Touch Me There: Touch Me There

It was only for a few days. He’d be back on Sunday… some big technical job on some important project. A very good opportunity. Supposedly the chance of a lifetime.

So what did he expect Vincent to do for three whole days by himself?

Granted, the gunner was used to spending time alone. He was a loner by nature; that was just how he worked. But he’d become less of a loner lately. He’d gotten used to having someone there, at least to talk to, among other things.

The house seemed so big when it was just him there. Quiet too. There was no sound of buzzing or banging tools, no soft curses wafting in through open windows from the back yard. There were no heavy footsteps in the hall, no whistles from the teakettle. There were no soft snores next to his head at night, no quiet confessions of love in the dark, no good morning kisses…

Dear gods, he’d only been gone a day and Vincent was already going crazy.

The gunner didn’t like eating dinner alone, showering alone, going to bed alone. The sheets were cold under him. He missed the warmth of another body there. He missed being held, being kissed, being touched. He missed rough fingertips running down his body. He missed the contrast of feelings that could come from that mouth… the painful bites and the soothing licks. He missed everything.

He missed Cid.

It had been two days, and Vincent wasn’t doing any better.

His routine was boring. It was boring and repetitive and too quiet. How he had made it through the second day was beyond him. The fact was he had done it, and Cid would be home in the morning. But still… morning seemed awfully far away.

It was eleven o’clock. Vincent was lying in bed, in a pitch-black room, staring at what he assumed to be the ceiling, but couldn’t be sure because it was so dark, even for him. If Cid were there he would complain about how just because Vincent had spent thirty years in a dark coffin didn’t mean that they had to sleep in complete blackness. Vincent had suspicions that Cid might be a little afraid of the dark… or more accurately, what Vincent might do in the dark. Vincent always told him he was being ridiculous.

But now that Cid wasn’t there to be ridiculous, the gunner wished he was. He was lonely without the person who had quickly become his lifeline, his stability, his means for expression. And Vincent was not going to deny it, especially to himself, that he wanted Cid’s… company. They had been very active and open with each other sexually, and now that it was suddenly gone, the gunner had to admit that he felt a little… pent up.

But he only had to wait a few more hours. Just a little while longer and then he could welcome Cid home with open arms… and legs.

Why is it, he wondered, that when a person misses someone as much as he was missing Cid, and sits in the dark, like he was doing, that after a little while of not being able to sleep, thoughts turn into visions… which then turn into fantasies… which then turn into—

“Oh no…” he groaned aloud before sighing heavily, annoyed. He shifted, trying to ignore it. Didn’t work.

He turned over onto his left side. “Ahh…!” Bad idea. Pressure, bad.

He rolled back over, closing his eyes and trying to will it away. He stayed so still that after a few moments a cramp formed in his lower back, making him subconsciously shift his hips to right it.

Shifting, bad.

Damn… If Cid were there he could have fixed this problem. In fact, Cid should fix the problem since he was technically the cause of it. Vincent inwardly groaned. What he wouldn’t give to have Cid there… warm hands caressing him, hot tongue moving over him…

Thought process, bad.

Why was it suddenly so hard to get out of this mindset? Since when did he have so little control over himself? His mind answered with an image of a strong body moving over him, glistening with sweat, short, blond hair slightly moist from the strain… It made him moan rather unwillingly.

He wouldn’t give in though… He was a grown man, far more grown than he appeared, and taking care of it himself seemed so… juvenile.

Oh, but those images in his mind were so inviting… and it was getting to the point where he just couldn’t stop them from coming, even if he tried. His hips shifted again of their own accord, and the friction of cloth was most delicious.

How had this gotten so maddening? He’d never been so aroused just from his own thoughts before. Then again, he’d never missed anyone’s company quite like he was missing Cid’s before either.

He shifted again, feeling every millimeter of fabric that moved over him, both from his soft cotton pants and from the light blanket over him. In his mind he saw pink lips moving down his chest, felt them close over a nipple… Wait, felt? He opened his eyes and looked down. When had his hand moved there? Without thinking about it, he let his fingers give an experimental pinch… pinching, good.

Looked like he was just going to have to resort to being juvenile.

With a reserved sigh, which quickly turned into a very quiet moan, he trailed his fingers down his torso to the waistband of his pants, giving them a gentle tug when he got there. Again his hips shifted on their own, making him close his eyes and crease his brows. Was the temperature rising in his room?

He quickly tossed his blanket to the side. The slight change in temperature sent a little shiver of pleasure down his spine. It gave him goose bumps, which in turn pulled the flesh taut around his nipples, making them even more sensitive to the golden claw that was suddenly trailing gentle scratches over one of them. That provoked another tug on his pants, which, he decided, needed to not be on him anymore.

