FIC: It Was The Bell [Slash, Vincent/Cloud/Cid, NC17] Title: It Was The Bell Pairing/Characters: Vincent/Cloud/Cid Theme Set and #: Dark, #1 Bell Fandom: FFVII Rating: NC17 Word count: 3932 Disclaimer: Don’t own. Summary: It all starts with the bell. But does it end that way? Author’s notes: Written for the 50_elements asylum Warning: Angst. Threesome. Smex. Implied het.
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Bell. It all starts with a bell. He postpones pressing the button, but when he does, he hears the sound that reminds him of those older doorbells before electricity and magnets and coils when one would take cast iron and a string.
It reminds him of church. And of flowers. And it hurts all over again.
It takes exactly twelve and a half seconds for the key to turn; during which he thought about walking the other way and leave them thinking he was nothing but some prankster; and the door to open.
Cid looks older than he remembers him, but after a moment he recognizes him and the smile on his lips looks the same. Cloud thinks that, perhaps, they are all aging from the outside, but the joy within stays the same.
He tries to smile back and doesn’t understand why exactly that simple action is so hard to do. Cid invites him in and the heavy hand of an engineer rests on his back as he walks in past him.
In the living room that is part kitchen and hasn’t changed a bit in the past years, Vincent is making tea. It smells half like roses half like herbs and he thinks he might actually like it this time. The gunman just smiles, not looking away from the almost boiling kettle. “I’m not a traditionalist,” he says, adding another bunch of dried leaves straight to the now boiling water.
Cid tells him to sit down on one of the chairs by the round table, and he takes the one opposite of the pilot. Vincent joins them in a minute, bringing a tray with the kettle, cups and cookies. His oversensitive nose can smell them before Vincent opened the bag, and he doesn’t even feel surprised knowing they were his favourite.
Sometimes he wonders if, perhaps, the pair keeps his favourite food stashed somewhere for those rare occasions when he visits them. Vincent pours him the yellowish liquid while he takes the cookie.
“Don’t get the wrong impression, we love having you here,” Cid starts, playing with the teaspoon full of sugar, obviously so used to doing it that he doesn’t need to look at it. He keeps his eyes on Cloud instead, that grin plastered on his face, even though it’s fading and turning into a fake. “But why did you come?”
Cloud keeps his eyes on the circular waves forming on the tea surface in his cup. He allows himself a few deep breaths, then he dips the cookie into the warm liquid. He almost gets lost again in the crumbs dispersing in the liquid, but decides to force his eyes away. “Tifa and I…” he starts and sees Vincent smiling warmly. “Can I stay for a few days, until things calm down?” he asks then, guilt in his voice.
Both Cid and Vincent nod without giving it a second thought, but it doesn’t make him feel any less guilty. He takes another cookie instead, because it feels easier to concentrate on the chewing than thinking about harming them all.
And that’s all he does in the end, dragging each of his friends into the abyss with him. And he doesn’t know how to stop it. The world and its people just keep on pressing him.
Cid clears his throat and excuses himself from the table with “Gonna go make your bed.” Vincent stays sitting there looking at him, his usually blank face carrying too much warmth for his own good.
“You can stay as much as you want to, chocobo head,” Vincent finally says, forcing a smile and it makes him smile in return. That and the cookies. “I hope you don’t mind pancakes for dinner.” And that too.
But he doesn’t speak and the gunman doesn’t mind because they’ve spent far too much time together in the past when they had no choice to care about little things anymore. Vincent sips his tea and Cloud eats his cookies. Somehow, it does feel better, even though he’s not quite sure for how long.
The world is less restraining now. Things don’t press him as much. In that short moment, things do seem right.
Time passes by slowly and Cloud’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not. He turns his cell phone off, but he knows there are at least two more in the house in case something important happened. He doesn’t feel guilty pressing the off button for the first time.
Cid comes back eventually, his face a bit flushed and hair a mess. “Ya better be grateful,” he says with humour in his voice. All three of them know he doesn’t mean it. “Cigarette?” he offers but Cloud shakes head. Cid leaves to have his smoke in peace somewhere outside. Vincent doesn’t allow it in the house because it makes him sick.
Cloud’s grateful for that too, because the smoke makes him sick as well. Normal humans don’t understand how sensitive he can be. Both of them, actually.
An hour passes and he still doesn’t say a word, besides occasional comment about the weather or the cookies. He’s glad Vincent doesn’t bother making him talk as many other people do. He’s content just to sit there and sip his tea until the moment the smile appears on his lips again and he looks him in the eye. “Cheese filling?” he asks simply and takes the tray away.
