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Eden, Part 4

Summary: Captain Cid Highwind has been alone in the forest, injured, starving - when he finds Eden, a place of beauty and sustenance. Little does he realize, that every pleasure to be gained here has it's price.
Warnings: Totally AU and OOC. Dubious consent, super kink, and wangst. You know how we do. Unbeta'ed because I'm easily distracted by rocket bison.
Disclaimer: Square Enix owns Cid and Vincent, the rest is sadly our own mad-cap invention XD
Notes: Posted for zombie_cheese. She had a shit day, and still she managed to make me smile, and come up with the title.



A nap for Cid is a mini hibernation for Vincent. He sleeps through three days, unmoving save for the steady rise and fall of his breathing, his hands curled near his head, the rest of his pale body buried beneath the fur throw.

Food continues to appear for Cid whenever his back is turned. The only difference is that the foods seem random, and less in tune with what Cid craves at the moment. The light continues to fluctuate, as if mimicking the day and night cycle, independent of Vincent. In fact, the whole place seems to be able to function quite well without Vincent at all.

Towards the night cycle, Vincent stirs, gently, beginning to come awake at last.

Cid actually looks forward to Vincent coming awake. He's beginning to get cabin fever. There's a difference between being inside a plane, and being inside an underground lair. As the hours/days wear on, he grows more agitated, by his imprisonment, by Vincent's unresponsiveness, by the place itself, by the food, by everything.

His leg is well enough to walk on, and he paces, frustrated, restless, a caged animal.
Vincent makes a soft sound and blinks himself into awareness. He shifts and stretches beneath the fur, easing his body back into motion. He pushes himself up, his hair tussled and face still soft with sleep, and idly looks about the place.

"Oh, I see 'is MAJESTY, King Fucking Valentine, has decided te grace us with 'is presence," Cid snaps at him from across the room, wearing a pair of satin slacks that he had managed to find. Who knows what Vincent had done with his original clothes.

"Oh, shut up," Vincent groused, stiffly getting to his feet with a wince.

"Shut up? Shut up!" Cid says, working himself into a rage. "I've done nothin' fuckin' else but been shuttin' up fer the last three or so fucking days! And that's if this... this... goddamn place is anythin' reliable as te the passing of the goddamn fucking time. There's no sun, no moon no fucking stars, no clouds, no wind. NOTHING. Just one wall and a random menu o' food and NOTHIN' ELSE TE FUCKING DO."

Vincent sends him a scathing glare, made none the gentler by his nudity. "Some days I wish I were human so that my food would just effing stay still and shut up. I wish you were a woman so that you'd just effing lie there and keep your mouth shut when I say to." He gathers his hair up with stilted, angry motions, twisting it and tucking it at the back of his head, and pinning it with an elaborate diamond comb he conjured.

Cid storms over to Vincent, and though he doesn't touch him, he certainly gets into Vincent's personal space.

"If I'm such a fuckin' nuissance," he hisses, "let me the fuck go home and find yerself a more pliable meal."

"Even if I were inclined to, I wouldn't just to spite you and watch you be miserable," he spits, taking one angry step into Cid, briefly pressed chest to chest before he moves away to a tall urn, taking up a handful of water and tossing it up. It turns to mist and clings to him as he continues to stock away, taking the form of a more feminine robe that leaves his shoulders bare and dips to expose his long back. He continues to mumble to himself as he goes, upset by his rude awakening.

"Don't - Don't ye fuckin' walk away from me when I'm talking te you!" Cid shouts at him, dogging Vincent's heels.

"What am I meant te do here when yer not playin' whore, eh? I'm goin' fucking INSANE."
His words are loud, angry, but a note of something else, more desperate, more panicked, is starting to be heard too.

Vincent cottons onto it, giving Cid a queer look that's something like wary curiosity, from over his bare shoulder. "And what, exactly, do you expect me to do? Conjure boardgames? Those ludicrous electronics that you can't seem to live without, what? Do you want me to snare you a playmate? What do you expect me to do about it?"