But he had to keep up with his imagination. As he used his hand to push the pants over his hips, lifting them to accommodate the motion, he pictured Cid’s hands there instead. He pushed the fabric over his hips as far as he could reach without sitting up, freeing his aching length to the cool air, making him gasp. In his mind, Cid was making that face he always made when he finally got Vincent’s pants off; that half-smirk with a little gleam of awe shining faintly in cerulean eyes as they traveled over him. Vincent usually didn’t like being looked at, but something about having the pilot’s eyes on him always made him twice as turned on. Even just imagining it caused him to rein back a moan.

He gently brushed his fingertips over the underside of his length, teasing himself like his lover usually did. The metal of his claw had quickly adapted to the cooler temperature of the room outside the covers, and the chilly metal brushing over his nipple felt heavenly in combination with the scene in his head. He pictured Cid leaning over him, swirling that tongue around said nipple while calloused fingers teased his length gently. The imaginary pilot pulled back slightly and blew on the spot where his tongue had just been, and Vincent had to bite his lip.

He slowly wrapped his fingers around the base of his arousal, still only applying enough pressure to tease as he knew Cid would tease if he were there. Without realizing it, he whispered the pilot’s name, quietly pleading with his imagination to continue. Slowly, so slowly he wasn’t sure if he was the one still making the motions, he gave a soft upward stroke, breathing out as his fingers reached the tip to find a bit of moisture gathered there. He used it to his advantage, bringing his fingers back down and reveling in the slick feeling he was awarded. Again, the captain’s name fell from pale lips.

He repeated his motions, a little quicker this time, imagining Cid’s hand around him instead of his own. He brushed his thumb over the tip, letting it play in the liquid slowly leaking out before pressing gently against the slit, pulling a low growl from his throat. His hips rolled into his hand, making his toes curl as his pants moved with him, having only gotten down to his thighs, the cloth of the waistband gently tickling over sensitive flesh. Eyes closed tightly, he picked up his speed once more.

Imaginary Cid was slowly moving himself downward now, hand still working the gunner’s length as gentle kisses trailed down his abdomen. Again, Vincent imagined a Cid-face, one he typically made when he was looking forward to seeing Vincent writhe. The hand around him—he didn’t care whose it was anymore—was going impossibly fast now, and Vincent could feel the start of his release coiling inside him. But Imaginary Cid apparently wasn’t finished with him yet as he lowered his mouth, taking just the tip of Vincent’s length past his lips. The gunner arched his back, wanting to make it end and go on forever at the same time. But he was close.

He imagined that mouth closing over him, feeling that tongue sliding around him. He was lost to his fantasy now, his hand moving almost frantically over his length, waiting for just the right moment, just the right movement. His fingers suddenly squeezed harder than he had intended, and that was his undoing. His back arched high as he made one powerful thrust into his hand, his lover’s name bursting from his throat as he came, spilling his seed over his hand and stomach as he slowed his movements, mouth hanging open slightly as he tried to catch his breath.

He lay there for a few minutes, his hand resting next to his softening length, claw splayed over his chest, rising and falling with it as he breathed deeply. He wasn’t exactly satisfied, but he knew it would be all he could get until—

“Fuckin’ hell, Vince.”

Crimson eyes darted open at the sound. The gunner sat up, noticing the open door, the light streaming through it from the hallway… the figure standing there gaping at him, and he found himself unsure of whether he was still imagining things.

“Cid?”

The pilot dropped his bag to the floor rather unceremoniously. “That was quite th’ show ya put on there.”

The gunner felt his cheeks warm and was thankful it was still fairly dark in the room, but he said nothing.

Cid ran a hand through his hair, still staring at the gunner as he made his way over to the foot of the bed. “It was fuckin’ hot. Didn’t know ya’d miss me that bad.”

There was a lilt of humor in the pilot’s voice that made Vincent smile. He felt the bed dip and watched as Cid’s shadowed figure crawled over him, stopping only when he was hovering over the gunner with his face mere inches from his lover’s.

“What are you doing back? I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

Cid grinned and moved closer so their lips brushed together as he spoke. “Didn’t think ya would complain much if I showed up a little early,” he whispered, following it up with a gentle kiss.

Vincent lay back, looking up lovingly at his Captain. “I missed you.”

“I noticed.” The pilot trailed a finger down the gunner’s chest, swiping briefly through the viscous liquid gathered on his stomach before bringing it to his mouth to lick it clean. “Care ta tell me what ya were picturin’?”

Vincent smirked. “I should think that was obvious, Captain.”

Cid grinned again and sat back, kneeling over Vincent’s thighs as he removed his shirt. “All right… I’ll give ya that.” A smirk replaced the grin as a blond eyebrow rose. “Then would ya care ta make it a reality?”

Vincent almost grinned. “I am so glad you’re home.”