Once again, Vincent Valentine found himself seeking the impervious solace of the Crystal cave, but for very different reasons.

Sat between the numerous jutting formations of crystal pillars, he quietly sits, one leg drawn to his chest, the other lain straight, as he gazed up at Lucrecia in perturbed thought.

Curiously though, his thoughts were not of Lucrecia.

She looks just the same. Skin as colourless as porcelain. Cold in appearance, almost death-like, yet, even after all this time, he still remembers how soft and warm it had once felt.

She remained unchanged by the inevitable passing of time, much like himself, but for all that had changed in his life, there are always some things that will never change.

His feelings had not changed, complex and agonizing as they were.

It had been difficult once. Difficult to distinguish between memories and dreams. Dreams and reality. Steadily pushing him towards the brink of insanity as his delusions grew stronger.

Whenever he sat there, gazing up at her within the cave's silence, he would recall these memories. Past shreds of brief happiness. For they had been the only things capable of bringing any sense of comfort to him.

However, it was becoming increasingly easier to forget those details now. Or perhaps he was not forgetting them, but simply replacing them.

Really, the only link he still had to reality—a somewhat unnerving and frightful notion—was Yuffie.

He releases a slow, careful sigh, and then his eyes open, desperately searching the face of the motionless form before him.

His mouth opens slightly, desperately seeking the words he had wished to speak to her for so long, but could never bring himself to.

"I'd always imagined you would be here forever. Another illusion I chose to create." He pauses briefly, his voice strange, low and hoarse with emotion," But, I must accept the harshness of reality. You are lost to me. I'm afraid you always were."

His words, sincere and penitent, fall on death ears. He knows this, however, his admittance's offer him some self-assurance, some small comfort nonetheless.

"I have been selfish. Foolishly clinging on to the shreds of what once was. Completely dependent upon them. I have given you everything. Everything I could possibly give and more."

Slowly, he rises, the soft clinking of his metal-toed boots echoing throughout the cave, steady against the damp rock as he approaches her.

A gloved hand is placed against the cool, smooth surface of her Mako tomb, just over the gloomy obscurity of her own.

"Even in death, your beauty is breath-taking to me." His voice wavers for a moment, yet it gains strength and resolve with his next words. "But... it is time for me to let go. No matter what the future holds, I just want you to know that a piece of my heart will always belong to you."

Regarding the woman one last time, he slowly turns toward the cavern's exit.

No longer is it determination or self-restraint that stops him from pausing and looking back at her as he always had, but acceptance.

An acceptance finally granting him the resolution and contentment to finally move on.

No longer does he heed the voice of reason that had so far impeded his actions, forced him to dismiss his desires. In fact, he heeds another.

One that had relentlessly encouraged him to act upon said desires for many a month now.

A small part of him had actually agreed with the demons past observations, he had just been too stubborn to admit it.

Many a night now he returned here.

Returned to watch her as she slept.

For returning here each night eased the dull, wrenching ache within him, making it just a little easier to bear.

The skilled being that he was, he slithered with the stealth of a shadow, devoid of apprehension as he leapt easily onto the familiar ledge.

As it had on many a night now, the slightest creak of worn hinges cuts through the otherwise tranquil silence as the sash is cautiously lifted.

It's not entering this room unseen or unheard that is the challenge. The challenge is to keep his distance.

To allow himself to indulge for a few short moments of watching her, imagining what it would be like to kiss her, to touch her, just as he'd done that night, and then retreat without any further consequence.

Vincent sought her the instant he crossed the threshold, the gentle clinking of his boots the only audible sounds within the darkened room as he paused beside her bed, throwing her in shadow.

Blazing eyes slowly rove over his new-found obsession. She wears a simple silk slip, blue in colour, a deep cerulean that lies strikingly against the pale tone of her flesh.

She lies on her back, head turned at an angle, dark locks randomly strewn upon her pillows, lashes curved peacefully upon porcelain cheeks.

Usually, he remains within the shadows, their darkness ensuring his concealment should she wake, but the overwhelming desire to touch her, to feel her warmth just once more is almost painful.

She shifts onto her side, the blankets rustling slightly as she turns away from him, exhaling softly, oblivious, as ever, to his watchful presence.