"Let me go!" Cid begs, flinging his arms in the air. "Or at least... let me go outside once in a goddamn while. Put me on a fuckin' leash, just let me see the sky! And yeah, SOME sort o' entertainment would be fucking nice. I need to do, I need te create, to do somethin' I can see. Te make somethin', te fix somethin', to invent somethin', te explore something. Anything! Not hit my head against a wall for three days, waiting fer ye te fucking provide some entertainment."

"Let's make something clear," Vincent hisses, turning to face Cid. "I am not your lover. I am not here to entertain you. You are here to feed me. You are food. Here, you are not a person, you are not a human, you are not Cid, you are meat. Do you understand? Because I don't think you do."

Cid doesn't back down.

"I thought keepin' me happy made yer food taste better," he counters in a low tight voice.

"So does anger," he snaps back maliciously, eyes smouldering with frustration. "So go ahead, get angry with me, yell, scream, hit me, whatever you like. Go on. Isn't there more you'd like to say? Wouldn't you like to call me a whore again? Don't you? Don't you?"

Cid bares his teeth in a silent snarl, so angry he almost could hit Vincent. Instead he storms away, over to the table rich with food and dishes and completely upends it, throwing it up and over with one hand where it makes an almight crash against a wall, silverwear and food and liquids going everywhere.

Vincent watches the violent display with stiff stoicism, glaring, jaw twitching as he clenches it.

"Hows that?" Cid asks cruelly. "Are ye full yet? Or was that just a starter? Maybe ye'd like a real meal?"

Cid goes around the room, throwing things about, smashing objects so expensive he could have probably never bought them in all his life. Within seconds the room is utterly destroyed.
Then Cid comes upon the chest. He glares at Vincent, the dare in his eyes.

"Don't you fucking dare," Vincent growls, low in his throat, wary now - afraid now. Could Cid get into that chest? He doubted it; he'd locked it. But all the same, he grew cautious, his body coiling, taking a soft step towards Cid. His fingers twitched at his side, tingling with anticipation.

Cid reaches out a slow hand, and simply rests his fingertips against the lid of the chest. He does nothing more, but the threat is enough.

"Ye know what?" He says, his eyes burning with anger. "I think yer keepin' me here 'cause yer lonely. Ye don't care about the food. Ye've eaten enough te last ye another 100 years, and I'm not an easy pet, as ye've seen. But yer so fuckin' sad, ye've got no one and nothin' else te spend that tim with, te share all this with, te show off in front of, so yer keepin' me here. God I pity you."

"Pity me? Pity me?" Vincent hisses, taking another step forward, face creased with incredulity. "Sadness, loneliness? Who the Hell do you think I am? A child, a woman? I don't need you! I don't need you to fulfill some sort of empty - hallowed out - useless pissant human need! I'm not like you, Cid Highwind - I don't need companionship, I don't need affection - unlike someone else in this room, who worries that maybe, just maybe, if you ever escape this place, you'll still wind up dying alone because you're a failure, a failure at love and at life, a person no one could ever love, not enough to stick around - after all, just look at your mother! She died just to be rid of you - and you know, deep down, that if she had lived to see you today, she'd be so disappointed in her baby boy that she'd die all over again from the shame!"

For a while, all Cid can do is stand there, staring down Vincent, trembling with so much rage, and something else.

Then his hand on the chest curls into a fist, and he takes another step forward.

"Liar," he enouciates cooly, but he's not refering to the ribs about his mother. "Why is the woman in this orb so damn important te ye if you don't fuckin' miss her? Yer worse than a woman, a child. 'Least I don't lie te m'self, as well as everyone else."

"Everyone else? There is no everyone else! And do you know why? Because I don't need an 'everybody else'! I'm fine with me, by myself, I don't need you, I don't need anybody, I don't need anything! I want! I want! And if I want it, I get it, and I keep it for as long as I like! I'm not helpless, I make decisions, I do what I want!" He rails at Cid, almost childishly were it not for the very adult rage reflecting in his pretty face and strained posture.
"Well, 'm glad te see that's workin' out fer ye," Cid sneers back. "I bet you an' yer crystal fuckin' ball are real happy."

