Nothing happened and you don't need to worry about it. First Reno was gone, then Tseng was gone, but it's fine—Tseng calls them all together to explain, Tseng has all the answers, Tseng is ready with a plan.
"This is our new normal," he says, drawing up a digitized map of the world they currently inhabit upon each of the terminals. Midgar and Junon are a mutant hybrid beast at its core. The borders between cities are hazy. There are dark parts on the map, which he can set alight with a click of the remote in his hand. "We are pioneers in this world. It would benefit us greatly to keep that in mind."
Moving on.
"You would think that illuminating these regions of this map that are beyond our scope ought to take priority. Absolutely not. We will let the others stumble into the wilderness while we observe. Choose your marks with care."
Click. The screens shift, depicting the soft orange sky, the old Junon helipad. Two silhouettes are visible, one pressed against the rail, the other surging into the sky in flight.
"This is our first priority. Sephiroth." Tseng folds his hands and smiles as he tours the room. "He is a threat to public security and must be supervised at all times. We will devise a means to keep him inhibited, but until then, we shall be his shadow, stalking him wherever he moves. Feel free to make your presence known; I should like to see how he folds beneath the pressure of so many eyes upon him. But be certain that you are not seen, and make absolutely sure that you are not caught. I trust that none of you will find that particularly difficult."
He turns, faces the biggest screen. He puzzles over the picture there, and whatever he sees must please him, because he sounds lighter than ever when he proclaims, "That is all. Dismissed."
Rude notices how Tseng doesn't even really bring up the whole issue of deaths and resurrection. He doesn't even gloss over it in vague terms. He's either assuming anyone who needs to know has already been briefed, or deliberately keeping it from spreading. It would make sense either way. If people found out they couldn't die and stay dead then no one would act cautiously. It would defeat the purpose of most of what the meeting had been about.
He waits until it's over to approach his superior.
Stationary until everyone else clears out of the room, Rude takes a few steps to close the distance between them, getting close and lowering his voice to insure they weren't being overheard.
"I understand the importance of the meeting, and I think it's good to get everyone up to speed, I just can't help being concerned. When was the last time you slept?" That question in particular was barely whispered. The last thing he wants to do is broadcast to the whole team that he's concerned about Tseng or is questioning his mental state right now. He had more tact than that.
Still, as someone who hadn't been around to help the time that it mattered, he may be overstepping to compensate for the guilt he still feels over it.
Everyone leaves, but Rude remains, still and impassive as a stone wall. Tseng can already feel his patience wearing thin because this only ever means one thing when it comes from Rude: he is going to ask questions that Tseng does not want to answer.
He keeps himself busy until they are alone. There are his comprehensive reports on the various movements of persons of interest, Reno's photographs and accompanying data sheets, all of which need to be meticulously sorted and archived and he really doesn't have time for any questions. Too bad for him. Everyone in this room knows that Rude will not be going anywhere until he says his piece.
A wane smile drifts across his face when he hears what it is that is so pressing that Rude needs to stick around. Concern. Right. People do that.
"Your partner was very recently stabbed in the back, and I am only freshly recovered from a similar fate. Sleep will not come easily for some time, I am afraid." He shouldn't tease Rude like this. It's likely that he is still fragile from recent events. The last thing he wants to do is break a valuable asset of his team.
But he is actually very exhausted, which has always made him a little loopy. Maybe not in the way that normal people get loopy, but then Tseng has never quite been normal, has he?
Rude is known to be obedient and attentive, doing what he's told without question (at least outwardly). He has a strong enough barrier to separate his Feelings from his Actions, and similar systems in place for situations such as this. When he ought to dismiss himself from a meeting that has concluded, but is compelled to stay until he says what he needs to say to clear his conscience of specific burdens before he takes his exit. Tseng should be used to it by now. They all should.
On the bright side, there isn't anyone who can force him to do anything he doesn't want to, so it leaves the people around him with little choice but to at the very least accept his overbearing concern.
"I'm aware. I stayed with your corpse while Reno went to collect you, but that hardly has anything to do with what I'm asking."
If Tseng wants to rile him up, it would take more than recent trauma that he's already filed away. The only thing he feels when he's reminded is anger, and not toward his superior despite his hand in deliberately bringing it up. "You don't usually have such a jovial disposition unless you're drunk or sleep deprived, and you're not impaired, so unless you want to try making an argument that an hour in the grave is 5 in the bed, then I'm all ears. Otherwise, promise me you'll get some rest."
Or he'll make you sleep at gunpoint again, and that's not fun for anyone.
Color Tseng suddenly interested. He's not sure why. They've all been alone with corpses before. Nothing fun has ever happened. But Rude, with his? He wonders what it was like in those moments he was not within his own flesh. Did Rude speak to him? Did he take his hand and feel how cold it was? He's not sure what is prompting this sudden, morbid fascination, but it makes him tilt his head, compels him to look at Rude a little more attentively.
