Written by the wonderful Scarecrow at InsaneJournal.com

Unlike most of the witnesses in the room, Vincent didn't flinch when the Living God threw the useless man onto the floor. They were made aware of the rules ever since the very beginning, and someone dared to be so blatantly obvious could only be categorized as, well, idiotic. Not that he himself was impervious to the show, by any means, but at least Vincent, third general of the Imperial Elite, knew what not to express where, if ever.

His hand reached for the cup of wine in front of him. The God was still fucking his pets mercilessly. Vincent’s expression remained neutral besides an almost imperceptible dip of his lips. The wine cup hid it immediately. Unfriendly gazes ran amuck here, and Vincent's position was nothing to be careless about.

A low moan from the middle of the writhing bodies caught his attention. Zack was barely breathing, eyes screwed shut and hips grinding hard into the matted floor. Cloud's moans were getting louder by the minute. He must've come already, judging by the red of his cheeks. Sweat rolled down the curve of his pale neck, and the bright blues eyes seemed to be looking at nothing and everything at once. They landed on Vincent, stayed for a slight moment, and quickly went elsewhere.

But during that mere second of contact the eyes focused. Vincent raised his cup, caught the intended gaze and saw a smirk on the blond's full lips. A flick of tongue and Cloud turned away, the silver lord behind him again took priority. Vincent put his cup back down, his fingers gently caressing its delicate curves.

“Careful,” a voice warned. Cid, armory builder and Vincent’s year-long friend, leaned in from beside him. “I saw that.”

“You’re the only other one who could.” Vincent answered coolly. “He made sure of it.”

Cid scoffed. “Don’t be so cocky here. You saw what just happened.”

“That man was an idiot. Plus, it wasn’t as if our lord’s intention was to forbid us from looking.”

Cid scoffed again and stabbed his knife into a leg of roasted lamb. “Fuck. I should’ve never let you go make that report yourself.”

Vincent only answered with a slight smile, remembering the meeting that had started it all. Three months ago he went to report on a border skirmish. The God apparently was busy with Zack, and he was told to wait in the garden. Vincent had no objections. There was a gazebo that they frequently used for such purposes, next to a natural hot spring and groves of bamboo.

Little did he expect this time the spring was occupied – by a naked and bathing pet, no less. Cloud’s back was to him, water just barely reached his pale, firm ass. Sunlight streamed down from above, patterned the wet hair and slicked skin with streaks of gold. Vincent stood there and stared unabashedly, watching the blond bent forward to scoop up more water for his cleanse.

He must've made a noise, for the blond suddenly paused in his actions. A moment later he turned around and saw Vincent's wide-open expression. Vincent had expected a scream, but instead got a thorough once-over from the large, curious eyes.

Then the blond put a hand on his slender hips, tilted his head, and smiled invitingly.

To this day Vincent didn’t know how he managed to refuse. Perhaps he was just too smart for his own good; perhaps he was a sheer coward. Either way, when the Living God’s footsteps echoed on the cobblestone path, Vincent was already in the gazebo, composed and ready to speak of war.

In the following weeks he saw Cloud during orgies and other functions. They didn’t exchange anything more than glances, but Vincent knew he was getting much more than he should. The thought grew like a wildfire, spreading to his heart and slowly devouring everything inside.

“It’s too late,” he answered Cid, reaching for more wine. The three on the floor had finally finished and the pets were sent away. Vincent toyed with a spoon; they would probably come back later. It wasn’t unheard of to let pets serve the guests once in a while.

Beside him Cid said nothing, but only bit into the meat.