Chapter Text
As far as Sephiroth’s personal preferences go, work trips are best when they’re functional. He detests unnecessary frivolity and he’s spent far too much of his life justifying Shinra’s investment in his own existence to condone abusing resources like some of the other executives. Socializing with the locals outside of military activities and allowing them to feel awed and flattered by his presence does often further internal goals, so he puts up with it, but he doesn’t pretend to enjoy it.
When he’s initially presented with the boxes of delicacies by the Costa del Sol delegation, Sephiroth thanks them while intending to pass the boxes down later to lower-level officers who have more than earned some rewards, as he usually does with such things. And most of the gifts do end up in those hands, but he happens to glance over the accompanying instruction card to one particular case of very high-end seafood and has another idea for it.
Vincent is dropping in for the night thanks to a fortuitously-timed mission—it hasn’t escaped Sephiroth that Vincent is arranging more and more of these, but he can’t bring himself to call this abuse of resources, given how they soothe his temper—and Sephiroth already has an outfit for the occasion. He’d planned to rely on the local catering for their dinner, and thanks to Rufus and some political pandering that has had him feeling faintly unclean all day, has been strongarmed into staying in a local developer’s newest high-rise rather than the barracks. The luxurious setting had made him snort in disgust when he’d first set foot in the place, but now he does appreciate it a little better.
He looks better here, standing before the penthouse’s sweeping seaside windows, his reflection framed by the unit’s plush furnishings, all creams and tans, now colored gold by the sunset coming in through one side…and him with his hair sleeked back into a braid, his body out of its masculine uniform and reshaped in delicate lingerie. Black silk stockings slim his legs up to delicate straps attached to a bustier of black lace over translucent nude silk, expertly tailored to conjure the tantalizing illusion of a willowy waist. The top of the bustier cups gently just over his nipples, which shade through the lace as he adjusts the bustier’s back one last time. He can’t resist the sight and pauses to finger himself until the nubs stiffen.
Then he forces himself to move his hands away, but he doesn’t have the willpower to remove them entirely and so they trace down the bustier’s lines till he’s gently rubbing his half-erect cock through his black lace panties. He can see its head growing rosy behind the netting, and can feel how the lace is starting to scratch teasingly at his increasingly-sensitized skin. A low moan escapes him and he presses his fingertip across his cock slit. Then shudders, his hands springing away as what little self-control he has left exerts itself.
He wipes his hands on the bare sides of his hips, then picks up the dress. Sugar-pink satin, falling softly against his body as he slips it on, but then shivering caresses over him as he does up the back and then adjusts the halter-top front so the bustier is just covered. The wide bands of black lace topping his stockings do show through the dress’s thigh-high slits, and when he turns the dress parts to reveal the straps holding up the stockings too. He twitches it back into place, then walks from the window into the kitchen area.
There he’s taken out the contents of that box and arranged it per the order recommended in its included instructions on a bed of crushed ice within a crystal platter. The freshest, best seafood that the city can offer, cut by a sushi master. The rice was included separately and is still uncooked in its bag next to a small bottle of seasoning vinegar.
Sephiroth does wonder if he should have prepared that as well, but he does know the difference between the kind of rice one eats at everyday meals and the kind preferred for these sorts of delicacies. He’s developed some cooking skills, but he—
Puts that aside and comes out of the kitchen, comes out of his thoughts and offers up his mouth as Vincent comes in. He hadn’t heard the man slip into the apartment, had heard Vincent’s footstep just on the edge of the kitchen, but the moment he did, he’s content to simply be as he’s dressed.
“My lovely consort,” Vincent murmurs after a first, all-too-brief kiss. His hands are on Sephiroth’s hips, resting just above where the dress splits open. Then they stroke up Sephiroth’s sides, thumbs angling inward to brush over Sephiroth’s nipples as he tilts Sephiroth back for a lengthy, appreciative appraisal. Sephiroth moans unashamedly as Vincent circles each nipple, then runs his hands back down to slip into his dress and cup his buttocks. “Did you tie yourself?”
“No,” Sephiroth confesses. He lets his arms hang compliantly down as Vincent palms him, then parts his buttocks to rub a finger along the silk strip between them. Then he hitches sharply as he feels the nudge inside of him, a teasing graze across his prostate. “Vibrator. But I haven’t—I haven’t turned it on, or come yet.”