Cid turns around and storms off to the bed, giving Vincent his back as he sits down and fumes silently.

Despite the creature being feet away from him, cold hands suddenly slip over Cid's broad shoulders. "Sit, stay, good boy," comes the malicious, hissing whisper, and then theres a cool breeze and Vincent is gone, laughter ringing after him.

Cid turns around with a snarl, ready to counter Vincent only to find that he's been once again abandoned to his imprisonment.

Alone, caged, claustrophobic and metaphorically castrated, Cid drops his head into his hands.
He doesn't make a sound, but his shoulders hitch on a silent sob of despair.

Vincent comes back many hours later, looking self-satisfied and smug, waltzing into the room and humming an absent tune to himself.

Cid is sat in one of the few corners the room provides, wedged between the bed, the wall, and a mountain of cushions. He stares numbly off into space, looking hagged, demorilised. He doesn't acknowledge Vincent's return, doesn't even seem to realise his captor has come back.

Vincent gives him a look that says he's pleased with himself. He's proud of being able to bring this mighty creature so low - degrading him and demoralising him to the point where he became as a child, helpless and weary. To the point where he was wholly reliant on him, for food, for attention, for love - and he had the power to deny him any one of those things. He had absolute reign over Cid's every whim.

Absently, he crossed Cid's mind, searching for what would entice his appetites, but frustratingly received vague images of food, nothing of it interesting the blond. He did it again, and came away with the image of the afternoon sun creating lace as it erupted from between the leaves of heavy trees overhead, autumnal, the sky clear and blue behind. Vincent scowls, irritated.

He conjures a plate of monstrous BLT sandwiches, and place the silver platter on the floor, kicking it towards Cid with one dainty foot. "Eat. I'm not keeping you here so that you can dwell on the idiot miseries of your existence. Hurry it up, I'm hungry."

Cid slowly closes his eyes and turns his head, curling more in against the wall. He imagines himself back in his plane. The pressure of the controls in his hands, the wind wiping against his skin, jacket, scarf, the world seen through his goggles... His goggles, what had happened to them? Had he lost them in the crash, or had Vincent stolen them too? He couldn't remember.
No, no, he wasn't going to think of that. He was in his plane, he was in his plane, flying, free....

Vincent was impatient - hungry. He bent down and grabbed up a hank of Cid's blond hair, hauling him around, and delivered two stinging slaps to the ruddy cheeks, hoping to snap the pilot out of his daydreams - out of the cockpit.

Cid kills any urge to get pissed, to retaliate, before it can arise. He takes the blows with nothing more than a wince, and opens his eyes to regard Vincent.

"Just kill me already an' be done with it," he says simply. No more begging for entertainment, or to be let go. Just a simple request for his life to be ended.

"You already know I won't," he says comdescendingly, with a sneer. "Now hurry up. I'm hungry."
Cid looks away, going limp, unresponsive.

Vincent sighs, rolling his eyes. "Don't make me force you, Cid. You won't like it."
Cid tries to block Vincent out, and focuses on a new memory, lying on his back in a golden hay field with the sky, so big and black and bejeweled with stars stretching overhead forever and forever....

Force him? Force him how?

Cid kicks himself for the slip in concertration. He was under the goddamn stars, the cool evenning breeze making the hay sway, tickling his face...

Vincent's expression sours and turns hard and bitter. Without hesitation, he dives down, down, down into Cid's memory, forcibly infecting it with his person - magnifying each sensation for Cid, making each touch and scent and flavor ring of himself. The hay field was the stroke of his dark hair, the sky his smiling benevolent face, the breeze his breath, the chill the stroking fingers of his tiny hands - he became Cid's world, embracing him, cradling him, gently stoking him to life.

YOU BASTARD! Cid screams in his head, horrofied that even here, in his own head, he's not safe. It's different to Vincent simply reading his thoughts; the creature was INFECTING them, LIVING in them. Cid isn't safe anywhere, he's never going to get free...!

