rapacityinblue (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rapacityinblue) wrote2012-01-01 05:14 pm
rapacityinblue) wrote2012-01-01 05:14 pm
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Title: Heartbeat
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII and spawn
Spoilers: Vague stuff through Dirge
Rating: PG
Pairing: Reeve/Vincent
Summary: Reeve's always had problems with being too literal.
Warnings Violent imagery, violence against metaphors
Word Count: 459
Notes: Written for30_wounds. Prompt 16: You're Bleeding
The general idea for this fic was shamelessly stolen from rainjoyous @ lj. She did it better.
Reeve is transparent. He's heard the expression before, to wear your heart on your sleeve, and he knows that's him. Oh, over the years he's gained some guile in business matters, he's had to, but he's never really had anyone fooled. Reeve has deputies and assistants and chair-people with bank faces and flexible moral to bluff and twist their way through negotiations for him, and thus preserves his integrity.
That's Reeve's favorite expression about life, followed closely by “love is messy.” Of course love is messy, when your heart is out and exposed like that. When it's always there, a writhing, glistening mass that spurts blood over his hands with every pump, spitting onto the floor. It drips a trail after him when he walks into the eleventh floor briefing room and greets the leaders of the War Council. It sprays a fine mist over his agenda and leaves the paper dusted in red pinpricks.
He watches it while the chairwoman gives a synopsis of the situations in all twelve federated towns, and he studies the other wrists propped against the circular table. Especially Vincent's next to him. He tugs at the damp mess of his own hems and understands why the other man always wears red and black. Vincent looks perfectly precise, his cuffs buttoned tight around his slender wrists. His heart has a self contained, almost frozen stillness, and it doesn't weep and pus all over everything the way Reeve's does. There's only this one thin smear, vivid against his almost-blue skin, highlighting where the vein runs underneath, and he can't even see it when Vincent drapes his long, elegant fingers together and hangs them languidly from the table edge. His heart beats slower than Reeve's.
As the chairwoman moves on to discuss possible solutions to the rising conflict between Rocket Town and Bone Village, Vincent reaches over and plucks Reeve's heart from where it rests at his wrist. He considers it for little more than a second before flicking it to the ground, handling it with the disdain most people reserve for cockroaches and mosquitoes.
On the floor, Reeve's heart sputters wildly until Vincent's boot heel comes down on it. Reeve watches but Vincent doesn't as his foot pivots, grinding down into the cement floor. Reeve's heart gives one last pitiful pump and stills. He brings his attention back to the briefing.
Reeve is the last person to leave the briefing room, long after Vincent's red-stained boots have clicked out the door, hurried along by the flapping of his cloak. Before he leaves, he bends down and picks his heart up off the floor, brushes it off, and carries it out of the room with him.
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII and spawn
Spoilers: Vague stuff through Dirge
Rating: PG
Pairing: Reeve/Vincent
Summary: Reeve's always had problems with being too literal.
Warnings Violent imagery, violence against metaphors
Word Count: 459
Notes: Written for
30_wounds. Prompt 16: You're BleedingThe general idea for this fic was shamelessly stolen from rainjoyous @ lj. She did it better.
Reeve is transparent. He's heard the expression before, to wear your heart on your sleeve, and he knows that's him. Oh, over the years he's gained some guile in business matters, he's had to, but he's never really had anyone fooled. Reeve has deputies and assistants and chair-people with bank faces and flexible moral to bluff and twist their way through negotiations for him, and thus preserves his integrity.
That's Reeve's favorite expression about life, followed closely by “love is messy.” Of course love is messy, when your heart is out and exposed like that. When it's always there, a writhing, glistening mass that spurts blood over his hands with every pump, spitting onto the floor. It drips a trail after him when he walks into the eleventh floor briefing room and greets the leaders of the War Council. It sprays a fine mist over his agenda and leaves the paper dusted in red pinpricks.
He watches it while the chairwoman gives a synopsis of the situations in all twelve federated towns, and he studies the other wrists propped against the circular table. Especially Vincent's next to him. He tugs at the damp mess of his own hems and understands why the other man always wears red and black. Vincent looks perfectly precise, his cuffs buttoned tight around his slender wrists. His heart has a self contained, almost frozen stillness, and it doesn't weep and pus all over everything the way Reeve's does. There's only this one thin smear, vivid against his almost-blue skin, highlighting where the vein runs underneath, and he can't even see it when Vincent drapes his long, elegant fingers together and hangs them languidly from the table edge. His heart beats slower than Reeve's.
As the chairwoman moves on to discuss possible solutions to the rising conflict between Rocket Town and Bone Village, Vincent reaches over and plucks Reeve's heart from where it rests at his wrist. He considers it for little more than a second before flicking it to the ground, handling it with the disdain most people reserve for cockroaches and mosquitoes.
On the floor, Reeve's heart sputters wildly until Vincent's boot heel comes down on it. Reeve watches but Vincent doesn't as his foot pivots, grinding down into the cement floor. Reeve's heart gives one last pitiful pump and stills. He brings his attention back to the briefing.
Reeve is the last person to leave the briefing room, long after Vincent's red-stained boots have clicked out the door, hurried along by the flapping of his cloak. Before he leaves, he bends down and picks his heart up off the floor, brushes it off, and carries it out of the room with him.