Vincent smiles and pulls him in for another, longer kiss. One hand still cradles his right buttock with casual possessiveness while the other slides around his hip to the front of the panties. “Such a pretty outfit,” Vincent says, sucking Sephiroth’s lower hip between his teeth. “And you’re getting wet already.”
Vincent’s fingertip presses down over Sephiroth’s cock head, hard enough that Sephiroth instinctively squirms. His lip catches on a sharper edge and he groans as Vincent bites him till there’s just the hint of blood rising up.
Then Vincent releases him and gives him a calculated push to one hip. He spins half-way around, then stumbles the rest of the way as the other man crowds him up against the kitchen’s island. He didn’t lay out any bindings but Vincent always brings those and the man doesn’t disappoint now, producing a length of strong synthetic cord that he coils and knots into two-inch thick bracelets about Sephiroth’s crossed wrists. Then he brings Sephiroth’s arms back over Sephiroth’s head, touching the bound wrists to Sephiroth’s nape before letting go.
Obedient, Sephiroth holds his arms there as Vincent presses up against him. The other man kisses down the side of his neck, nipping just hard enough to keep Sephiroth jerking against the counter as he picks up a dish-towel. He backs Sephiroth up a little and puts his hand under Sephiroth’s dress again, then pulls down the front of the panties and wraps the head of Sephiroth’s cock in the towel.
“Come,” he directs.
Sephiroth does, hitching gracelessly as he keeps his wrists pressed to the back of his neck. It’s too soon, too little, his climax giving not relief so much as a cruel taste of that—and he’ll be denied for quite a while now, as Vincent next ties up his cock and balls with silk cord. The man tucks him back into his panties, fondling his cock carelessly through the lace as he rubs needily back into Vincent, and then flicks the used towel onto the counter.
“You went shopping?” Vincent says.
His hands are now roaming up Sephiroth’s torso, leaving trails of tingling, warmed skin craving for more, so it takes a few seconds for Sephiroth to answer. “No, gift box,” he manages, squeezing his knuckles against his spine as Vincent reaches into his dress’ bodice. “There are—I thought the rice you’d do when you came—”
That was correct, Vincent tells him not with words but with how the man nuzzles behind his ear, both his nipples now pinched roughly between Vincent’s fingers. Vincent lets him whimper and twist in mock-dismay, then rolls the nubs unmercifully as he feels the other man’s mouth working at…Vincent unties the top of Sephiroth’s dress with his teeth, then finally leaves off abusing his nipples to smooth the bodice down.
“That can be tricky,” Vincent says. He splays his hands over the bustier’s cups, then teases Sephiroth’s nipples till the stiff, already-sore flesh emerges from the slits in each. Then he takes another length of silk cord and ties a chest harness so tight that the brush of the dress back over Sephiroth’s nipples makes him cry out, a wavering, hungry sound that only makes Vincent pull the dress closer about him. “Better to have it fresh.”
“Hot,” Sephiroth chokes out as Vincent knots the halter straps back behind his neck. He shudders at how the silk presses down on his aching nipples, then shakes his head as Vincent puts hands on his hips and caresses him with deceptive gentleness. His hands drag over the top of his head, and then he moans as they tumble down so he can grip desperately at the counter in front of him. “I mean—warm, it says the rice should be warm, and the fish—let it come to—to body warmth…”
Vincent pauses for a moment, relaxed yet firmly in control, pinning Sephiroth with fingertips to the hip crests and lips to the throat and breath draping comfortably down under Sephiroth’s jaw as Sephiroth pants. And then Vincent laughs.
“Such a thoughtful consort, and such a delicious…” Vincent pauses again, deliberately teasing now, before he bites Sephiroth “…dinner. Did you have any yourself?”
“No.” Sephiroth has to gasp a little before he can go on. “No, but I don’t…want…you first…”
“You want to be played with first,” Vincent says knowingly. He reaches up and bends Sephiroth’s head around for a long, claiming kiss. And then, when Sephiroth is drooping breathlessly against him, he releases Sephiroth just enough to work his thumb in between them and over Sephiroth’s lower lip to press down Sephiroth’s tongue. No words, that’s what it means, and so Sephiroth only whines helplessly as Vincent holds him. “I see no problem with that, my pretty toy.”