"I am tired..." he says, as much to Rude as it is to himself. His gaze strays toward the couch, where Reno's blood was recently vacuumed and disinfected and lifted stain by stain, all while Tseng watched with barely-concealed disappointment. He could lock the door and curl up there on the couch, catch a few Z's until someone inevitably comes pounding at the door or starts shrieking over the comms. With Rude here, it almost seems like it would be possible. He has always been a harbor of comfortable tranquility, just as Reno has always been the gunpowder to Tseng's ever-burning flame.
Of course, the truth of the matter is that he would lock that door, lay down, and then find himself caught up in a whirlwind of thoughts for no reason but to waste time until he inevitably gives up on the idea of sleep completely. He knows himself. So gunpoint it is.
"Unfortunately, the world will not stop for me," he says, in correction, as he lifts the folders he's been sorting. "You most of all must know how tragically behind schedule we've fallen. Our enemies will give us no quarter; I should like to offer them the same."
Rude looks right back at Tseng when he sees that familiar expression on the man's face. He's thinking of something he shouldn't. Something that tickles him, and whatever tickles Tseng would make most men want to vomit or shit themselves in fear. It would truthfully be a reasonable response, not as reasonable as turning around and getting as far away from Tseng as possible.
Unfortunately Rude doesn't have that luxury, and even if he did, he's not afraid of Tseng or his peculiar tendencies. He's heard whispers, and doesn't doubt them, but he's never done anything too out of line to Rude. Although he's not a fair judge considering they've all threatened each other with violence before a handful of times. Elena is trigger-happy, Rude is Emotional, Reno doesn't hold back, and Tseng might actually be a sociopath. Of course they fought.
So, Rude sighs as he removes his gun from the holster, screwing on the silencer before firing a warning shot right into the wall behind Tseng's head.
"Give me your phone and get on the damn couch." All of Tseng's words were just words. Being behind schedule wouldn't last knowing how hard they all worked. It wasn't an excuse to not sleep. "You make mistakes when you're tired. You start to behave strangely. Let everyone else worry about our enemies, and get some sleep."
Tseng is watching this whole process. It shouldn't be a surprise at all. As a Turk, he's a stroke above hyper-sensitive to people reaching into pockets that likely contain weapons. And smooth and quick as Rude can be, there's still plenty of time to anticipate the blast.
It's just—it's the timing. Like how Reno instinctively knows that precise beat and a half to wait after he's said something to add a "...bitch" to the mix that gets everyone rolling. That kind of humor, sure, maybe it'll work a soft smile hidden behind a hand out of him on a good day, but it's not really Tseng's brand of funny.
This, however. This is it. The slow-aching lead up, the click of the silencer and pistol coupling, the whisper of fabric as Rude lifts his hands, and then that explosion of plaster all over Tseng's carefully organized stack of binders. The exhaustion helps a little too; perhaps with a good night's sleep, he'd only be laughing. Now, he is fucking dying, arms hugging round his middle to ease the ache in the stitches he's tearing through his sides because he cannot stop laughing, not even long enough to breathe, not for a second to wipe his tears away or register that he is falling against Rude's chest, hysterical.
Every time he tries to calm himself, the punchline hits him again. He can barely conjure up the strength to lift his phone out of his pocket and hold it aloft for the taking, his wrists wavering as laughter wracks his whole body.
It’s too late. He’s waited too long to intervene, and Tseng is in that state. It’s different for everyone. Rude gets cranky when he’s sleep deprived and then paranoid once he’s fought though the urge to pass out. Reno gets stubborn and aggressive when he’s gone without sleep, well, more stubborn than usual. Tseng, however, was another story. He becomes more pleasant and seems more approachable than usual, so it’s never a good sign for anyone who doesn’t know him to catch him that way.
It might be too late to do things the usual way now. Also, after having died and returning, threatening him with a fatal shot is actually laughable. If Tseng hadn’t gotten in so close he might have aimed for his ankle instead. Shattering bone would be counterproductive, but it might have stopped the laughter.
Rude sighs, sliding the safety back into place so he can toss the gun aside and grab Tseng by the throat to slam him down against the couch. Not highly effective considering the cushions, but he follows up with pressure to his airway. “Shh, it’s bedtime.”
Now his pupils are blown out, his wild stare pitch black and empty. His brows descend into a lethal angle. His teeth flash in a snarl.
Tseng doesn't stay on the couch for long. His long legs wind Rude up and he begins to climb, scaling the length of his torso until he's at just the right height to clamp his thighs tight and squeeze Rude's ribs until they're pounding with ache. There's nothing he can do for the hand around his throat; Rude is stronger than he'll ever be, stronger than most men he's ever met, but he's banking on looking mean enough, threatening to break as many bones as it takes to ward him off.
Probably if he's so offended by the hand choking him, though, he shouldn't be craning his neck, baring more of it for Rude to dig his fingers in. His lashes flutter when Rude cuts off his breathing, and that nasty, feral look on his face becomes a little more pained, but not in the right way.