He withdraws, anxious should she wake and discover him, but she does not.

Admittedly, he should feel a sense of relief that she had not woken, but he does not. For many a night now he finds himself wishing, hoping, that her eyes would open.

That she would discover him, confront him, and he would be forced to finally confess his true desires.

Slight murmurs reach his attuned ears, inaudible snippets of a dream she is having. Again, she turns; the rustle of the covers seem unbearably cacophonous in the heavy silence of the room.

This time, he does not withdraw into the darkness, but instead, acts upon an impulse he forbid himself to ever commit. He permits himself to touch her.

Before he can even comprehend what it's doing, his gloved hand reaches out, a single knuckle softly grazing the skin of her smooth, soft cheek.

Fire coursed through his body at first contact, an overwhelming mixture of self-loathing and satisfaction. Perhaps it was half-induced by the knowledge that this was forbidden, that this was wrong.

He feels as though he contaminates her with the simplest touch, that he distinguishes the light within her with his oppressive darkness bit by bit.

The ever adamant voice in his head condemned his violation.

This is wrong. Leave... Flee now, before she can ever find out... Before you commit to something you cannot take back...

Yet, he again neglects to heed the voice of reason.

Holding his breath for fear its exhalation would warn her of his presence, he softly kneels beside her, delicately brushing a collection of loose, ebony strands away from her face.

Searing eyes are then drawn to her lips, smooth, full and inviting. He feels the urge to lean forward, to place his own upon them, experiencing their sensation just once more before he departs.

Another voice, much to his annoyance, emboldened his contemplation.

Steal a kiss. No one need know. You can allow it to fester on your conscience later. As I know it will.

Hush, Hellmasker. Please.

Does it scare you? Are you terrified of the prospect that this purloined pleasantry will be all you ever have? The demon jeered mockingly.

Closing his eyes, he tries to shut out the hellion's snide assertions. To shut her out. To shut out all of the confusing, mingled sensations and emotions that arise at the mere thought of her. The mere presence of her.

How and when did he arrive at this point? The point he had fallen for a friend, a comrade, for someone half his age? Someone, for that matter, who surely didn't know what she really wanted at such an age... Did that mean he was taking advantage of her?...

No. He reasoned with himself. She was old enough to make her own decisions. Yuffie had always been a very self-assured person. One who had typically got whatever she wanted, too... And if she wanted him—absurd as he thought it was—then so be it...

Do you recollect our accord?

Your vow? Yes. Vincent responded, somewhat irately.

I know what you desire. What you crave. Normality. And together, we can achieve it.

There will come a time when I am ready to bare my heart. To allow her to take it for the broken shell that it is,—if she wishes to,—but today is not that day.

Tearing his gaze away from her, he feels a sense of relief that the demon had fallen silent again.

Turning, he makes to leave, his footfalls quiet, almost silent as he approaches the open window.

Reaching the sill, he grasps it in order to slip back through when a voice suddenly cuts through the thick silence, causing him to abruptly halt in alarm.

A voice hoarse from sleep yet still strong enough to carry across the room.

"Vincent?"

Guilt crept with a red flush upon his cheeks.

Slowly, he turns to face her, finding her gaze to be uncertain, confused. She looks as though she could not quite determine whether or not this is a dream, whether or not he was really there.

"Vincent, is that you?" Yuffie repeated as she slowly raised herself into an upright position.

With nothing more than a tensed jaw to reveal his discomfort, he remained silent, fixing her with a placid stare.

Her eyes then slide from his face—barely visible to her in the darkness—to the open window and then back again, meeting his with a newfound understanding.

For perhaps the first time ever, it is his turn to shift uncomfortably beneath her gaze.

Regarding her with a stiff nod, he again prepares to leave, but her next utterance stops him in his tracks.

"Please... stay." She whispered earnestly, eyes never leaving him.

He knew the reason behind her soft plea. Its intention, its meaning. Simple words with such a profound effect.

The silence that followed was stifling, stretching on resonantly with no end in sight.

For every difficult and tortuous trial he had been faced with throughout his life, it felt insurmountable to muster the courage to turn and simply face this woman.

Then, there is the slightest touch to his wrist. Hesitant, yet deliberate.

