Categories > Games > Final Fantasy 7
Thanks
The lights went out as the ID scan was performed. In the dark, a hand on his crotch. "Keep talking," Tseng's breath was warm in his ear.
?Blocked
Reno shook a thankful cigarette out of the pack and lit it, taking a rich deep breath and letting the tension slide out with the smoke. "May I?" Tseng asked, and Reno was surprised enough that he just held still while Tseng took the pack out of his hand and claimed one. He leaned in and lit it from Reno's own, close enough for the redheaded Turk to catch a mouthful of leather and gun polish and some sort of exotic Wutaian scent around the acrid taste of burning tobacco. An indirect kiss, and when Tseng was like that the odds were high that there would be more direct ones forthcoming.
"Come on," the older man said, leading the way out of the slums. Reno fell into step beside him, letting his mind wander beneath his boss's polished exterior. When he'd been new, Tseng seemed so completely untouchable that he'd been reduced to stuttering like a virgin the first time the man had favored him with a smile. Fortunately for Reno's mental equilibrium, Tseng didn't smile often. He didn't often notice Reno in a non-professional sense, either.
But he was out in the field with Reno tonight, rather than standing serenely at the Vice President's elbow, so there was something going on that Tseng probably didn't want to talk about. Rude was his usual partner in these quiet assassinations; he hadn't been accompanied by Tseng past his first six months in service. Rude had, in the inevitable aftermath of bloodshed, assured him with a kiss that it was a compliment. Tseng trusted him to do his job without being supervised.
So either Tseng didn't trust him, or there was another reason that he'd ventured beneath the plate, leaving Rude at Rufus's side. "Vice President staying in tonight?" he asked as they got on the train back to civilization. It was funny how easy it had become to redefine Shinra as home, and the slums as foreign territory.
"No."
It was amazing how much information could be held in a single syllable. Tseng was angry with Rufus; that much was obvious. Which meant he was doing something Tseng disapproved of so severely that he refused to be a part of it. Slumming it in Wall Market, maybe; like father, like son. If that's the case, he should've assigned me to him. Rude's great, but nobody knows the Market like I do, he thought, but Tseng didn't seem to be in a position where he was willing to accept criticism. And despite his reputation, Reno did know when it was wisest to keep his mouth shut. Or at least keep it shut on anything relevant.. People noticed when he didn't say anything. It made them nervous. So he'd gotten to the point where he could ramble without really even paying attention to what he was saying. Tseng was mostly ignoring him anyway, eyes half-closed, lulled by the motion of the train and the sound of his voice.
The lights went out as the ID scan was performed. In the dark, a hand on his crotch. "Keep talking," Tseng's breath was warm in his ear. He managed to do so as slim fingers eased him out, stroking. A hot mouth closed around his length. Thirty-five seconds in the dark, and it probably took Reno half of that. He felt the chuckle more than heard it, and those hands fastened his clothing while he was given a salt-laden kiss.
The train stopped, but Reno hardly noticed. He and Rude had played this game dozens of times as a way to take the post-kill edge off, but he hadn't imagined Tseng ever indulging in such behavior.
Halfway through the Sector, Tseng finally told him to shut up. He did so, trying not to smirk. When the lights went out, he was ready, on his knees in front of the other Turk. Thirty-five seconds, and Reno pulled out every trick in his arsenal. It was the humming that did the other man in; his thighs tensed six and a half seconds before the lights came back on.
Back in the Shin-Ra building, Tseng handed him a keycard and said, "Ten minutes."
Reno sketched a salute in acknowledgement and hurried. It was a test, of sorts, he supposed; had he paid attention well enough to know where Tseng lived? He slid the keycard into his boss's door five and a half minutes after he'd left him on the first floor, muttering about how slow the elevators were being.
Tseng's quarters were a dimly lit haven. He settled in an understated leather armchair, not bold enough to wait in the bedroom, and watched the lights on the plate twinkle outside.
The door slid open in eight minutes. "You're early," Reno said.
"Should I have kept you waiting?" Tseng asked, leaving the lights low.
