I have no idea where this came from, but it demanded to be written. Hope you enjoy it.
A pair of glowing golden eyes watched the slim form. He was so deceptively fragile looking like this. One would never guess that this almost waifish looking boy – ne, he corrected himself, man- was the savior of their world, twice over. A soft sigh ruffled the pale hair of the young man, followed shortly by carefully controlled talons.
Gaia herself must have helped him, bringing him to his door.
He’d stumbled in, bedraggled, bloodied and chilled after fighting too many monsters in the frigid winter climes. The blonde thought the mansion still stood empty, Vincent having gone off to be with Cid.
What an odd pair those two made.
But they were happy, and for that he was glad. Vincent deserved happiness after the tortures of the past.
He himself never thought he’d be able to find his match, the one he was supposed to be with. That changed the day a certain blonde threw the lid off Vincent’s coffin.
The scent he’d caught nearly rolled him under. Something like flowers, sunlight and charged metal. He could swear he’d smelt something similar years ago in a dream. It was half the reason Vincent agreed to go with them on their self imposed mission. The other was the waft of ozone, smoke and spice.
Honestly he couldn’t blame the former Turk for being confused as to whom he’d want to follow more. Their instincts were matched, but their matches were not. The friendship that sparked between gunman and bladist was something both had needed, and he did not feel that his claim was threatened by the crimson eyed one so he’d let it be.
Through all the battles and trials that followed, losing him, getting him back, Geostigma, death, Omega, he honestly thought they were simply not meant to be. After fighting Omega, he’d been content to vanish and sort his life out elsewhere.
And so he’d lived in the mansion for 4 lonely years.
Then he’d stumbled in.
It was dark out, a true blizzard building up for a good long blow, winds howling against the shutters. He’d long ago learned the value of tucking away food and fuel for when the weather got truly bad like this. Even his….. more unusual dietary needs were simple enough to plan for if he was careful.
That was something being joined with a Turk drilled into quickly.
That scent mixed with blood shot straight past his sense and straight to his libido.
Before either of them really knew what was happening there was a steel band of an arm around his torso, pinning his arms and a hand clasped over his mouth, turning his head to the side and exposing his neck. The huge sword had clattered to the floor not a heartbeat earlier. By the time his senses had started to work under his own will again his fangs were in the smaller man’s neck, just a moment away from breaking skin and bringing that sweet smelling blood to the surface, the blonde in his arms tense, not daring to move with something that razor-sharp so close to vital air and blood.
He stayed there, not biting down and not pulling away, logic battling with instinct. Then the blonde had gotten impatient and twisted, trying to get loose, conveniently slicing that pale skin on his fang.
Instinct flared again and he bit down, warm liquid flooding his mouth. The man in his arms arched and cried out in surprised pain, writhing against him in an attempt to break loose, blue eyes glowing brightly as mako flooded his system with adrenaline. It did him no good, seeing as his own eyes flared bright gold, muscles tightening to keep the precious catch. And all the thrashing did was open the wounds a bit wider and splash his tongue with more of the addicting liquid.
Mako should have made his blood entirely unpalatable, if not downright sickening.
Instead it was an exotic spice added to an already heady liqueur.
His mouth sealed tightly around the punctures, unwilling to lose even a drop. It had been so long since he’d had blood straight from the source, rather than bottled or jarred from his hunts. And never had any tasted so good.
Sometime later he realized the small man had stopped thrashing, lying limp in his arms. Glowing blue eyes had dulled a bit, half lidded in apparent exhaustion. Realizing he was fast approaching the limit of what he could take and have the blonde live he stopped his sipping. Laving his tongue over the punctures, his saliva ensured the wounds sealed quickly. The slim figure in his arms shivered slightly. His clothes were damp through.
That wouldn’t do at all.
Rumbling softly in his chest he picked the youth up, cradling him to his chest and carried him down stairs to the basement rooms.