The claustrophobia suddenly becomes intense, overwhelming, even more so than the lure of Vincent's magicks, and Cid flails, screaming both in his mind and out aloud; it's a completely terror-stricken noise, high and hysteric, like a panicking child.

No no no no NO! GET OUT OF MY HEAD. OH MY GOD, GET OUT OF MY HEAD. LET ME GO, LET ME GO, LET ME... CAN'T... I CAN'T.. BREATHE... CAN'T.... FUC-.....

Cid doubles over, hyperventilating, literally choking on his hysteria. And suddenly he's back in the box his father use to put him when he'd done something wrong, or sometimes when he hadn't.

Cid screams in denial, long and hard, tearing at his hair, sobbing, and then finally passes out.
Vincent's physically knocked back by the force of Cid's hysteria and resurfacing trauma, the emotional assault as brutal as his invasion. He hits the floor hard, all the breath knocked out of him and bows up with a grimace of pain, his hair in disarray. He lays there, panting, for some time, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for the light-headedness and throbbing pain to fade away. Slowly, slowly, he grins.

He has his leverage. At last. At last. It wasn't hurting Cid, or making him angry - it was fear. Fear of that box. Fear of his father.

He slowly rises, patting his hair back into some semblance of order, and goes to Cid. He lifts him up in his arms, gentle and strong, and lays him in the bed, tucking him in with all the affection of the parent. He even kisses his cheek.

Then he moves away, to the locked chest, and snapping his fingers, encourages the lock to click open and the chains to slither noisily back into nothingness. He opens it, and coos as he takes the warmth of the orb into his hands. He smiles at it, like he were holding a child, and goes to the chaise lounge.

"Did you see how powerful I am, Lucretia...? Did you see me? I hurt him with my mind. Isn't that amazing? It is, isn't it. I'm so powerful. I'm so strong. Aren't you proud of me? You're so proud of me." He rubs his cheek against the warm glass, as if nuzzling into his mother's lap. "You love me, don't you, don't you? I know you do. Yes you do. You like me. You want to hold me. Because I am so pretty, and so smart, and so strong! Yes, yes I am!"

He continues the childish crooning long into the night.

Cid doesn't wake until the next day. He does so feel groggy, as if he's dehydrated or hungover, and he can't quite remember what's happened. He looks around, trying to gather his thoughts.
Vincent's seated beside him, one arm looped over the pillow Cid's resting on, his legs curled to one side. He wears a restrictive, long-sleeved garment very like a kimono, and his hair is pinned up elegantly with pins and combs that drip gems and silver. He smiles benevolently down at Cid. "Good morning, Cid."

Cid blinks sleepily up at the pretty, austere creature.

"...Mornin'. What's fer breakfast teday, Valentine?"

Vincent spends a moment looking at Cid absently, fingers toying with the pillowcase. "McCullaheigh omelettes, apparently." A fat omelette appears on the low table, along with a glass and a carton of cold orange juice, a plate of buttery biscuits, and a steeping teapot smelling fragrantly of flowers. "How are you feeling, Man Who Calls Me Valentine?"

"Hungry," Cid says airily, and pushes up, throwing back the sheets and making his way to the table. He doesn't seem to walk with any noticeable limp. He digs into the food hungrily, happily.

"... Yer lookin' 'specially nice. Got a party?" Cid asks with a wry smile.

Vincent gets up and goes to the table. "Are you being sarcastic, or eerily polite?"

"Can't I be both?" Cid asks with mock innocence. He swallows some juice and grins. "Wha', can't read the truth from my mind?"

"I could, but you seemed to have an aversion to it last time I tried," he remarks breezily, taking a dainty seat opposite Cid. He makes an abortive swirl over his lap with the flat of his hand, and the crystal ball appears there, the chest no longer locked. He laces his long fingers around it, and peaceably settles in to watch Cid eat.

"I have an aversion to it -every- fuckin' time ye do it," he grumbles, but otherwise doesn't seem too put off by the reference, continuing to eat his food.

"So. Ye actually got somethin' planned, or ye just woke up an' felt like bein' especially pretty t'day?"

