Cephy (cephy) wrote in kinkfest, @ 2008-03-01 08:14:00 |
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Entry tags: | a: cephy, f: final fantasy vii, march 01, p: cid/vincent |
"Once a Turk", FFVII (Cid/Vincent)
Title: Once a Turk....
Author: Cephy
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Cid's cussing, but you had to expect that
Word count: 550
Prompt: Final Fantasy VII, Cid/Vincent: domesticity - let me do it
It was still a bit surreal, coming home after a hard day of bashing away at engine guts to find a capeless and denim-clad Vincent Valentine standing at the sink with a dish towel in his hand. His flesh hand, of course; the towel hadn't been invented that could stand up to the claws on the other one.
Standing in the doorway, it occurred to Cid once again that he really should get on to making Vincent a new hand. The claw had been more than useful while they were fighting monsters across the entire fucking continent but, unsurprisingly enough, was less than ideal for everyday use. And really, how hard could it be to design something that would work? Fucking Hojo had come up with that first one, and while Cid didn't know much about mucking with people's genes he liked to think he knew a bit more about machines. Even with the odd connections under the skin and all the rest, it couldn't be impossible.
Silently-- and with that stubborn set to his shoulders-- Vincent set a tea cup in the cupboard and reached for a plate, pinching the edges carefully between claw-tips and balancing most of it against his palm. It wobbled for barely a second before settling but Cid saw it nonetheless, and he rolled his eyes in exasperation. Because, really, how many times did they have to go over it? It wasn't like he minded if the idiot didn't do shit like that, and Vincent damned well knew it. Hell, it wasn't like the dishes ever got put away at all before Vincent came to stay; they dried perfectly well on their own, when left long enough, and if all of his favourites were right there on the counter, well, it was just easy access for when he wanted to use them again.
The plate shifted as Vincent changed his grip, wobbling much more dramatically-- Cid rolled his eyes again and stepped forward. "Here," he said gruffly, reaching. "Give it here, let me do it. Stubborn ass," he couldn't help but add.
And if he perhaps stood a bit nearer than strictly necessary, coming in close behind, well, Vincent didn't seem to be complaining. Cid reached his arms around the other man and took both towel and plate; pressed up chest-to-back as he leaned forward to place the dried dish in the cupboard with a click.
Vincent turned in the circle of arms, eyes quiet and the tiniest of smiles on his face. He didn't look like a Vincent frustrated by a menial task and his own limitations, and Cid had seen that face enough times to recognize it. No, he looked more like a Vincent whose day was going exactly as planned, and Cid watched him with narrowing eyes, because if he were a more suspicious sort he might be starting to think that perhaps the sneaky bastard did this sort of thing on purpose--
Vincent leaned forward ever so slightly; his flesh hand reached out and took the towel from Cid's fingers, dropping it to the floor. Cid licked his lips, mouth gone suddenly dry.
Definitely a sneaky bastard, he managed to think a few minutes later. Once a Turk, and all that, he supposed.
... not that a little sneakiness was a bad thing.