Startled, he turns, finding she has abandoned her bed, the covers tossed aside in a crumpled mess in order to approach him.

She can feel his eyes searching her face, the intensity searing her down to the very core of her being.

For this moment, she fears his answer. She wants to hope for his love—for his heart—yet she does not dare to do so. Not after their last encounter. There is only so much rejection one can bear.

"I'm afraid to." He stated quietly, keeping his eyes level, expression devoid of readable emotion.

"Why?" She responded in a questioning whisper, voice coarse with emotion.

He swallowed back more words, regarding her fixedly for a long breath as she shifted anxiously, awaiting his response.

"Because, if I do... I fear I won't be able to control myself any longer."

His simple words struck a chord within her. Try as she might, she could not formulate a response.

A curious buzzing filled her ears, her eyes wide as they helplessly traced his face. But he wasn't looking at her, shame and uncertainty evident within his expression.

In assurance, she took his hand within her own, gently placing her lips to his palm, both relishing and cursing the thick fabric that obscured the sensation of his skin.

Slowly, her eyes lift, finding his expression fearful. Yet, anything but fear radiated from his stance, his eyes afire with something indiscernible.

The gunslinger did not move for a long time, as if awaiting her permission to do so, and as if in this moment in time it deemed acceptable, Vincent allowed his flaming gaze to sweep indiscreetly over her body in its entirety.

It was enthralling, the way she felt his eyes helplessly trace over her features, from the slope of her bare neck to the swells of her breasts and soft curve of her hips.

She followed his gaze, anticipation brimming within her dark, orb-like eyes as his own slowly lifted upwards, returning to her face.

She gave no indication of anything as she watched with delight as his mouth twitched, the fire within his eyes dimming to a sultry glow as they became glazed with a look of longing.

A hand is suddenly placed to her cheek, stifling a gasp, she leans into the embrace, the warmth of his skin through the fabric reassuring and firm.

Any second now she was certain she would wake. Wake to find this all to be just one sick, twisted fantasy.

A fantasy among many others that had been conjured from within the realms of her silly imagination countless times before wherever Vincent Valentine was concerned.

But the steady warmth of his breath against her lips and the familiar, faint scent of gunpowder and earth brought her crashing back to this beautiful reality.

Her whole body throbbed and ached with desire, a desire to feel the sensation of his lips upon hers once again.

Kissing her, touching her, incinerating what was left of her mind with his exquisite mouth and careful, deliberate caress.

"Will you permit me to kiss you?" He inquired softly, eyes never leaving her face.

Her heart skipped a beat, her pulse thrumming within her eardrums to an almost deafening rate.

"You need not ask my permission." Yuffie finally managed to choke out in a whisper.

He offered a ghost of a smile before running the pad of his thumb along her lips, slow and deliberate as though memorizing every intricate groove and dip. The longing and hope in his eyes as he held her flushed gaze almost heart-breaking to witness.

The soft creak of leather is heard as he leans in timidly, head dipped slightly, eyes now focused solely on her lips as his own slightly part.

Tentative and hesitant, the warm seam of his bottom lip gently grazed the swell of her own. Her eyes squeeze closed, potent desire beginning to course through her veins, setting them ablaze.

Slowly, he sought another attempt, more intrepid this time, her lips vibrating slightly with a soft moan of satisfaction as they moulded effortlessly with his own.

He relished the moan that thrummed against his lips, the sound emboldening him further.

Yuffie allowed herself to melt into the embrace he wrapped her in, savoured the lips pressed to her own, kissing her with such a yearning degree that she felt it might draw every last breath from her body.

Finally, he releases her lips, and her fingers slowly descend, snaking around his wrist before gently encouraging him in the direction of the vacant bed.

Intentions clear, his eyes widen briefly, shocked at her boldness. He pauses, causing her grasp to slacken and encouraging her to turn and look back at him anxiously.

"What are you doing?" He all but whispered, desperately willing his body to stop aching and his eyes to look away.

His unease was unambiguous, but the notion of laying with her elicited the most agonizing ache within him yet.

Lips parted, she approached him, brushing them quickly to his own, fingers tightening around his wrist in assurance.

They remain this way for a long moment, his head bowed, her forehead rested against his as their eyes remain locked in mutual silence.