He expects a fight. Tseng would never go down without one. Rude is less experienced training against his superior, but he flips that switch where feelings and hesitation are off in favor of accomplishing a goal: put him down.
Tseng is on him in an instant, and the only thing saving him from broken ribs is likely to be the grip he has on the man’s neck. Rude grunts, doubling down and putting more weight into it as he shifts into the couch, moving between Tseng’s legs as he puts his other gloves hand around the other man’s throat, both thumbs pushing in to make sure no air flows.
He’s holding his head as far back as he can manage, pinning Tseng with his body to the best of his ability, hoping his limbs go slack soon. “Don’t fight it.”
Stars begin to dot Tseng's vision. They're almost as lovely as the feeling of vertigo threatening to drift him down, down into the depths of darkness all over again, as the steady, pounding pulse of ripping pain turned something a little more thrilling and static. His lids drift shut, then open back up again, wide and crazed.
No more. He hangs off his knees and lets his body unfurl against Rude to get a good back and then forward momentum for that split instant when his thighs clamp all the way down. His whole body twists against the swell of bone, and he rolls and shakes like a crocodile until he hears something, anything snap, probably the smaller ribs, they're more fragile and they f l o a t and he's floating and Rude really looks so very exquisite there between his legs and the way he's staring down at him and watching his lips turn blue is honestly the most perfect thing that Tseng has ever had the honor to behold and... It's just...
Stupid when he's more than flexible enough to work a knee up between them, to pry Rude up while that other leg slips through the crack and extends and sends his boot slamming up at Rude's chin. Who's going to sleep now, motherfucker?
Rude had fallen into the trap of assuming he was finished when things weren’t over yet. It’s much easier to choke someone to death than try to cut of air just long enough that they pass out without any long term side effects of prolonged oxygen denial to the body and specifically the brain.
He’s somewhere else entirely when those thighs clamp around him again harder. The sound he hears is accompanied by searing burning pain. Enough that he’d scream if he wasn’t trained to endure this kind of damage. Rude does swear though. In his head, out loud, telepathically—to anyone that would listen.
His breaths are shallow now, his hands finally releasing Tseng when he sees that leg coming up to smash into his jaw from below. They’re too slow and he can’t block or dodge the kick in time. Rude gets knocked back a bit but also throws himself away from Tseng just to get away. His mouth is bleeding so he spits out blood and contemplates ending this with the pull of a trigger, but that wouldn’t do. Maybe he has to go old school and wear Tseng our first.
Rude would say something clever, but he bit his tongue pretty hard just now, there was nothing he wanted to say to Tseng that his fists wouldn’t communicate. Except one thing. “You were less trouble when you weren’t bleeding.” He tried to push down the pain to defend on him again, this time foregoing any kind of hold that would put him too close and just tries to jab Tseng in his stupid pretty face.
Breath explodes mercifully into Tseng's lungs. He twists his neck, feeling the bruises Rude's rough fingers have burned into his flesh, and shivers run down his spine at how good it aches. His vision swims for as long as it takes to finally get air and—oh, Rude's giving him no quarter. He would be proud of his Turk if that jab wasn't aimed directly at his face. Make no mistake, he still is, wildly and beamingly and all smiles while he twists to the side so he can feed that forward momentum of Rude's surging fist through the air with one delicately placed snap of his hand. Still not enough air in his burning lungs when he pounces on Rude like a cat.
The distance between them is a short span to cover with his arms and legs outstretched to wind Rude back up again. Not a bad place to end up, considering how wicked and alluring Rude looks with blood drooling down his lips. How long has it been since Tseng has seen him like this? Way too fucking long, that's the answer. But he needs to stay close, or else Rude has the advantage here, and if he can get his arms and legs wrapped around his shoulders and his hips, then Tseng knows from experience that there'll be no disentangling them from there.
At some point it's going to become evident that he's just providing Tseng with more amusement and not going to end with Rude having his way. His way being the thing that is CLEARLY for Tseng's own good. He feels like a nagging mother trying to sooth a child whose love language is violence. Sure he might be bigger and stronger than Tseng, but there was a reason the man was in charge of the Turks, and he's making a show of reminding Rude of that.
Obviously this isn't worth asserting his dominance over, and Rude doesn't want to submit when he's so concerned for Tseng's health that he's willing to knock him out over it...But the slighter man comes at him like a bat out of hell and he's ready to throw in the towel to prevent any more damage to his ribs. Tseng is worth fighting, but maybe not that worth it. Maybe this was doing its part to tire him out? He could only hope.
He topples back with the weight of his superior on him, his elbow flying at Tseng's face purely out of reflex to try to get some space between them before arms and legs clamp down. Rude gets him in the jaw, but Tseng is impossible to derail now. There's no way to escape. "Alright, alright. You win." Rude goes limp against the floor of the office just to prove he's not going to fight him anymore.