There was a room here he thought he’d never get the chance to use.
Even when Vincent had been incapacitated, he had not been, and remembered everything in perfect detail.
There really wasn’t much else to do when stuck in the back of someone’s mind.
The rumbles in his chest kept their soft cadence, attempting to calm the blonde who was trying to focus hazy eyes.
A soft click and the door was opened.
Unlike the crypt, this room was clean and warm, the only piece of ‘furniture’ placed in the center of the room. Two doors were off to one side, but for now, they would wait.
Gently laying the blonde on the ground he started to slowly peel the damp and damaged cloth from him. The shirt and jacket were gone and hands were at his belts when soft sounds drew his gaze upward.
He was honestly surprised the slight figure managed to rouse himself enough to push at his hands, trying unsuccessfully to get away.
It took a moment to realize he probably had similar memories from a time far less kind.
The rumbles built again as he spoke softly, assuring the small form that he meant no harm, only to take the chill things off him and get him warm. Nothing else would happen. During those few moments blue eyes focused.
The confused expression on his face made him look so… innocent. As if years of jading had never taken place. He couldn’t resist the urge as he moved, kissing the blonde deeply, trying to shove everything he felt down that small bit of contact.
When he finally pulled away the blonde’s eyes were closed, a faint flush on his cheeks, his breathing soft and even.
His little mate had fallen asleep.
Rumbling a bit louder he carefully removed the rest of the blonde’s clothes, tossing them to one side to be washed and mended later.
He let the warrior rest on his wing as he carefully moved his legs and arms, licking each wound to clean and seal it. Once done he gave himself a moment to look unabashed at the creature that had caught him and never knew. Muscles were defined in a swimmer’s build, lean and strong, pale skin almost seeming to glow in the light of the few candles. That gravity-defying hair looked white among the dark reds and black of his wing.
The savior of the world looked like a fallen angel.
Smiling softly he lifted his precious burden to the one piece of furniture in the room.
He had thought long and hard how to make this for his mate, the one he wanted to claim and be claimed by in return. This would be no place of caging and nightmares.
The wood was iron maple, lovely pale wood that was deceptively strong, designed to be simple yet elegant, lid resting against the wall, ready for use when need be. Upon the lid was the likeness of the Flower Girl’s flowers from the church, small cut-outs made through the petals and covered in colored glass to speckle light on the one inside. It had taken seemingly forever to carve the scenes in the sides, but it was worth it. A field of flowers that Cloud had described to Vincent once after the fall of the Remnants. And leaning against one of the sides of the picture were a young warrior with a buster sword relaxing against a tree and smiling as if he were up to the greatest mischief in the world. And near him a young woman with a ribbon holding her long hair back, smiling with hands clasped before her. The grain of the wood almost made it seem as if the field of flowers was in full sunlight, the flowers swaying in an unseen breeze. His Paradise. Inside was lined with the most luxurious comforts he could find. Chocobo down filled the cushioning covered in the best Wutaian silks he could get, all of it a lovely white.
A perfect resting place for an angel.
Placing his burden down carefully the young man seemed even smaller surrounded in the white comfort with friends close by. He could swear he heard a happy sigh as his mate’s body settled into the soft warmth of feathers and silk. After arranging the smaller one’s limbs for comfort he pulled a thin blanket from the bottom to lay over the sleeping form, hiding the naked body from intruding eyes and keeping the warmth to the small body.
He gave himself a moment to stare at the sleeping beauty in the box, peaceful and serene, surrounded by a halo of warm light.
“Sleep well, Cloud. May the only visitors to your dreams be friends and loved ones.”
He laid a feather-light kiss to his mate’s forehead before carefully lifting the lid and fitting it into place.
Resting his head against the wood he let himself drift, happy, because even through the wood with all its enchantments and gadgetry, he could hear the steady beat of Cloud’s heart.
Inside his coffin, the Savior of the World smiled softly in his sleep.