(no subject)
Jan. 1st, 2012 05:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rapacityinblueTitle: Household
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII Compilation
Spoilers: None
Rating: Eh, call it PG-13
Pairing: Yuffie/Reeve/Vincent OT3
Summary:
Word Count: 424
Note: Valentine's Day fic fortainted4life. ♥ you!
Ménage à Troi. Reeve doesn't remember where he read it first. Some dusty old book, probably, but he always clings to it. It means “household of three,” in some ancient dialect, entirely obscure now, etymology unknown. He clings to it because it describes everything that is wrong and hard about their relationship – not the emotions and not the sex, Gaia, there's nothing wrong with the sex – but this, household, the simple logistics of three people, these three people, sharing house and home and day-by-day life and love.
Yuffie likes making beds. She finds it soothing. Neither man knows when he might come home to find a new duvet cover, or an arrangement of pillows, all folded down to display the contrast of color and fabric in the style of Ancient Wutaiin paper folding. For Yuffie, it's nothing, just a hobby, harmless amusement, but how, Reeve confides in Vincent one night, can you come home and mess it up when you're not sure if it's your bed or exotic high art?
The day it came home to all of them how new this had to be. Vincent at breakfast and almost in tears, because he really can't lie anymore, he's been pretending but he just doesn't like coffee (which for Yuffie is a necessary evil and for Reeve is life blood). Only six weeks after “they”'d begun, and the gunman's first stable relationship in over thirty years -- and he sat there between the eggs and the rice, sure this one confession would shatter the fragile trust they'd been building.
The little things, the you-didn't-make-enough-toast, you-know-I-hate-toast, is-it-your-hair-in-the-shower things that threaten them every day, because how do you divide between three people what's supposed to be sacred for two?
“I suppose I could move--” his lovers interceded simultaneously, 'No!' Yuffie sitting up to punctuate her point. “--Cait Sith's docking station to the guest bedroom,” Reeve finished lamely, shrinking away from the emphatic warriors.
“Seriously, Reeve, you always get the right side of the bed – Reeve? Reeve, are you listening? Guys, it's cold by these windows you know! Hel~lo! Reeve? Vincent, tell him--” 'Shut up,' both men said, and drag her down between them.
Pure insanity. They are absolutely, utterly, completely doomed and more, they all welcome it.
And still there are those three little words, Ménage à Troi, household, from a people long gone, long forgotten, and not coming back any time soon.
Someone made it work.
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII Compilation
Spoilers: None
Rating: Eh, call it PG-13
Pairing: Yuffie/Reeve/Vincent OT3
Summary:
Word Count: 424
Note: Valentine's Day fic for
tainted4life. ♥ you!Ménage à Troi. Reeve doesn't remember where he read it first. Some dusty old book, probably, but he always clings to it. It means “household of three,” in some ancient dialect, entirely obscure now, etymology unknown. He clings to it because it describes everything that is wrong and hard about their relationship – not the emotions and not the sex, Gaia, there's nothing wrong with the sex – but this, household, the simple logistics of three people, these three people, sharing house and home and day-by-day life and love.
Yuffie likes making beds. She finds it soothing. Neither man knows when he might come home to find a new duvet cover, or an arrangement of pillows, all folded down to display the contrast of color and fabric in the style of Ancient Wutaiin paper folding. For Yuffie, it's nothing, just a hobby, harmless amusement, but how, Reeve confides in Vincent one night, can you come home and mess it up when you're not sure if it's your bed or exotic high art?
The day it came home to all of them how new this had to be. Vincent at breakfast and almost in tears, because he really can't lie anymore, he's been pretending but he just doesn't like coffee (which for Yuffie is a necessary evil and for Reeve is life blood). Only six weeks after “they”'d begun, and the gunman's first stable relationship in over thirty years -- and he sat there between the eggs and the rice, sure this one confession would shatter the fragile trust they'd been building.
The little things, the you-didn't-make-enough-toast, you-know-I-hate-toast, is-it-your-hair-in-the-shower things that threaten them every day, because how do you divide between three people what's supposed to be sacred for two?
“I suppose I could move--” his lovers interceded simultaneously, 'No!' Yuffie sitting up to punctuate her point. “--Cait Sith's docking station to the guest bedroom,” Reeve finished lamely, shrinking away from the emphatic warriors.
“Seriously, Reeve, you always get the right side of the bed – Reeve? Reeve, are you listening? Guys, it's cold by these windows you know! Hel~lo! Reeve? Vincent, tell him--” 'Shut up,' both men said, and drag her down between them.
Pure insanity. They are absolutely, utterly, completely doomed and more, they all welcome it.
And still there are those three little words, Ménage à Troi, household, from a people long gone, long forgotten, and not coming back any time soon.
Someone made it work.