Cloud looks after him and nods only when he looks back, right after putting the cups in the sink and tray on the fridge. He digs through the cupboard, pulling out the flour, the sugar and salt, eggs and milk from the fridge, as well as water. He says that’s his secret ingredient, in the pause between using the blender as he adds more sugar to the mixture.
Cid returned around cracking the second egg with a bottle of fresh milk from the store, and went to make the cheese mixture; more eggs and sugar, and then some salt. He turns the oven on just as Vincent butters the pan.
Cloud just watches them. At first he thinks he’s jealous of the way they operate, after years of having to share the house, but then he realizes he’s jealous of the way the look at one another during their dance. Vincent brought him the bowl with cookies a while ago and sometimes he looks at it and picks his favourite ones just to give them enough privacy to share a kiss or two.
He doesn’t look away as Cid embraces Vincent from behind as he flips a pancake and catches it with ease. He goes back to cookies when they kiss, though.
It reminds him of the flower girl all along; and just too much.
“Son of a bitch,” Cid half muffles half yells as Vincent pushes a piece of a still hot pancake into his mouth. Cloud remembers, his left hand doesn’t feel much. Heat is obviously in that category.
After a smile, Vincent looks at him. “Pancake?” he asks, pointing with his fingers for Cloud to join them. He takes his last cookie and moves to the small place they call kitchen. Vincent flips another pancake and Cid tries his cheese batch, then leaves it on the counter, satisfied.
“There’s jam in the fridge,” Cid tells Cloud and he opens the fridge door and looks until he locates a small jar with something purple in it that probably used to be plums.
“They’re thin,” Cloud says, taking a good look at the pancakes as he hands Cid the jar. He remembers those he used to make for Denzel and Marlene, thick and soft and half of them got burnt because he’d forget to turn them until the smell of smoke reached his nostrils.
“They’re not really pancakes,” Vincent says with a smirk. “Crepes. You’ll see.”
“Our little shit here,” Cid starts then kisses Vincent on the mouth and it looks everything but chaste. “He’s got the weirdest taste I’ve ever seen. But you’ll love ‘em,” he ensures while spreading jam over one of the cooler ones. He rolls it then and hands it to Cloud, who takes it without a word.
He looks at it at first, spread there in his fingers like a body part he should not be thinking about right now. He almost smiles, but then Vincent turns his way and puts his fingers on the other side of the rolled pancake and takes a bite. He keeps his eyes narrowed, covering mischief and Cid just laughs and pulls the gunman closer to him, as though protectively.
Then the pilot searches the cupboards and pulls out a rectangular cake pan, which he butters well. Vincent continues flipping the pancakes and Cid spreads the yellow cheese mixture over them, rolls them and sets them like little soldiers in the pan. He hands one to Cloud, though, when he’s finished with the two thirds of the jam filled one Vincent took a bite off.
He wonders if Vincent will try and steal again, but he seems too busy with the small remaining of the batch. Besides, Cid is almost done with the pancakes he already made and needs a few more to fill the pan. And, Cloud notices, the oven is really hot now.
Finally, Vincent puts the last pancake onto the plate and turns the fire off. “Clear the runway,” Cid commands as he grabs the filled pan and carries it into the oven. Cloud wants to help and open the door, but the pilot’s handling the situation. Moving away, he closed the space between Vincent and he and he notices the red eyes looking at him, focused somewhere on the area around his lips. He wants to move away, but the kitchen is too small as it is.
Then, the thin long finger travels to the corner of his lips, and picks a bit of the cheese filling. The red eyes land on Cloud’s and stay there as the gunman puts the finger to his mouth and cleans it with his tongue.
Cloud realizes the temperature in the room raised for a few degrees, though he has no logical explanation for an outside influence. He feels his cheeks blush nonetheless. Then Vincent pulls even closer and joins their lips, chastely at first, then demanding more.
Alarms in Cloud’s head go wild, but he doesn’t back away. He tells himself it’s because of the tight space of the kitchen, but then he remembers Cid is right there, he can practically feel him how close he is, and he manages to pull away.
Apologetically, he looks towards the pilot, expecting anger or hurt or rage, and in the end, all those tings that would lead to him being kicked out of the house and never welcomed back. But there’s none of that. Cid turns the counter of the stove and just smiles affectionately as Vincent encircles Cloud’s waist and practically cuddles on his chest.
“How long have you wanted this?” Cid asks and Vincent doesn’t answer, so Cloud concludes the question must be pointed at him.
His eyes fall to the floor and all of a sudden that warm body pressed next to him feels so heavy. He notices the pilot closing the distance between them, his index finger pulling his head up by the chin.
“Vincent and I are not blind,” he says and Cloud notices a sigh escaping Vincent’s mouth.
