'Tseng sometimes wondered just what did he do to deserve the two in his bed.' In which no sex occurs, and Tseng thinks far too much for his own good. Rufus/Tseng/Elena, post-AC.
Tseng sometimes wondered just what did he do to deserve the two in his bed. He was not a good man, true, he had killed many people and had never regretted it. He, despite being from Wutai, did not believe in karma. If he did, he wouldn't have survived as long as he did.
Hands fingered short blond strands, smiling at the minute differences between Rufus's platinum blond hair and Elena's golden blond. Their hair certainly reflected their personalities, he mused. Rufus was a supernova, a bright shining star, brighter than the sun in its intensity. Rufus was passionate, beautiful, but the brightest shining star also burnt the fastest. Tseng's hands travelled down to the brace on Rufus's neck, fingering the rough plaster and cloth and closed his eyes, berating himself once more for not being capable enough to protect his president, his lover. Never mind that he himself was incapacitated during that time.
Elena, with her golden hair, was almost innocent, almost childlike in her naivete. She was a rookie, a new recruit who was unused to the harsh life of a Turk. But she learned quickly, adapting so fast that Tseng could almost see her change every minute and every day. She was a professional now, almost-but-not-quite on par with Reno and Rude and himself, but, inexplicably, she still retained the innocence, tarnished though it may be.
His own strands were black, the characteristic of a Wutai man. His hand fingered the tattooed dot on his forehead, and remembered the shame he had felt when it was first inked. The mark of a bastard child, a useless man without a last name and without an inheritance. His own long black hair seemed to reflect his darkness. He had never been innocent, never passionate. He was cold, calculating, more of a killing machine than a man. Many had said, behind his back and in front of his face, that he had no emotions, for his Wutai-an mask, built by childish insults and pitying glances, had never broken in front of them.
And yet Rufus, with his undying passion, and Elena, with her rare innocence, had chosen to love him.
Perhaps it was their punishment for all that they had done, to love a man, for they did love, no matter how Rufus hid it in strict orders and cool gazes, who was more of a statue than a living being. If that was so... if that was so...
Tseng never wanted the punishment to end.