The sentiment is honestly appreciated, in whatever way Tseng is capable of appreciating something so soft and gentle as concern. Funny how it should end with both of them in a pile on the floor, blood slick between them, breathing ragged and tangled hopelessly.
That elbow to the face is nasty. Tseng knows that it's going to hurt, but something compels him to press his face forward, to get the brunt of the blow right from the thickest part of Rude's arm. From a purely professional standpoint, it's a good idea to keep tabs on his men this way, to gauge their strength and make sure they're in tip top condition when it comes to altercations like these.
The truth of the matter is that he just wants to see how it feels when his teeth explode through his lower lip, immediately swelling them up until they buzz like beestings. It's just as magical as he thought it would be. His vision blurs from the force of the hit and leaves him with a crooked smile on that broken mouth of his, even if Rude is right there under him, throwing in the towel.
"Giving up already?" he asks, blinking hard to restore his vision. All he can see is Rude and that trail of blood trickling down his chin, and maybe it's excitement or exhaustion or something else, but he's ducking his head now before he can think about it, his tongue dragging up that pretty crimson line for just a taste of it. That gets him going with another round of shivers that course up and down his spine, and if he's driving his hips down a little harder, if his limbs are wrapping blindingly tight now, that is the reason why.
Rude doesn't feel any amount of guilt for the sound of the impact. When Tseng kicked him in the chin he'd both caused him to bite his tongue (which was still bleeding), and the force impacted his teeth enough to make his gums bleed with it. It's a wonder he hadn't lost any in the scrapping.
Now his suit was a mess, and the only thing he could think about was getting it to the cleaners before they closed--broken ribs be damned. They'd heal eventually, but blood stains were time sensitive. Rude his ready to shove Tseng off when he gets taunted. "Why? Haven't had enough?"
Rude feels a warm tongue drag over the stubble of his chin following the path of blood, and right away he knows he's going to have to call this suit a lost cause. "Tseng," he says his name firmly, maybe a warning. This isn't what he had in mind when he thought he could tire him out. Rude tilts his head back, staring up at the ceiling in defeat as he winces at the hips pressing against his. Fuck it. He won fair and square, it wouldn't be right to deny Tseng his spoils of war.
"You ought to know me better than that," he purrs. The taste of blood is still searing hot on his tongue and it's absolutely intoxicating. He finds himself just drawing his mouth over the ridge of Rude's jaw to feel the burn of his coarse beard rolling like needles over the broken skin of his lip. Fucking wonderful.
Rude says his name in the most exciting way, low and dangerous and lethal. His heart would skip a beat if he had any heart at all, but the rest of his body is painfully, achingly in tune with it. He can't remember the last time anyone choked him until he saw stars, and now every time he moves, he can feel the fingerprints Rude left upon his skin and it's the most exhilarating thing.
He walks his fingers down Rude's chest, watching him with his dark, impassive gaze as his fingers slip lower, lower, lower. "Rude," he answers back in kind, but his is a hiss, venemous and hungry.
Rude lies there. The ceiling looks so fascinating all of a sudden. He knows exactly what Tseng looks like right now, so he makes it a point not to look. If he tries hard enough maybe he can go somewhere else and just mentally check out. Like if his body doesn't respond to any of it, then it's not really happening.
He squints his eyes to focus on a little speck of what might be dirt in the far corner, but the scent of blood seems to carry straight to his nose. It doesn't matter whose blood when he can smell and taste it better than he can feel any heartbeat coming from Tseng despite him being pressed so close.
It didn't make sense to think too deeply about the man on top of him. When he had moments like this, Rude found it more helpful to just let it happen and then move on as though it hadn't. Just one of those things that happens that no one in the office ever talks about. He definitely isn't going to question it now when he's barely been alive for a full 24 hours. Dark hair drags over the blood dripping down the lower half of his face, but he still keeps his eyes away from the human equivalent of Medusa.
Tseng says his name, Rude makes the mistake of making eye contact, and immediately he's rock hard.
Tseng's fingers are already picking him apart and dismantling him. He doesn't bother with the jacket or the shirt; there isn't time. He has to work quickly before this strange mood he's in disappears. It isn't often that anyone has him on the floor of his own office, panting and wanting. Rude's belt gets the brunt of his attack, left jangling and undone in an instant, and then Tseng is ripping open his trousers wide, his brow arching at what he finds waiting.
Immediately, he clicks his tongue, hums low like anyone else would before proclaiming, "Poor baby." But Tseng doesn't say anything of the sort. Instead, his gaze just goes a little darker as his fingers climb the solid, flushed length of Rude's cock. His nails catch in the ball of the piercing shot through it and pull, quick and hard and just enough to make him feel it without doing any damage. Wouldn't want that now.
"Take your pants off," he commands, slowly rising from his seat atop Rude's thighs. The toe of his boot slips forward, pressing into Rude's balls with just enough force to make those pretty nerves spark. "And wait here for me. Do not move."
Like a fucking mongoose in search of snake eggs to suck down, Tseng hones in on his target, digging it out of Rude's slacks like buried treasure.