Cid kisses him then, right here, right now. Cloud wants to move away, he doesn’t want to be here, to interfere, to be in the way, but they’ve got him cornered. He realizes Vincent’s hold on his chest and waist is much stronger than it seemed at first. He keeps him there and it would take a lot of strength to move anywhere.
That’s the problem with Vincent, Cloud always forgets, he’s quite modified himself and not just a human. His mind tries to work the ways out of the situation, but the only conclusion it reaches is that they had all this planned, somehow, somewhere.
He doesn’t mind anymore, though, as the pair pushes him to one of the cupboards of the tiny kitchen, forcing him to a half seated position. Vincent sits right next to him, swings his legs a bit while keeping a smile on his lips. Cid presses between Cloud’s knees, pushing him to lie down on the cold surface.
He closes his eyes at first, feeling the fingers play with the buttons and the zipper of his pants. Then he opens them to see the pair of red right above him, looking back at him. Vincent puts his palm on Cloud’s neck and kisses him gently.
He’s already hard, even before Cid manages to push both the pants and the underwear to his knees. He’s not quite sure why. He thinks it’s Vincent, but everything is possible right now.
And it’s better not thinking because thinking brings back memories and memories are not something he likes to build his life on. It’s easier to let go and let Cid’s tongue tease him mercilessly as Vincent leaves butterfly kisses on his neck.
He feels a guttural moan forming in his throat; Cid obviously knows how to work with his mouth, and Vincent isn’t slacking either, with his hand under the shirt, fingers pressing the nipple just right. He tries to lift his knees, making it feel somewhat better, but with the fabric at his knees, it doesn’t work. Understanding his wishes, Cid moves away and Vincent makes sure to kiss him more passionately as the pilot works with freeing his lower body from clothes completely.
Then the pilot does the most amazing thing – he lifts his legs up over his shoulders and returns his mouth to where it was.
Noticing Cloud’s moan, Vincent moves away just slightly, enjoying the view himself, then he continues trailing his gentle kisses everywhere he can.
Then the bell comes. Just like that, it appears out of nowhere, and it takes Cloud a moment to register the strange buzzing he never heard before. Cid has to move away. He groans a bit, then quickly pushes the button of the oven. Vincent’s hand slides to his erection then, keeping Cloud occupied now that the lips are gone.
“Aren’t they…?” he tries to form a question, but the hand is persistent in keeping the blood away from his head.
Vincent just smiles and fastens the pace. “They won’t burn in five minutes,” he answers and lets go as Cid returns to his proper place. The pilot leaves a kiss on his navel and returns to swallowing him whole and good. Vincent thinks about returning his hand under the shirt, but then decides to pull its zipper and free the skin. The sides of his sleeveless shirt just slide off his chest and Vincent doesn’t take his time to leave a few marks on the exposed chest.
Cid doesn’t bother building up the pace again. He continues where he stopped earlier, the same speed, the same strength, and Cloud groans again, not quite sure why exactly this time.
He still feels the warmth of the oven, a bit more on his right thigh. Cid’s shoulders are warmer on his calves. Cid’s mouth is even warmer on his cock. But the warmest thing is still the way Vincent’s hand holds his and tongue trails the beads of sweat.
One last move, and he’s pushed over the edge. Vincent’s grip is stronger and their fingers entwined are now locked. His hips go up and he pushes himself on Cid’s shoulders, which turns out to be a good move since that way the grip of his lips is even stronger, much deeper.
He spends himself inside, feeling his cheeks flush and all of a sudden nothing matters anymore.
His mind comes back to the red eyes looking at him warmly. “Welcome back,” Vincent whispers. “Hungry?” He realizes Cid cleaned him well, and now his legs fall down freely from the cupboard to the floor. In one fast move, Vincent sweeps him off the furniture and into his hands. Indeed, he often forgets how strong the gunman really is.
He looks at Cid, but he’s busy with pulling the pancakes out of the oven. They seem a bit too brown but they’re edible. They smell so good and Cloud realizes how hungry he really is when his stomach complains loudly.
Cid laughs. “Take him to bed, I’ll bring dinner,” he simply says and then returns his attention to the food. Cloud thinks about saying something, but Vincent is fast when it comes to carrying him off to the bed.
Their bed. He realizes he’s never been to their bedroom. He slept in the tiny room they called the guest room when he was around, but he never entered their bedroom. He never thought about it, really.
Vincent kneels on the mattress and lets go of him, then covers him with a blanket. He starts undressing then, quickly, mechanically, only to push his skin onto Cloud’s under the blanket as well. Cid is there in no time with a grin on his face and a plate full of fuming messed up pancakes.
“I knew I shouldn’t have left you deal with it,” Vincent says teasingly, but then climbs over Cloud and resumes the position on his other side.
Cid snorts and rolls his eyes. “And leave me to carry the three hundred pound angst muffin?” He swears then and leaves the warm plate on Cloud’s thighs.
