I moan as I come, a loud and stretched sound echoed by my lover shortly after. Panting, I collapse on his chest, his strong arms embracing me in an attempt to keep me close for a little longer. Too exhausted to argue over it, I comply, but not before having disengaged from his body. His blue eyes briefly drift shut and he tenses when I pull out, softly whispering my name. I say nothing and focus on catching my breath.

The man below me is gorgeous. He's tall, with a broad frame and a muscular body, which is definitely one of the benefits that come with the job of an engineer. His eyes are the shade of blue that has inspired many a poem already, and his voice is deep and hoarse from all the cigarettes he smokes. He tastes of them, too, but I consider that a bonus.

In the background the radio is playing, some cheesy croon song about a guy who's been through the mill, but now he knows everything will be okay, because he's looking into his baby's beautiful blue eyes. That's funny, because I was just thinking about my baby and he has beautiful eyes, too, except they aren't blue.

You see, this guy I'm with doesn't mean anything to me. My baby, it's not him. Not even close. My baby hasn't got a broad frame or a muscular body. He is not an engineer. He is an angel. He has a slim figure and flawless skin and the two most beautiful eyes I've ever seen, like polished rubies engraved in his face. In fact, I think that's how I fell in love with him, gazing into those eyes.

Because I do love Vincent. Let there be no doubt about that. Just because I left our home this morning before he had even woken up, without so much as leaving a note, so I could come here and spend the entire day fucking the brains out of one of my crew members, whom I will now have to fire first thing tomorrow morning, does not mean I don't care about him. Far from it. He's too precious for me to fuck his brains out.

Before he met me, he was in love with this girl. Which is fine and all – I mean, I can't blame him for experimenting – but she already had her heart set on Hojo, the lunatic scientist Vincent was a bodyguard to. Next thing he knows, Hojo knocks the girl up and starts using her as a guinea pig. Of course, my Vince wasn't going to stand by and let that happen. So Hojo shoots him and does stuff to him before locking him in a coffin. Very wrong stuff. I can't fuck Vince's brains out, because he can't stand to be touched in that way anymore.

And so I take it out on my crew. And the fellows over at Honeybee Inn. And this guy I met in the gym the other day. And… Look, I hate myself for doing it, too. But it's just the kind of person I am. I know I should stop it, choose Vincent no matter what and give up everything to make him happy, even sex if that's what it takes. But I can't do it. The Planet knows I've tried. Fuck, I quit smoking for the guy.

Most of the time, there's no problem. Normally, I can control myself. I don't need to have sex everyday; it's just that I make mistakes sometimes. And when there's a good-looking guy around at the moment I let my guard down and my desires are free to take over, I can't be held responsible for my actions.

Bullshit. Of course I'm responsible for my actions. Who the fuck else is? That's why it's my fault I hurt my Vincent. Even when I'm not aware of it, like how it happened in the beginning. At first when he and I had hooked up, I used to touch him in ways that made him uncomfortable. Not that I knew, I'd never have done it had I known. Then when Vincent told me, I resigned myself to manual labour. If you catch my drift. And I wish it could be enough for me. You have no idea how much I'd like that. Because I love Vincent, I love him more than life. Fuck, I love him more than fucking cigarettes. So how can I do this to him?

I never figured out if Vincent knows about what I do. Probably. And I hate myself for this, but in a way I almost want him to. It sounds weird, but if he knows and doesn't say anything about it, that's kind of saying it's all right, that he understands and I shouldn't worry about it. Right. So I don't have to feel guilty about being a two-timing son-of-a-bitch.

The other night I couldn't sleep. I just lay there in the darkness, thinking about the man in my arms. Vincent loves it when I let him fall asleep in my arms. "Let" is an important word there, because I really hate cuddling. I just can't get to sleep if I don't have enough space. Meaning at least sixty-five percent of the bed.

Anyway, we were lying there and everything was quiet, and all of a sudden he starts talking in his sleep. "Don't worry, Cid" he says, "I still love you." Just like that. In his fucking sleep.

I can be such a bastard at times.