He's given up staring into space and props himself up on his elbows to look down at the fingers nearing his cock. Maybe Tseng would take pity on him and not take advantage of his love affair with pain. When those nails catch on his piercing his whole body jerks to attention, his lungs holding onto the breath it has and not letting go. Had it been anyone else he might have excused it as accidental but with Tseng nothing ever was.
Rude starts to breathe again as the weight of his superior eases off of him, but he's sluggish to comply. Before he can even get very far there's pressure against his delicates. Not enough to cause serious pain, but enough to send discomfort rushing through him, challenging arousal for the top spot. "Yes, sir." Rude indulges Tseng by using honorifics as he carefully shifts his hips this way and that to get out of his dress pants, not wanting to lift his hips while there's a polished boot on his junk threatening to do damage.
It takes him less than a minute to get them off and kick them aside leaving him awkwardly undressed from the waist down except for shoes, socks, and the garters attached to them.
Nobody ever really says that word the way Rude says it, like an animal in a cage that he can poke and torture for so long as it may please him. A latent threat, a distant promise of jaws snapping around his throat and claws ravaging him thoroughly. If Tseng was not already shivering, he'd begin again, right here and now.
"Very good," he says, and it is a special kind of hell to tear himself away from the sight of Rude spread wide open beneath the pin of his boot. He wants to emblazon this image in his mind, but there are things to do, procedures that take priority.
The first of which is locking the fucking door, which is what he should have done the second Rude stuck around after that meeting. Whether it ended here or elsewhere, no contingency would have been pleasant for others to witness. Once the bolt has slipped into place, he strolls around the desk to procure a bottle from one of the drawers, eyeing the amount that has been spent on his way back. These moods of his have been happening more and more frequently. It is abhorrently distasteful.
Whatever. Maybe this will put it out of his system for good, this vile act of slicking up his hands and settling between the spread of Rude's thighs. He lets wetness drizzle over Rude's cock and run and run and run without anything else to soothe the ache, while his other hand works below, massaging that furrow of flesh clenched tight over his hole.
"Mm," he hums, his lips curling with some dark delight, "this is going to be terrible for you."
Rude wants to get up to see where Tseng is going. If he sees him grab anything sharp, he's definitely going to make a run for it, but the thought of upsetting the man by deliberately disobeying the orders given to him was only going to make punishment worse. So he stills, and looks up at his favorite spot of the ceiling again.
Tseng probably knew which of his buttons to press better than anyone else. There was a very narrow area where the pain to pleasure ratio had to be just right for him to not be in agony while side-stepping boredom. So far Tseng has been the only one to walk that path perfectly, and the only one Rude has trusted enough to allow access to his body to figure it out.
The lube is running low, and Rude wonders just how often he's been having these moods, but the questions could wait until later. The last thing he wants to do is upset Tseng when he was about to assume full control of him. That's what all of this boiled down to. Winner take all where each participant was a notorious control freak. Only Rude never won the game, and never once got to claim Tseng as a prize, yet he kept playing. It was definitely on his bucket list.
Rude stifles a moan when he's touched again, his cock jumping with the building anticipation of having to wait to be touched. Tseng's words bring on a cold sweat. He's about as terrified as he is aroused. Yeah. He's definitely going to win next time, Rude thinks. He's going to step on his pretty face, fuck him over that desk of his, and leave him spent on top of all of that paperwork he's always fussing over.
Tseng locks eyes with Rude, lets him speak his little piece, and then pushes his fingers in. A burn will not be enough for his subordinate, he knows, it will take a great shock, his body open wide and impaled all at once, for Rude to feel much of anything. And anyway, Tseng's fingers are slick enough to melt through the clench of his muscles without any damage done; much as he'd like to split Rude open and watch him spill out all over the floor, they don't exactly have time to waste on R&R. Everything is already so infuriatingly behind schedule.
And now, this perfectly solid vessel has appeared before him to take all of those frustrations out. There is so much muscle laid out before him, just waiting to be torn at and bruised and hyperextended. It is a paradise of potential pain. Tseng could not look hungrier for it.
"If you touch..." he says, low and lethal, twisting his fingers as he fucks Rude up to his gloved knuckles, "I will break every bone in your body until this is the only one left."
His breath falls hot on the head of Rude's cock. His smile could not be more twisted.
"And I will take my time mangling this one. You know that." His fingers surge, drinking in the pleasing topography of Rude's chest, skittering into the dips between his muscles, nails bearing down into the solid swell of them. "Say it. I will not..."
Intrusive fingers aren't enough to give him what he needs, no, but they burn all the same, resisting Tseng in the same way he eyes are behind his shades. He knows that's just the beginning, so fighting now would be a wasted effort. Rude lets that tension go so the next time Tseng's fingers are knuckle deep inside him it's not as uncomfortable.
His eyes follow smirking lips when they speak, but the comprehension is delayed. Every bone in his body? There were about 200 of them, it would take a remarkable amount of time to get to each one, and technically his cock wasn't a--Oh. He wants a response.