Vincent doesn’t wait long to take one pancake. He divides it in two, puts one in his mouth and feeds Cloud the other. Then Cid sits on the bed as well, and the mattress squeaks from the pressure of all three of them. He relaxes his upper body on Cloud’s knees and opens his mouth, expecting food.
Instead of eating it all, Cloud bites just a piece of his half and puts the rest between Cid’s teeth. Then he kisses the pilot. He still tastes himself on those lips. Himself and sweetened cheese. And butter.
He finds it strange, now. He knows where the mouth was and what just happens, but still, he can’t get used to treating his friends like this. He’s not even certain if he’ll just wake up in the morning to find out this was all a dream.
Vincent laughs loudly; surprising Cloud, who never heard the gunman so free with his emotions; and leaves a teeth mark on his shoulder. Then he asks Cid to undress and join them as well.
Cloud still doesn’t speak.
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A bell wakes him up. First, he realizes, he thinks he’s only dreaming, or he was dreaming, or he will be dreaming because the sound he hears is not something his body or mind or brain is used to. Then he hears a dull thud and a curse. The voice belongs to Cid.
Slowly, too slowly, his body becomes sentient and he realizes he’s lying between two sources of warmth. He also realizes his limbs hurt in a way only sex strains them. It makes him smile just a bit. Then he notices the mouthful of hair in his, well… mouth.
He opens his eyes. One red one is looking at him, mere millimetres away from his. They’re practically covered in sharp dark hair and he has to fight the urge to sneeze. It makes Vincent smile at him.
He feels the need to stretch and decides not to fight it, though in the end, he regrets moving because it doesn’t feel as comfortable anymore; the dent he made during the night does not mould around his body as perfectly as before.
It stops mattering as Cid’s arm snakes around his waist and the pilot pulls him closer. Or the way Vincent pushes into him from the other side, then puts his thin but heavy leg around them both.
They could just stay there this way, Cloud thinks, until the end of time, and he’d need nothing else. Instead, the bell rings again and this time Vincent moans and rubs his eyes. He takes his phone and answers it, even though Cid grumbles something about turning it off and sleeping.
Cloud feels the pilot’s erection pushing into him and the way his breathing is different, much deeper than earlier. Even if Vincent did turn his phone off, he has a feeling they wouldn’t be sleeping.
“Yes, Tifa,” Vincent whispers and closes his eyes, listening to the phone talk. Cloud tries to spy on them, but the volume is too low even for him. Vincent’s ears are better than human and he, too, needs to turn it down in order not to hurt. “Yes, he’s here,” he continues, keeping his voice as emotionless as ever. “No, he is fine. No need,” he says, then listens some more.
The arm around his waist goes lower and cups his morning erection that never got the chance to go down. He stretches once again and bucks his hips, not caring about spying anymore.
“Don’t worry, I will,” Vincent says at last and hangs up. Then Cid pulls the phone away from him with his other hand and turns it off. He throws it on the floor and Vincent stares at him with eyes wide open, but then a yawn escapes him and he relaxes on the bed. “She wants to know if you’re here,” he finally says lazily, fighting another yawn.
“What did you tell her?” Cloud asks, then hisses as Cid’s thumb rubs the tip of his cock and, in the morning without enough lubrication, it feels more uncomfortable than anything else, even though it smells like a promise of things to come.
Vincent chuckles and kisses him gently, lips touching lips and tongues sliding on one another. Cloud realizes he wants to use his own hands a bit more actively this time. He searches for Vincent’s cock and squeezes it for good measure.
It makes Cid moan and bite the back of his neck. “I want to watch you,” he says and releases Cloud, only to push him onto Vincent, and that would look quite clumsily were it not for the gunman pulling him in synchrony, until he’s seated on Vincent’s belly, arched enough to kiss his lips.
He doesn’t really care anymore, about anything; about the world outside and the people pressing in around him. Everything else seems so small and meaningless when compared with how soft and gentle Cid’s hands can be while leading Vincent’s erection into him, or the way Vincent moans when he moves his hips.
Or just the way Cid watches them, not blinking.
And to think it all started with a bell.
But that’s not important anymore, because there are no more bells to interrupt him as Vincent tells him to kneel on all four over Cid. He doesn’t tell him to kiss him, though. He doesn’t tell him to push in when Cid spreads his legs, or to dictate a rhythm.
They don’t tell him what to do or how to do it, but somehow they just do it until the moment they lay there, spent and exhausted and stinking in the way only three very sweaty men can. And the normal thing to think right now would be that this is all over but, somehow, Cloud knows it doesn’t end just like that, even when they both leave, Vincent to bring breakfast and Cid smoke a cigarette. He knows they’ll return.