Vincent beams at the praise, smiling, but his expression doesn't match his words. "Flattery isn't going to get you out of here, nor is it going to get you out of dinner. I'm starving. Someone - I won't say who - decided to pitch a little fit last night so I had to go to bed hungry."

Cid lowers his eyes, shoulders hunching. He starts playing with the rest of his food on his plate.

"Maybe ye should work on yer bedside manner more if yer wantin' better results," he counters in a subdued voice.

Vincent groans and rolls his eyes. "And here I thought a man would be easier!" He sighs. "Why don't you do as you did before? Whatever helped you resign yourself to your fate? It was one of the most delicious meals I've ever had. What's the problem? What's so difficult?"

Cid glowers at Vincent over the table.

"Ye then fell asleep on me for three fucking days after, leavin' me with nothin' te keep myself entertained. Jesus, not even a book or a piece o' goddamn chalk te scratch away the days on the fucking wall like the prisoner I am." Cid shakes his head, incredulous. "Have ye never done this afore? Have ye ever actually kept 'food' here for a long time? People need te be kept entertained, goddamnit. Not only that but.. this place, this goddamn place is killin' me. It's like..." Cid flounders to think of a good way to describe his situation. "Like ye've taken a bird and're keepin' it under water. 'M drownin' here Vincent. I know ye couldn't give a damn, but don't then fuckin' complain if 'm actin' shitty or I aint exactly willin' te jump ye again an' put myself through more sensory fuckin' deprivation."

"It wasn't my fault I overdosed," he says almost petulantly. "And I might be more inclined to give you more of the things you desired if you asked - or even better, did unto me the same. One hand washes the other, yes? It would do you no harm to be a little cooperative now and again - and it's not as if you don't enjoy the sex. So why be so difficult? Hm? You haven't anything to gain from it. You like to think that that's what makes you better, what makes you rise above - your strong will and pride, your ability to say no and mean it, your never giving up. But, well... it's only us, isn't it? It's not as if anyone will ever know that you gave in, no one to be ashamed of you - no one to punish you for being so weak." He grins, slow and sly then, and pets the ball in his lap.

Cid stands, rising fast like a striking snake.

"I am not weak!" He hisses over the table. "An' the fact ye can't understand any o' that is EXACTLY why I do it, ye stubborn, selfish, hypocritical sonovabitch!"

"And this explosion of temper - is this too not a weakness?" He says, sneering. "Maybe we should get you a big box," he hisses, eyes brightening maliciously. "And everytime you do something bad, we'll put you in it and take you out of it when we remember. Would you like that, Cid? Feel a little bit more like home? We can even have your mother sob in the kitchen, and you can hear her yelp and squeal when he drags her to the bedroom, or beats her, while you cry and cry and cry in the dark because you can't get out."

Cid face grows darker, like a terrible storm swarming on the horizon, growing fiercer and angrier by the second. He's shaking by the end of Vincent's snide, hurtful little speech.

".......... Say it again. Say it again, and i swear I wont stop 'til one of us is fuckin' dead."

Vincent tsks in disapproval, his smile cruel - evil. "Threats, Cid? That would earn you a beating of your own. And then the box. It doesn't seem to teach obedience very well, though, does it? Maybe I'll do a better job. I bet I could have done a better job with your mother too. I would have you both eating out of the palm of my hand." He pets the gleaming orb obsessively, like a pet, as his dark eyes gleam with sadistic glee.

It happens so fast. One minute Cid's there, the next he's swept up the silver knife by his plate and is crouched over Vincent, holding the blade to the creature's pale neck, his other hand clamped over both of Vincent's in his lap, pressing the order down hard.

"Ye have no right!" he says, livid. "No fuckin' right! Ye couldn't fuck a knot in a fence; look at ye, preening over some fantasy lass in a fucking plastic bouble. Is this fun for you, pushing away everyone so no one can ever get close? Better that then be hurt, eh? Fuck you, damnit, fuck ye te fuckin' Hell!"