There’s a gag and a blindfold as well, both of them made with the same black silk as the lingerie but over padding and nude silk of a sturdier weight. With them in place, Sephiroth is pushed down on his knees by the kitchen island to wait while Vincent makes the rice. Bound hands resting neatly in his lap, his silk dress feeling much more like a leather prison as every breath stretches a cord across his prick or nudges a knot into his scrotum or tightens the loops around his nipples. If he shifts even a little, he can feel his body rub against the silent menace of the vibrator.
Cooking any kind of rice doesn’t take that long, Sephiroth knows that. But in the dark, with the hard rubber bit his gag’s lacy covering masks pressing unforgivingly against the roof of his mouth, it seems as if Sephiroth is being held captive for eons. He occasionally feels Vincent pass near him, or hears the sounds of the man preparing things, but Vincent doesn’t actually touch him and that is torture all on its own, knowing what he wants is so close and yet being firmly denied it.
When Vincent finally does return to him, Sephiroth turns so quickly into the hand dropped onto his shoulder that Vincent has to yank him back by the hair. He whimpers but settles back, only moving when he’s directed—pulled off the tile of the kitchen and onto the thick, sinking carpet, then pushed up onto a leather-covered cushion. The lounge chair: its image flashes into his mind, a generously-sized steel-framed piece with cream-colored padding. It’s wide enough that with his wrists tied to the top and his ankles to either of the bottom corners, Sephiroth can’t bring his knees together.
He moans as Vincent of course takes advantage of his vulnerability, massaging lasciviously up the insides of his legs while pushing up his dress. Vincent has Sephiroth on his belly with his elbows propped against the cushions, which strains Sephiroth’s back and shoulders and pushes his chest out so that the cords tighten around his nipples. As he rocks in place, futilely trying to find some degree of comfort, Vincent kisses his shoulderblade.
Then caresses from his back to under his stomach, as the other man slides beneath him. He’s able to rest himself across Vincent’s lap and that helps tremendously, enough so that Sephiroth is starting to go limp in relief when—the vibrator buzzes to life inside of him.
Sephiroth jerks roughly enough to feel the frame creak. But then Vincent’s hand presses down on the back of his neck, grounding him just enough so that he relearns how to give himself over to his bindings, letting them restrain him as he moans and shudders softly in place. The hand at his nape rubs pleasingly at the tension that’s built up there, and then…he thinks at first Vincent is kissing him again, but then the little weights stay in place. And there are more than one, just light touches of pressure here and there on his back. One on each shoulderblade, another along his spine a few inches below, and a fourth just above his dress’ backline.
The sashimi, he realizes, and as he does, the tips of a pair of chopsticks tickle under one and lift away the strip. He senses Vincent’s arms move over him, smells the faint tang of vinegared rice, and then hears the man chewing slowly and thoughtfully. Vincent makes a noise of open pleasure and Sephiroth’s cock pulses in response, trapped though it is in its bonds against Vincent’s thigh.
One by one, Vincent picks off the fish after letting each piece warm a little against Sephiroth’s skin. When they’re all gone, the man leans over and licks at the spots, his hands coming around to circle Sephiroth’s nipples through the dress till Sephiroth is shuddering again. Then he twists his legs a few inches, pulls Sephiroth’s skirts back up from where they’ve fallen, and sets out another serving up each of Sephiroth’s inner thighs just where the stockings leave them bared.
When Vincent cleans up after those, he leaves deep, stinging bites in Sephiroth’s flesh, ones that encourage Sephiroth to keep his legs open regardless of his restraints. He lays more sashimi pieces over Sephiroth’s buttocks and then slides his finger into Sephiroth’s panties to tweak the vibrator. Sephiroth has to struggle to hold still on liquefying knees and elbows, because if he doesn’t, Vincent pinches him sharply with the chopsticks before scooping up the fish.
By the time the last piece from that round is gone and Vincent is dabbing at him with a warm, damp towel, Sephiroth is a near-mindless mess. But it’s a mess he’s embraced, deeply familiar and deeply pleasurable, and when the vibrator turns off, he cries out so loudly that Vincent crawls over him and then lies atop him, letting simple body weight slow his shaking.
