This is only called 'Precious Gems' because that was the original title, I've changed so much about it and it kind of hurt to do it, so I'm keeping the title. I'm sentimental, deal with it.

Disclaimity-bobber-thing (I'm tired): If it's hot, and it's in this story, I don't own it.

This is not for children, the immature, or those who cannot stomach emo and smut in the same story. DON'T YOU DARE SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU.

The forgotten city had not changed since Vincent's imprisonment in the Shinra Mansion. He gazed up at the radiant white branches from the ground, seated comfortably beside a particularly large tree. It still inspired an out-of-place feeling. Vincent could recall being here all those years ago and feeling like a child, lost, unable to find his way back to his mother. It even smelled the same, the chemical-burn smell that forever permeated the air as a reminder of the Shinra Co. legacy was absent here, unable to taint this place. The smell was bland and breathing it was akin to drinking water. Devoid of flavor but clean in quality which added a sense of solitude all it's own. He could only think of freshwater and bleached paper to describe it. It was no wonder Sephiroth found it so... comforting was not the right sentiment. Familiar perhaps? Even that sounded too human.

"Vincent Valentine. I had wondered what the Company did with you. Your file was somewhat inconclusive." drawled that unmistakable voice, laced with mockery and contemptuous disdain. Vincent wondered if he had any other tone with which to speak.

"You of all people would remember his inability to do away with his failures." Vincent responded in his usual murmur, as resigned as ever to the things he could not change.

He turned his head slowly and let the sight of Sephiroth hit him in the gut. So faultless in a haunting way.

Sephiroth met his eyes and was caught for a moment by those red irises. Vincent's eyes were even more unusual than his own silver orbs. The deep carmine, so familiar a shade to an executioner forever bent on spilling blood, was unnerving when it was studying you. His expression was somehow the only remotely human thing in his warped appearance.

"Not the most damning of his vices, I assure you." If Vincent had been standing any closer, he might have felt the frost on that tone.

"I am well aware of Hojo's vices."

Sephiroth's face remained it's trademark imperturbable mask and underneath he seethed at the hint toward his lineage. The ever-present hatred in his core sparked and sickly green tinted lustrous silver. He held on to that rage with a death grip, embracing it, consuming it. Holding out as best he could against memories of white walls, strange drugs, vulnerability, trying not to recall noises and scents and nightmares, years of waking up in a cold sweat to a smirking face.

Why do you restrain me? When have I ever fought you? When have I fought this...

"This will hurt, at first."

"I doubt that." he snapped it without meaning to, and was unsure who he was snapping at. Vincent flinched.

"Forgive me." his quiet voice held the kind of desperate sorrow you find after a war, when the human world realizes the destruction that has been wrought and manages to mourn with silence.

"For?" the one word might have cut through the air like a whip for all Vincent felt the bite of it.

"I didn't kill him."

"Neither did I."

"You were my responsibility."

"I am nobody's responsibility."

"I left you to him."

Sephiroth wasn't sure how to argue with that. He could see Vincent's pain, knew the sincerity of it would be forever strange to him.

That same old compulsion rose to the surface. That whisper that it was his fault that he could not feel such pain, the product of years of having it explained to him that he was different and being told that it was a blessing while knowing it was a defect. So much time he spent in contradiction, trying to take pain away and being trained to dole it out better than anyone else. Using war to achieve peace had never made any sense, killing to save lives. Laboring under the delusion he could save something, anything. The realization that in order to stop the killing, he would have to kill the killers. And finally giving up, submitting to the mindlessness required to be the ultimate murderer and accepting that he now, in his bias, lacked the skill to judge who deserved to live and knew nothing beyond the death. Could not reason out his own peacekeeping mission with anything but devastation. Oh, happy irony. He had only ever learned one way to really take pain away. Vincent didn't notice him approach, too lost in flashes of memory that didn't seem to belong to him anymore.

Seeing Sephiroth crouching was... out of place.

Have I ever seen him do that before?

His brain shut down for a second when Sephiroth kissed him. Really kissed him, not some apologetic peck or uncertain molding of lips. Goddess somebody had taught this man to kiss. He jerked away at that thought. And caught a glimpse of the uncertain man underneath before he disappeared behind intense eyes. Sephiroth followed, undeterred. Carefully, skillfully, prying Vincent's mouth open and reaching up to subtly undo the buckles of his cape. Completely oblivious to the racket going on inside Vincent's mind.