"Never." Reno stood and let Tseng lead him to the bedroom. No kisses here; this was not about love so much as passion. Killing was a high every Turk understood, and it led to an inevitable ache no one ever talked about. Talking was, even for Reno, irrelevant. What mattered was Tseng's hands unbuttoning his shirt, pushing his pants down and away, pressing him down on the bed. He was slimmer than Rude, but longer. As skilled in this arena as he was in every other, he silenced Reno in a matter of moments, leaving him with nothing to do but breathe.
Reno cried out only at his climax. Tseng bit him as he came, muffling Rufus's name in the skin of Reno's neck. Angry, the other man had been angry all night, and it seemed that this was the reason; his place at the Vice President's side taken by someone else so Rufus could chase girls without his bodyguard's disapproving eye. Reno suppressed a complaint before it was fully formed in his mind. If he was being used, it was nothing particularly new, and it certainly paid well enough.
He lay beside Tseng afterwards, listening as the other man's breathing slowed. Neither of them spoke. Silence frightened him, but for once, Reno didn't know how to break it. He half-wanted to leave, but didn't want to abandon Tseng to the emotions he could practically taste in the air. Coming down off the kill, sating lust left anger, fear, despair, and the crushing misery that came after everything was done, only alleviated by finding another high. Most Turks he'd met, himself included, were off-duty alcoholics. Tseng, to his knowledge, was not. It seemed that Tseng usually lost himself in other ways, with other men, on smooth white backgrounds in other rooms.
In the front room, the unmistakable sound of the door sliding open had Reno reaching for his pants and Tseng for his gun. Rufus found them thus, Tseng still nude except for his weapon, Reno fumbling with his fly. He caught the flicker of reaction in widening blue eyes, and was fast enough to grab his shirt and catch the Vice President in the hallway outside Tseng's door, one arm still trying to find the sleeve. "Wait," he said, and the other man actually did, turning to give the redheaded Turk a disdainful glare.
"What?" he snarled.
His questing arm slid in and he managed to pull the shirt onto his shoulders, buttoning it haphazardly. "He says your name."
"What?" Less demanding, more confused.
"When he comes," he admitted, lowering his voice so that no one could possibly hear him but Rufus, "he says your name."
Another flicker, almost a frown, but Rufus nodded and walked back through Tseng's door.
Reno, barefoot, coatless, without his weapon, slunk back to his own room. There was a bottle of Scotch with his name on it waiting for him.
"Come on," the older man said, leading the way out of the slums. Reno fell into step beside him, letting his mind wander beneath his boss's polished exterior. When he'd been new, Tseng seemed so completely untouchable that he'd been reduced to stuttering like a virgin the first time the man had favored him with a smile. Fortunately for Reno's mental equilibrium, Tseng didn't smile often. He didn't often notice Reno in a non-professional sense, either.
But he was out in the field with Reno tonight, rather than standing serenely at the Vice President's elbow, so there was something going on that Tseng probably didn't want to talk about. Rude was his usual partner in these quiet assassinations; he hadn't been accompanied by Tseng past his first six months in service. Rude had, in the inevitable aftermath of bloodshed, assured him with a kiss that it was a compliment. Tseng trusted him to do his job without being supervised.
So either Tseng didn't trust him, or there was another reason that he'd ventured beneath the plate, leaving Rude at Rufus's side. "Vice President staying in tonight?" he asked as they got on the train back to civilization. It was funny how easy it had become to redefine Shinra as home, and the slums as foreign territory.
"No."
It was amazing how much information could be held in a single syllable. Tseng was angry with Rufus; that much was obvious. Which meant he was doing something Tseng disapproved of so severely that he refused to be a part of it. Slumming it in Wall Market, maybe; like father, like son. If that's the case, he should've assigned me to him. Rude's great, but nobody knows the Market like I do, he thought, but Tseng didn't seem to be in a position where he was willing to accept criticism. And despite his reputation, Reno did know when it was wisest to keep his mouth shut. Or at least keep it shut on anything relevant.. People noticed when he didn't say anything. It made them nervous. So he'd gotten to the point where he could ramble without really even paying attention to what he was saying. Tseng was mostly ignoring him anyway, eyes half-closed, lulled by the motion of the train and the sound of his voice.