"I will not touch." He knows what it means, knows exactly what the fuck Tseng doesn't want him touching, but doesn't ask for clarification so that if the time comes that he needs to, he can use misunderstanding as an excuse for not following directions. It was low, but he's seen Reno use similar tactics to some success.
As Rude inhales, his muscles seem to shift and move under his skin. The gloved hand seems unbothered and enjoying the movement until sharp nails bite into his skin. His thighs spread further apart in an effort to offer more of himself to Tseng, hopefully pacifying him in the process.
It is good, how pliable and obedient and yielding Rude's become. Tseng's smile might even be genuine, were he capable of such a thing. As it stands, all of it is performative. He is sure that Rude knows what would really please him.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers clasping with too much pressure around a single nipple, twisting until he feels the throb of pain. Of course, the gloves make it harder to feel anything, so his reaction might very well be drastically delayed—or that's an excuse he thinks he'd like to outfit, should it come to that. His touch skitters down, and again he's confronted with the sight of Rude's cock, so heavy and swollen and wet with need. It makes him hurt all over again, makes him want it even worse, and he hates it but it won't be a problem for much longer.
His fingers clench into the muscles of Rude's thighs now, dragging him closer, digging in wet and hot from their service under Rude's skin. The only thing he wants to bury inside him anymore is this sharp ache between his thighs, and he barely wets his cock enough before he presses the head of it against Rude's hole and forces his way through, with his fingers and his hips driving that first push hard. This is always the best part, the maddening pressure until that always sudden pop through his defenses, and Tseng is watching closely the entire time, even if the look in his eyes is drifting far away on the feeling of it.
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tseng — open
"This is our new normal," he says, drawing up a digitized map of the world they currently inhabit upon each of the terminals. Midgar and Junon are a mutant hybrid beast at its core. The borders between cities are hazy. There are dark parts on the map, which he can set alight with a click of the remote in his hand. "We are pioneers in this world. It would benefit us greatly to keep that in mind."
Moving on.
"You would think that illuminating these regions of this map that are beyond our scope ought to take priority. Absolutely not. We will let the others stumble into the wilderness while we observe. Choose your marks with care."
Click. The screens shift, depicting the soft orange sky, the old Junon helipad. Two silhouettes are visible, one pressed against the rail, the other surging into the sky in flight.
"This is our first priority. Sephiroth." Tseng folds his hands and smiles as he tours the room. "He is a threat to public security and must be supervised at all times. We will devise a means to keep him inhibited, but until then, we shall be his shadow, stalking him wherever he moves. Feel free to make your presence known; I should like to see how he folds beneath the pressure of so many eyes upon him. But be certain that you are not seen, and make absolutely sure that you are not caught. I trust that none of you will find that particularly difficult."
He turns, faces the biggest screen. He puzzles over the picture there, and whatever he sees must please him, because he sounds lighter than ever when he proclaims, "That is all. Dismissed."
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He waits until it's over to approach his superior.
Stationary until everyone else clears out of the room, Rude takes a few steps to close the distance between them, getting close and lowering his voice to insure they weren't being overheard.
"I understand the importance of the meeting, and I think it's good to get everyone up to speed, I just can't help being concerned. When was the last time you slept?" That question in particular was barely whispered. The last thing he wants to do is broadcast to the whole team that he's concerned about Tseng or is questioning his mental state right now. He had more tact than that.
Still, as someone who hadn't been around to help the time that it mattered, he may be overstepping to compensate for the guilt he still feels over it.
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He keeps himself busy until they are alone. There are his comprehensive reports on the various movements of persons of interest, Reno's photographs and accompanying data sheets, all of which need to be meticulously sorted and archived and he really doesn't have time for any questions. Too bad for him. Everyone in this room knows that Rude will not be going anywhere until he says his piece.
A wane smile drifts across his face when he hears what it is that is so pressing that Rude needs to stick around. Concern. Right. People do that.
"Your partner was very recently stabbed in the back, and I am only freshly recovered from a similar fate. Sleep will not come easily for some time, I am afraid." He shouldn't tease Rude like this. It's likely that he is still fragile from recent events. The last thing he wants to do is break a valuable asset of his team.
But he is actually very exhausted, which has always made him a little loopy. Maybe not in the way that normal people get loopy, but then Tseng has never quite been normal, has he?
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On the bright side, there isn't anyone who can force him to do anything he doesn't want to, so it leaves the people around him with little choice but to at the very least accept his overbearing concern.
"I'm aware. I stayed with your corpse while Reno went to collect you, but that hardly has anything to do with what I'm asking."
If Tseng wants to rile him up, it would take more than recent trauma that he's already filed away. The only thing he feels when he's reminded is anger, and not toward his superior despite his hand in deliberately bringing it up. "You don't usually have such a jovial disposition unless you're drunk or sleep deprived, and you're not impaired, so unless you want to try making an argument that an hour in the grave is 5 in the bed, then I'm all ears. Otherwise, promise me you'll get some rest."