Do I have the right to refuse this man anything, after leaving him to a maniac scientist with no morals? Can I really reject him and hurt him further, after everything I could have stopped? Everything I could have saved him from, and didn't? For Goddess' sake, why are you doing this? Sephiroth...

Sephiroth unbuckled the last strap and a red waterfall fell behind Vincent. He moved Vincent's shirt up to flatten a hand on his stomach and feel lean muscle flexing and rolling smoothly under his palm. He took a second to appreciate that Vincent's skin was somehow colder than his and then worked his hand under the top of Vincent's pants. He wrenched at the fabric to get it loose. Vincent didn't respond, he had stopped moving the moment the cape came off, still warring with himself in his thoughts. But that stopped when a hand wrapped around him. He took a deep breath through his nose to keep from jumping at the contact.

He felt like Sephiroth had electrocuted him. Years of abstinence would make a man's senses kick into fucking overdrive at being touched. He twisted away from the kiss and started to slide back, retreating as best he could in an awkward position. Sephiroth let go and gripped his hips, pulling him down harshly to the dirt and hovering over him. He folded Vincent's legs under his arms, pressed them between bicep and rib to keep them still, and gripped the mans hips again to hold him there. Vincent started to struggle and every muscle seized up in rebellion when Sephiroth's mouth slid over him, pure heat and softness and a kind of tingle that may have been mako or may have been his raw nerves pleading for more.

"What the-" oh, Gaia.

Sephiroth moved his mouth and clenched Vincent's thighs and hips tightly when the man squirmed. Vincent had to fight not to fist both hands in Sephiroth's star-lit hair and drag him off. His metal arm could potentially cause the ex-general damage, so he was reduced to shivers and gasps through clenched teeth. Sephiroth rolled his tongue and Vincent's gunmetal contraption of a hand gripped hard onto a tree root next to him. Trying to hold the cyborg-esque man was somewhat like trying to pin a demon. Muscle flexed like malleable iron and displayed a strength that Sephiroth would have said was reminiscent of a 1st Class SOLDIER if his mouth hadn't been otherwise occupied. He used his own strength and kept the agitated man in place. He worked Vincent's shaft with disturbing ease, and Vincent discovered his gag reflex was absent seconds before losing the last shreds of control he had to the back of Sephiroth's throat.

"Ungh! ... mph." He choked back moans and groans, and somehow didn't scream, only writhed and twisted as much as Sephiroth allowed him to.

Sephiroth slowly opened his mouth and released Vincent to settle his chin against one of Vincent's hips, watching the man come down off the best high there was. Still breathing hard enough that his nostrils flared slightly, Vincent propped himself up on has elbows and stared down into eyes like pools of aluminum. Horror took hold and chased most of the pleasure away.

What did I just let him do?

Sephiroth rose and Vincent was aware that blood was rushing back to his legs, Sephiroth had been holding him tight enough to restrict blood flow. Sephiroth's face leveled with his and he slowly gripped Vincent's pale wrist, bringing it up to place it over the leather straps holding his coat on. He left it there and waited to see what Vincent would do.

All these years of despising myself for letting his life be what it was, only to violate him all over again as he is. I really am a monster.

When it became obvious Vincent wasn't going to move, Sephiroth began to undo the buckles himself while keeping eye contact with Vincent. The coat loosened and Vincent was distracted by Sephiroth's body.

Gaia must have her hand in this somewhere. That everything I left him to could create something so majestic. That must be her work.

Sephiroth stripping is something every dying man should be privileged to see. All smooth movement and eye contact that dared you to stop him, it was a form of hypnotism all it's own. Once again Vincent was haunted by the idea that someone might have taught him this and this time that thought ground to a halt when Sephiroth leaned forward and pressed his face into sleek black locks and breathed cool sweet breath on his neck. Vincent jammed his eyes shut and it was all he could do not to move. Sephiroth was moving his hand again, dragging it down his bare torso to the top of his leather pants. Vincent finally took some initiative. He pulled at the leather and slid his palm inside, feeling Sephiroth twitch. He paused when his conscience expressed it's disgust.

You don't want this. Why would you want this?

Vincent started to draw his hand back and Sephiroth stopped him and moved to kiss him again, demolishing the last of Vincent's restraint. Their tongues, lips and teeth touched and tasted and Vincent teased Sephiroth with the tips of his fingers, tickling marble skin and smoothing over the base of his shaft. Sephiroth pulled at his lower lip and pressed forward into touch and kiss alike. Vincent slowly worked his hand into confining leather and stroked perfect, soft skin from base to tip and back again. Sephiroth hardened further under his hand and remained silent but his breath became heavier, if Vincent had been looking at his face he would have seen the state of euphoria evident in the General's eyes.