He’s still limp as Vincent climbs off and unties his ankles. He doesn’t move his feet as Vincent strips off his stockings, though when the man takes a long, savoring lick at the back of one, he can’t help curling his toes. Vincent makes an amused noise and caresses his ankle, then flips him onto his back.
Sephiroth’s ankles are retied in place, and then another set of ropes is knotted around each of his thighs, pulling him flush against the lounge chair’s vee-shaped bottom. His head and shoulders are centered over the chair’s top cushions and his arms are carefully tucked around the headrest; the cushion is thick enough that his arms are pushed a little further back than his head, which draws him into a slight arch, the chest harness taut under his dress. He moans lowly as Vincent ties down his upper arms, firmly securing him all over.
“Delicious,” Vincent says. He takes some time to leisurely feel up his toy, running his hands up and down Sephiroth’s body, before eventually returning to cup Sephiroth’s lolling head.
One side of the gag loosens, then the other. The bit scrapes against Sephiroth’s mouth as it comes out and he coughs unintentionally. He feels Vincent’s hand shift under his chin and opens his mouth—meaning to voice a plea for more, but he’s so sluggish that the glass is at his lips before he can. He groans but knows well enough to sip, and then is rewarded with a deep kiss.
Vincent has him drink a little more, then puts the water aside and returns to enjoying Sephiroth. He unties the top of Sephiroth’s dress and peels down the bodice, but not to free Sephiroth’s desperately-sore nipples; instead he tortures them, his mouth sucking soothingly over them while his fingers pluck sadistically at the harness to tug them to and fro. He works Sephiroth up to a squirming, hitching mess again, and then he leans up to rest his mouth against Sephiroth’s sweat-covered brow.
“So delicious, I can’t very well deny my consort a taste, can I?” Vincent says as he drops something on Sephiroth’s bare upper chest, just between parts of the harness. He adds three more pieces, two resting directly over Sephiroth’s nipples, and then kisses Sephiroth’s temple as he retrieves the first one and places it into Sephiroth’s slackly-groaning mouth. “Eat.”
Sephiroth obeys. He has…the impression of richness, of a savory plushness very like the feel of the carpet against his knees, but to be honest, he doesn’t register much else. Vincent lies next to him, hand nestled under his dress and caressing his bound cock through his panties when the man isn’t feeding him, and all his aching cravings are centered around the other man. He eats because Vincent wants him to, then holds his mouth for Vincent’s cock.
That taste registers. Salty and welcome, coating his mouth as he moves weakly under the other man. Vincent drops down him and finally unties the chest harness, nursing his nipples as his cock is drawn out of his panties and then freed as well. And then, then, he’s allowed to come in Vincent’s hand.
“I picked up some dessert,” Vincent suggests later, and then chuckles when Sephiroth lets out a groan and drapes more tightly over the man. They’ve moved to the couch and Sephiroth is only wearing the bustier and panties now, but still has the blindfold on. His wrists are also still bound and Vincent has wrapped his cock up in one of the stockings just snugly enough to keep his hips hitching as the man teases a fingernail around his cock slit. The vibrator is off but still a silent, delicious threat inside of him. “Occasionally a gift box also falls into my hands. It would go well with the sashimi, if I could get to it. I put it in the fridge.”
“Go well how?” Sephiroth mutters. He probably should eat a little more, for the sake of pure caloric intake, but he’s quite comfortable where he is. True, he aches, but he knows himself well enough to know there’s at least one more round in him, and knows Vincent well enough to know the man won’t unreasonably deny him. “Warm dessert?”
“It’s not unheard of,” Vincent says dryly. He teases at Sephiroth’s cock again, then moves his hand back to grip Sephiroth’s buttock in a slightly more focused demand. “You can lick it out of me, and if you don’t like it that way, I’ll ice up your nipples and suck it off them.”
Sephiroth shudders before he can stop himself. Vincent twists his head back by the hair, kissing him warmly, and then lets him drop down to the couch as the other man gets off that. The loss of Vincent’s warmth makes Sephiroth tremble a little, but then he settles with a sigh, his body relaxing. Vincent always comes back when he promises, and all he has to do—all he wants to do—is wait.