The lights went out as the ID scan was performed. In the dark, a hand on his crotch. "Keep talking," Tseng's breath was warm in his ear. He managed to do so as slim fingers eased him out, stroking. A hot mouth closed around his length. Thirty-five seconds in the dark, and it probably took Reno half of that. He felt the chuckle more than heard it, and those hands fastened his clothing while he was given a salt-laden kiss.
The train stopped, but Reno hardly noticed. He and Rude had played this game dozens of times as a way to take the post-kill edge off, but he hadn't imagined Tseng ever indulging in such behavior.
Halfway through the Sector, Tseng finally told him to shut up. He did so, trying not to smirk. When the lights went out, he was ready, on his knees in front of the other Turk. Thirty-five seconds, and Reno pulled out every trick in his arsenal. It was the humming that did the other man in; his thighs tensed six and a half seconds before the lights came back on.
Back in the Shin-Ra building, Tseng handed him a keycard and said, "Ten minutes."
Reno sketched a salute in acknowledgement and hurried. It was a test, of sorts, he supposed; had he paid attention well enough to know where Tseng lived? He slid the keycard into his boss's door five and a half minutes after he'd left him on the first floor, muttering about how slow the elevators were being.
Tseng's quarters were a dimly lit haven. He settled in an understated leather armchair, not bold enough to wait in the bedroom, and watched the lights on the plate twinkle outside.
The door slid open in eight minutes. "You're early," Reno said.
"Should I have kept you waiting?" Tseng asked, leaving the lights low.
"Never." Reno stood and let Tseng lead him to the bedroom. No kisses here; this was not about love so much as passion. Killing was a high every Turk understood, and it led to an inevitable ache no one ever talked about. Talking was, even for Reno, irrelevant. What mattered was Tseng's hands unbuttoning his shirt, pushing his pants down and away, pressing him down on the bed. He was slimmer than Rude, but longer. As skilled in this arena as he was in every other, he silenced Reno in a matter of moments, leaving him with nothing to do but breathe.
Reno cried out only at his climax. Tseng bit him as he came, muffling Rufus's name in the skin of Reno's neck. Angry, the other man had been angry all night, and it seemed that this was the reason; his place at the Vice President's side taken by someone else so Rufus could chase girls without his bodyguard's disapproving eye. Reno suppressed a complaint before it was fully formed in his mind. If he was being used, it was nothing particularly new, and it certainly paid well enough.
He lay beside Tseng afterwards, listening as the other man's breathing slowed. Neither of them spoke. Silence frightened him, but for once, Reno didn't know how to break it. He half-wanted to leave, but didn't want to abandon Tseng to the emotions he could practically taste in the air. Coming down off the kill, sating lust left anger, fear, despair, and the crushing misery that came after everything was done, only alleviated by finding another high. Most Turks he'd met, himself included, were off-duty alcoholics. Tseng, to his knowledge, was not. It seemed that Tseng usually lost himself in other ways, with other men, on smooth white backgrounds in other rooms.
In the front room, the unmistakable sound of the door sliding open had Reno reaching for his pants and Tseng for his gun. Rufus found them thus, Tseng still nude except for his weapon, Reno fumbling with his fly. He caught the flicker of reaction in widening blue eyes, and was fast enough to grab his shirt and catch the Vice President in the hallway outside Tseng's door, one arm still trying to find the sleeve. "Wait," he said, and the other man actually did, turning to give the redheaded Turk a disdainful glare.
"What?" he snarled.
His questing arm slid in and he managed to pull the shirt onto his shoulders, buttoning it haphazardly. "He says your name."
"What?" Less demanding, more confused.
"When he comes," he admitted, lowering his voice so that no one could possibly hear him but Rufus, "he says your name."
Another flicker, almost a frown, but Rufus nodded and walked back through Tseng's door.
Reno, barefoot, coatless, without his weapon, slunk back to his own room. There was a bottle of Scotch with his name on it waiting for him.
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