All at once Sephiroth hoisted Vincent hips up, stripped his pants off as far as they would go, tore them when they refused to be pulled over mechanical calves, pulled the red cape under his ridiculously well-shaped ass and arranged his legs so they propped Vincent's hips up. It was all too clear to Vincent where this was going, but he was distracted a minute by the courtesy of not being fucked into the dirt. Right now the idea appealed to him in a debauched way. He was drawn back to awareness by Sephiroth holding his hand in front of Vincent's face.

"Open."

Without thinking, Vincent popped his mouth open and Sephiroth's fingers slid inside wet heat. His skin was forever chilled, but the temperature inside his mouth was scalding. Vincent's eyes closed and he groaned. Sephiroth's skin tasted extraordinary. There is no way to describe it, devoid of the typical salty taste, and tasting as far from real skin as it gets. He sucked on two fingers and then three while Sephiroth drank in the seductive sight. Vincent finally got over the flavor of skin that was such an enigma enough to purposefully coat said skin with saliva. To start to open his mouth to let out a protest of some kind, when Sephiroth slowly drew his fingers back. Hazy, almost drugged eyes met the intense gaze the General was famous for. Saliva-slicked fingers disappeared to explore concealed tightness and Vincent's protest was over-ruled by a moan so loud and drawn out that anyone who heard might have felt violated. He hissed at the stretching sensation of being prepared and made no argument.

Sephiroth centered on his prostate and Vincent's eyes rolled back as he fought to hold still. No matter how long he lived, that sensation would always take his senses by storm. Metal creaked and strained as Vincent flexed every muscle and tested every sinew from his ribs on down to his heels. Sephiroth continued to send bolts of ecstasy from prostate to brain and back, engrossed in the quiet spasms. He watched the veins in Vincent's neck stand out and pressed his face against them. He would never get tired of feeling a man straining and trembling in his arms.

As Sephiroth withdrew his hand Vincent groaned. He felt moistness on his lower back and helped shift his weight and hips for better access, completely lost in this, however wrong it was. Sephiroth laced their fingers and subtly pinned Vincent's hands to ground on either side of his head, he had all of one moment to be confused by this and then Sephiroth was inside him. Vincent convulsed gradually. The undulated movement slid from hips up vertebrae to his neck, forced his skull back against the dirt and spread to muscle and tissue making his sides flex, his insides constrict and grip Sephiroth's cock in flawless heat and the ripple effect ended up in his hands, nearly crushing pale sword-scarred palms.

Sephiroth thrust against him and he yielded to the demand, at first allowing the onslaught to rock his hips and then flexing and rolling with each push. Desperate for more he looked up at Sephiroth's face and took full advantage of how close he had to be to keep Vincent pinned. His lips locked with Sephiroth's and he pried the man's mouth open to challenge and taste and got the desired reaction when Sephiroth drove hard against his prostate and took in the moans and cries.

"Sephiroth."

"Again." Another hard drive against him.

"Sephiroth" He moaned the name, drew it out, made it indecent.

Sephiroth's breathing was getting uneven, his eyes no longer focused on anything he looked at.

"Sephiroth!"

Exhausted muscles flexed, lungs gasped for air. Pleasure built and surged forward, flowed white and hot. Sephiroth held on through Vincent's orgasm and succumbed to his own a moment later. He released Vincent's hands and collapsed on top of him. Many deep breaths later he still hadn't shifted except to bury his face in Vincent's shoulder.

Vincent's body was too exhausted to move him. He turned his head slightly and breathed in the smell of Sephiroth's hair, it smelt of sex and red wine now. Like his own.

Generations later, he still felt like a humbled child when shown the bigger picture.

forgotten

adjective

unremembered, out of mind, past recollection, beyond/past recall,

consigned to oblivion; left behind; neglected, overlooked, ignored,

disregarded, unrecognized.

ANTONYM remembered.

Because this is an older rambling of mine I kind of jump back and forth in the writing of their thoughts and Vincent is not as poised as I normally like him to be, what with him being a vampiric, self-flagellating, emo-child. I tried to make it less jarring but I can only do so much without having to do the whole thing over.

Review/berate me for over-use of adjectives/make me happy/same difference?