Vincent laughs in his face, his chuckling deep and low. "Oh, please. Don't pretend you can read me, don't pretend to understand me - there's nothing to understand, Cid, and certainly nothing to hurt. Stab me with your knife, or with your words, nothing you do or say could ever hurt me - no matter how much you want to." His eyes meet Cid's then with alarming intensity. "You're more like your father than you think."

Cid snarls and tightens his grip on the knife. He pulls his hand back and stabs the blade into the wall by Vincent's head, breathing hard, trembling with too many emotions to even name.

"WHAT DO YE WANT FROM ME?" He shouts, frustrated, devestated.

Vincent doesn't even flinch.

"I want your obedience, and I want your pleasure. It's all I ever wanted. You're the one that's made it so difficult. Do you understand?"

Cid thins his mouth, still breathing hard through his nose.

"I only follow orders from those I goddamn respect...... Take my pleasure. The fuck do I care. But yer not gettin' me."

"I could make you respect me," Vincent husks, voice low. "I could."

"Ye could," Cid agrees, the anger, the fight going out of him. He regards Vincent frankly. "If ye tried thinkin' o' someone else for once, aside from yerself, I think I could come te respect ye."

Vincent huffs, turning his face away. "I doubt it. But I am willing to accomodate you, if you are willing to accomodate me." He raises one hand from the orb and makes a short gesture, the way one might shake their hands after washing them. Immediately, there's a sort of 'floomph' sound as two huge bookcases hit the ground, side by side, and immediately laden with books. He makes another getsure, this time making a gun with his hand with the thumb tucked into his palm and nodded it, and a softer sound heralded the arrival of Cid's laptop as it struck the bed. He kept on, more things appearing, the symbols becoming more and more complicated as the enormous room began to become more cluttered. Pecils and paper and pens of all sorts rattled in a drawer of a desk, a kitchen clanged into existence somewhere behind them, an entire bathroom cordoned off by elaborate curtains thumped into a corner, and another chest appeared at the foot of the bed, this one filled with clothes Cid would be more comfortable in.

At the sign of the bookshelves, Cid feels a small moment of triumph, of relief. Then the laptop comes, and more, and more and more things. Soon Cid doesn't see entertainment. He sees another nail, and another, in his coffin. He was never leaving this place. He'd never see the sky again. He'd bartered for his own captivity.

He'd laugh, if the urge to cry wasn't so strong.

"Thanks," he manages to say, his mouth seemingly disconnected from his despair.

Vincent, still very much in tune with Cid's thoughts and desires, senses his dwindling hope and rising despair, but after exerting himself so much, all he can muster is weary irritation. He flops back amongst the cushions, chest and belly heaving as he panted, and stared blearily up at the water window. "I hope... that that satisfies at least some... of your desires." He licks his lips and begins to lever himself up beneath Cid. "Go, play. I'll sleep for a time, and then bathe. After that... I should really, really have something to eat."

Cid starts to pull away, dismissed. He hesitates, seeing everything in the room for him. Vincent really didn't have to bring him all this; he'd exhausted himself to make Cid happy. Sure, it was only in the hopes of making his own life happier, by having compliant food, but he still could have forced compliance from Cid, rather than exhausting himself and crowding his own living space with conjuring up possessions.

And considering they were going to be stuck together for a very long time, Cid realised he should probably start getting use to living with his captor.

"Thanks," he says again, this time a little more heartfelt, and he helps settle some of the cushions about Vincent as he moves away.

Vincent makes an absent noise of acknowledgement, drained, and curls up to sleep in the cushions, curling an arm about the orb and holding it close. As he resettled, his clothes shifted restlessly and finally rolled like a wave from top to bottom, eliminating the kimono and becoming a simple, light nightgown, the gems in his hair receding and diving down into the blackness of his long hair as it unravelled about the cushions and his person. He sighs, and falls swiftly to sleep, looking now no more harmful than a child or a maiden.

Cid sighs and shakes his head. He wonders off to inspect all his new things, and despite himself and his previous morose realisation, feels a little better for having his things there. Finally he pulls off a book from the shelf and starts to read.

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