of anything is never enough for that little thief?