Title: A Filthy Habit

Author: Enide Dear

Rating: cute, but lost of swearing

Pairing: Valenwind

Summary: Drabble. Someone in this fic has a filthy habit, but I'm not so sure it's Cid…

Author's note: mmmm….jam-covered Cid….

"Where the sweet fucking Hell are they?!" Cid's roar from upstairs the Inn made all of Avalanche jump high around the breakfast table, even though they should be used to it by now. This routine had been repeated with disturbing regularity these last weeks.

"Why do you keep doing this, Vincent?" Tifa asked, rather annoyed as she had managed to spill coffee all over her when she jumped. "You will never get Cid to stop smoking."

"Especially not by stealing his cigs and denying him his morning smoke," Cloud added, shaking his head. "You know it makes him furious. You know what will happen."

Vincent shrugged, not meeting anyone's gaze.

"It's a filthy habit," he muttered.

"Yes, but…" Cloud didn't get any further before the door to the kitchen was kicked open and a very sleep-rumpled and highly pissed Cid Highwind appeared in the doorway, dressed only in underwear and glowering angrily.

"Ya!" He stabbed a finger in the air at Vincent. "Ya stole them again!"

Vincent patted the napkin to his lips and rose, very dignified.

"Smoking isn't good for you. I'm merely helping you to quit."

"Yer *stealing* and ya should mind yer own Gods-damned business!" Cid made a lounge over the table, scattering plates and getting jam all over himself, but Vincent was too quick and dodged away. The ex-Turk made a dash for the door, running for freedom, but with a nicotine- addicted howl Cid threw himself over him. Vincent squawked as Cid bore down on him, tumbling them over on the carpet. Vincent relied on speed and grace and skill in fighting, but Cid was a bar-brawler; one-on-one in this close distance, the ex-Turk didn't have a chance. Still, he put up a decent fight and the two rolled back and forth on the floor before Cid wrestled him face-down, sat on his back and pinned his arms to his sides.

"I know ya got them somewhere on ya!" Cid growled and started patting down the writing man, tearing at Vincent's shirt and putting his hands down Vincent's pockets while Vincent squirmed and vainly tried to get away. He yelped as Cid gave him a smack across his buttocks. "Yer not going anywhere until ya tell me where you hid my damned cigs!"

"No!"

"I'll tickle ya!"

"No! Stop!" Vincent burst out giggling as fingers teased all his nerves. "Stopitstopitstopit! They're, they're in my back pocket!"

"A –ha!" Triumphantly Cid drew out a very battered box of cigs, found one that wasn't too broken and could finally light it. He sat back and sighed happily.

"Cid…" Tifa said from across the room.

"Yeah?"

"You are still sitting on Vincent. And you got jam running down your chest. And you are not allowed to smoke in here."

"Oh." Cid got up, took Vincent's elbow and pulled him to his feet. For half a second he seemed to lean in and whisper something in Vincent's ear that made the tall man blush fiercely, then he sauntered out to the porch, abandoning breakfast for addiction and wiping at the sticky jam.

A very, very dishevelled Vincent Valentine staggered back to the table and sat down. Cloud shook his head.

"You know this happens every time. Why do you keep doing it?"

"It's a filthy habit," Vincent muttered, hoping no one had heard Cid's mumbled words: Was it as good fer ya as it was fer me?