His mouth opened then, the encouraged exhalation hot upon her skin as he spoke.

"You have no idea what you're asking," he whispered against her lips; "none at all..."

Withdrawing, she steps back slightly, her gaze now holding within it a newfound determination and certainty.

"I assure you, Vincent Valentine, that come the break of dawn, I will never forget this night. And," she paused, looking upon him with desire alongside sincerity, "most importantly of all, I will never regret it."

Her spoken affirmation was all that he needed. Looking upon her silently, his expression relinquished to one of unbridled lust as the gilded metal of his clawed fingertips dipped to the small of her back, encouraging a hiss from her lips as he pulled her against him.

Her body arched automatically, pushing hungrily into the heat of his own. Insistent fingers were placed atop his, encouraging them beneath the hem of her nightdress.

The fabric yielded to his touch as he guided it to the base of her chest with his human hand, where the voluntary rise of her arms permitted him to discard it to the floor.

His eyes were upon her then, tenderness glowing alongside burning desire as they took in every soft curve, every contour that made up her exceptional physique.

Gentle lips were placed upon the column of her throat, glancing small kisses from the nape of her neck to the rigid curve of her collar bone, burning her clean through and igniting every nerve in her body.

Her eyes remained closed, devoting her body completely to sensation, imploring every sense to memorize every touch, every moment.

Thick, buckled, leather straps were loosened between her fervent fingertips when he paused, his breath hot in her ear as he drew back slightly to study her actions.

The scarlet fabric peeled away, falling with a dull 'thunk' to the floor below and revealing an array of belts and skin-tight black leather beneath.

Yuffie fumbled with these newly exposed bindings with flustered anticipation, Vincent's eyes ever upon her as he silently observed.

With the last buckle loosened, the leather bindings peeled away to reveal taut, cadaverous flesh, marred in places with crisscrossing scars. Infliction's waged from past experimentation at the hands of Hojo and fierce battles fought.

Before insecurities could arise, her fingers were upon them, gentle and timid when her lips were anything but.

Every touch and stroke possessed a tender adoration, instantaneously banishing his self-conscious complexities away.

Muscles leapt beneath her fingertips as she grazed a long caress down the expanse of his sinewy stomach, encouraging him to lean into her embrace until their bared torsos pressed together, the resulting sensation sending fire blazing beneath his skin.

Her fingers descended lower, making him stiffen as they tentatively sought the clasp of his leather pants.

A sudden gentle brush against the proof of his aching encouraged a hiss from his lips, the tight leather peeling away with a 'click' as she unhinged the buckle.

Her palm snaked down, dipping within and encircling his hardness, bringing forth an outburst of husky, ragged breaths from his lips.

She always had been brazen. Some things, clearly, never change...

Gaining height once more, she grasped the hem of his pants, encouraging them downwards with firm, gentle tugs, releasing his aching member.

Studying the now exposed organ coyly, Yuffie moved backwards, eyes rising to meet his own as her body met the soft cushioning of the mattress beneath her.

A small smile lifted the corner of her mouth as she propped herself upon her elbows, taking in his wide-eyed expression and obvious embarrassment at having her see him in such a way, but that soon vanished when she extended an index finger, beckoning with it for him to join her.

Delicate and ever-afraid, he settled himself gently between her, expression one of uncertainty.

Vincent did not take her right away as his body begged. He merely observed, devouring what wonderful image she presented beneath him.

Yuffie stared back, cheeks flushed, breath caught in the back of her throat as she observed the passion-induced fervor written all over his face.

Removing the glove encasing his right hand, he revealed long, slender digits, pressing them to her rib cage and guiding languid caresses along her skin, enticing trembling shivers and goosebumps alike.

Heat flooded her body and she arched against his caress, pressing against him in need, throbbing, burning, pulsating with desire.

An eager tongue darted forth to taste her skin, trailing a wet path from her hip, all the way up to the soft curve of her breast, making her gasp and tremble with need.

He savoured the small, heated sounds set free as the cool pads of his craving fingertips slowly encircled her nipple, its pad teasing the soft skin and racing heartbeat beneath.

With an unconstrained groan, he lowered his head, taking the hardened peak between his lips.