Or he'll make you sleep at gunpoint again, and that's not fun for anyone.
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"I am tired..." he says, as much to Rude as it is to himself. His gaze strays toward the couch, where Reno's blood was recently vacuumed and disinfected and lifted stain by stain, all while Tseng watched with barely-concealed disappointment. He could lock the door and curl up there on the couch, catch a few Z's until someone inevitably comes pounding at the door or starts shrieking over the comms. With Rude here, it almost seems like it would be possible. He has always been a harbor of comfortable tranquility, just as Reno has always been the gunpowder to Tseng's ever-burning flame.
Of course, the truth of the matter is that he would lock that door, lay down, and then find himself caught up in a whirlwind of thoughts for no reason but to waste time until he inevitably gives up on the idea of sleep completely. He knows himself. So gunpoint it is.
"Unfortunately, the world will not stop for me," he says, in correction, as he lifts the folders he's been sorting. "You most of all must know how tragically behind schedule we've fallen. Our enemies will give us no quarter; I should like to offer them the same."
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Unfortunately Rude doesn't have that luxury, and even if he did, he's not afraid of Tseng or his peculiar tendencies. He's heard whispers, and doesn't doubt them, but he's never done anything too out of line to Rude. Although he's not a fair judge considering they've all threatened each other with violence before a handful of times. Elena is trigger-happy, Rude is Emotional, Reno doesn't hold back, and Tseng might actually be a sociopath. Of course they fought.
So, Rude sighs as he removes his gun from the holster, screwing on the silencer before firing a warning shot right into the wall behind Tseng's head.
"Give me your phone and get on the damn couch." All of Tseng's words were just words. Being behind schedule wouldn't last knowing how hard they all worked. It wasn't an excuse to not sleep. "You make mistakes when you're tired. You start to behave strangely. Let everyone else worry about our enemies, and get some sleep."
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It's just—it's the timing. Like how Reno instinctively knows that precise beat and a half to wait after he's said something to add a "...bitch" to the mix that gets everyone rolling. That kind of humor, sure, maybe it'll work a soft smile hidden behind a hand out of him on a good day, but it's not really Tseng's brand of funny.
This, however. This is it. The slow-aching lead up, the click of the silencer and pistol coupling, the whisper of fabric as Rude lifts his hands, and then that explosion of plaster all over Tseng's carefully organized stack of binders. The exhaustion helps a little too; perhaps with a good night's sleep, he'd only be laughing. Now, he is fucking dying, arms hugging round his middle to ease the ache in the stitches he's tearing through his sides because he cannot stop laughing, not even long enough to breathe, not for a second to wipe his tears away or register that he is falling against Rude's chest, hysterical.
Every time he tries to calm himself, the punchline hits him again. He can barely conjure up the strength to lift his phone out of his pocket and hold it aloft for the taking, his wrists wavering as laughter wracks his whole body.
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It might be too late to do things the usual way now. Also, after having died and returning, threatening him with a fatal shot is actually laughable. If Tseng hadn’t gotten in so close he might have aimed for his ankle instead. Shattering bone would be counterproductive, but it might have stopped the laughter.
Rude sighs, sliding the safety back into place so he can toss the gun aside and grab Tseng by the throat to slam him down against the couch. Not highly effective considering the cushions, but he follows up with pressure to his airway. “Shh, it’s bedtime.”
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Now his pupils are blown out, his wild stare pitch black and empty. His brows descend into a lethal angle. His teeth flash in a snarl.
Tseng doesn't stay on the couch for long. His long legs wind Rude up and he begins to climb, scaling the length of his torso until he's at just the right height to clamp his thighs tight and squeeze Rude's ribs until they're pounding with ache. There's nothing he can do for the hand around his throat; Rude is stronger than he'll ever be, stronger than most men he's ever met, but he's banking on looking mean enough, threatening to break as many bones as it takes to ward him off.
Probably if he's so offended by the hand choking him, though, he shouldn't be craning his neck, baring more of it for Rude to dig his fingers in. His lashes flutter when Rude cuts off his breathing, and that nasty, feral look on his face becomes a little more pained, but not in the right way.
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He expects a fight. Tseng would never go down without one. Rude is less experienced training against his superior, but he flips that switch where feelings and hesitation are off in favor of accomplishing a goal: put him down.
Tseng is on him in an instant, and the only thing saving him from broken ribs is likely to be the grip he has on the man’s neck. Rude grunts, doubling down and putting more weight into it as he shifts into the couch, moving between Tseng’s legs as he puts his other gloves hand around the other man’s throat, both thumbs pushing in to make sure no air flows.
He’s holding his head as far back as he can manage, pinning Tseng with his body to the best of his ability, hoping his limbs go slack soon. “Don’t fight it.”