Tensing and arching beneath him, all rational thought seemed to flee her mind as he gently sucked on the pink flesh, his fingertips now free to graze a path along her abdomen, down to her hip, before tentatively venturing to the heat of her burning core where he began to gently rub back and forth torturously.

Every kiss was deliberate, every nip and bite and lick intentional, all of it conspiring against her senses to leave her completely in his thrall.

She caressed his chest, thrilling the surface of his skin before proceeding lower, grazing his hardness from distended root to tip, bringing forth an undoubtedly pleased sound which resonated through her ears.

"Please, uh... Vincent, I can't... stand it..." she stammered huskily, breathing ragged and voice course with desire.

"Yuffie," he whispered in a strained hiss, clinging tight to any shred of control remaining, "I don't want to hurt you."

The tenderness his words possessed coaxed her to passion. Smiling, her fingers trailed the length of his spine, splaying wide at its curve and guiding his hips against hers in encouragement, in impatience.

Moving her free hand upwards, she splayed it reassuringly across the back of his neck, drawing his lips downwards upon her own.

The gentle nudge of his hardness against the sleek entrance of her womanhood made her shudder in delight.

She could focus on nothing but his intentions and instinctively arched closer, ripples of sensation coursing beneath her skin wherever his touched.

The hardened tip pushed, pressure amplifying agonisingly before it passed and they simultaneously hissed in relief as he finally entered her.

A part of him mercifully tried to keep his motions gentle as he moved slightly, but he abandoned restraint, relinquishing his careful endeavour and thrusting the rest of the way when Yuffie brushed a heady, reassuring kiss to his lips.

In turn, she arched, crying out in relief and passion as he sank into her fully.

Words seemed beyond him as he moved within her, a long-forgotten sensation wracking him in utmost pleasure as he rocked her stiffened hips in motion with his.

It was magnificent and consuming, suffocating him within a brutal wave of ecstasy.

He had expected self-condemnation, uncertainty and regret, but he found none of those things. Instead, he found warmth, desire and a tenderness that he had been certain were never destined for him.

Eyes locked with hers, he grasped her hip with his human hand, the other lain flat to the mattress as his motions gained eager velocity.

In response, Yuffie's taut fingertips pressed into his scarred skin, tension coiling throughout her limbs as waves of pleasure rippled throughout her.

She savoured every vehement expression he graced her with, satisfaction and desire coursing beneath the rigidness of his expression. A desire she would gladly appease many a night after this one.

The very breath had fled her lungs, and she was sure she would never breathe again; no, not while such exquisite perfection was atop her, inducing such raw, carnal pleasure.

Vincent's small cries of desire grew, his movements becoming more vigorous and savage, faster and harder until she too was crying out with her own renewed need, encouraging a symphony of mingled pleasure to fill the room.

A violent shudder wracked Yuffie's body, making her arch, mouth agape, rigid fingers slipping within his thick ebony strands as she hurtled over the edge, writhing in the throes of her orgasm.

Doubt and regret no longer lingered. This night was theirs and theirs alone. One heart and one soul united. She saw forever, and she wasn't afraid to admit that she wanted it. This wonderful dream had become a wonderful reality.

Crumpled sheets were grasped between taut fingertips as his pleasure neared, the hot wetness enveloping his aching pushing him further towards the brink.

Then, with a delirious cry, his pleasure came, blinding satisfaction inciting tremors throughout his arched body.

After a momentary lapse in his control, he regained his senses, capturing her lips in an unexpected kiss that she instinctively froze to endure.

Bodies trembling to the depth of bone, they remained still for some time, the sweat beading their foreheads merging as he pressed his brow to her own, intense red eyes boring softly into hers.

No words needed to be spoken. For they were unnecessary after all that had just transpired between them.

With dawns light, when they lay quietly entwined, Vincent felt something break free from within the deepest recesses of his soul where it had lain buried so long in darkness.

The demon had fulfilled its pledge, relinquishing his body and in turn granting him the freedom he had yearned so long for.

Yet, unlike the others before him, the beast had inflicted no suffering with its desertion—and the gunman was somewhat thankful for that.

With untold scars and mechanical attributes to bear the constant reminder of his monstrous faults, all he had lost throughout his existence, and the victories he had won, he'd found love again in the end, and that was by far the greatest victory of all.

END