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No more. He hangs off his knees and lets his body unfurl against Rude to get a good back and then forward momentum for that split instant when his thighs clamp all the way down. His whole body twists against the swell of bone, and he rolls and shakes like a crocodile until he hears something, anything snap, probably the smaller ribs, they're more fragile and they f l o a t and he's floating and Rude really looks so very exquisite there between his legs and the way he's staring down at him and watching his lips turn blue is honestly the most perfect thing that Tseng has ever had the honor to behold and... It's just...
Stupid when he's more than flexible enough to work a knee up between them, to pry Rude up while that other leg slips through the crack and extends and sends his boot slamming up at Rude's chin. Who's going to sleep now, motherfucker?
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He’s somewhere else entirely when those thighs clamp around him again harder. The sound he hears is accompanied by searing burning pain. Enough that he’d scream if he wasn’t trained to endure this kind of damage. Rude does swear though. In his head, out loud, telepathically—to anyone that would listen.
His breaths are shallow now, his hands finally releasing Tseng when he sees that leg coming up to smash into his jaw from below. They’re too slow and he can’t block or dodge the kick in time. Rude gets knocked back a bit but also throws himself away from Tseng just to get away. His mouth is bleeding so he spits out blood and contemplates ending this with the pull of a trigger, but that wouldn’t do. Maybe he has to go old school and wear Tseng our first.
Rude would say something clever, but he bit his tongue pretty hard just now, there was nothing he wanted to say to Tseng that his fists wouldn’t communicate. Except one thing. “You were less trouble when you weren’t bleeding.” He tried to push down the pain to defend on him again, this time foregoing any kind of hold that would put him too close and just tries to jab Tseng in his stupid pretty face.
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The distance between them is a short span to cover with his arms and legs outstretched to wind Rude back up again. Not a bad place to end up, considering how wicked and alluring Rude looks with blood drooling down his lips. How long has it been since Tseng has seen him like this? Way too fucking long, that's the answer. But he needs to stay close, or else Rude has the advantage here, and if he can get his arms and legs wrapped around his shoulders and his hips, then Tseng knows from experience that there'll be no disentangling them from there.
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Obviously this isn't worth asserting his dominance over, and Rude doesn't want to submit when he's so concerned for Tseng's health that he's willing to knock him out over it...But the slighter man comes at him like a bat out of hell and he's ready to throw in the towel to prevent any more damage to his ribs. Tseng is worth fighting, but maybe not that worth it. Maybe this was doing its part to tire him out? He could only hope.
He topples back with the weight of his superior on him, his elbow flying at Tseng's face purely out of reflex to try to get some space between them before arms and legs clamp down. Rude gets him in the jaw, but Tseng is impossible to derail now. There's no way to escape. "Alright, alright. You win." Rude goes limp against the floor of the office just to prove he's not going to fight him anymore.
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That elbow to the face is nasty. Tseng knows that it's going to hurt, but something compels him to press his face forward, to get the brunt of the blow right from the thickest part of Rude's arm. From a purely professional standpoint, it's a good idea to keep tabs on his men this way, to gauge their strength and make sure they're in tip top condition when it comes to altercations like these.
The truth of the matter is that he just wants to see how it feels when his teeth explode through his lower lip, immediately swelling them up until they buzz like beestings. It's just as magical as he thought it would be. His vision blurs from the force of the hit and leaves him with a crooked smile on that broken mouth of his, even if Rude is right there under him, throwing in the towel.
"Giving up already?" he asks, blinking hard to restore his vision. All he can see is Rude and that trail of blood trickling down his chin, and maybe it's excitement or exhaustion or something else, but he's ducking his head now before he can think about it, his tongue dragging up that pretty crimson line for just a taste of it. That gets him going with another round of shivers that course up and down his spine, and if he's driving his hips down a little harder, if his limbs are wrapping blindingly tight now, that is the reason why.
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Now his suit was a mess, and the only thing he could think about was getting it to the cleaners before they closed--broken ribs be damned. They'd heal eventually, but blood stains were time sensitive. Rude his ready to shove Tseng off when he gets taunted. "Why? Haven't had enough?"
Rude feels a warm tongue drag over the stubble of his chin following the path of blood, and right away he knows he's going to have to call this suit a lost cause. "Tseng," he says his name firmly, maybe a warning. This isn't what he had in mind when he thought he could tire him out. Rude tilts his head back, staring up at the ceiling in defeat as he winces at the hips pressing against his. Fuck it. He won fair and square, it wouldn't be right to deny Tseng his spoils of war.
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"You ought to know me better than that," he purrs. The taste of blood is still searing hot on his tongue and it's absolutely intoxicating. He finds himself just drawing his mouth over the ridge of Rude's jaw to feel the burn of his coarse beard rolling like needles over the broken skin of his lip. Fucking wonderful.
Rude says his name in the most exciting way, low and dangerous and lethal. His heart would skip a beat if he had any heart at all, but the rest of his body is painfully, achingly in tune with it. He can't remember the last time anyone choked him until he saw stars, and now every time he moves, he can feel the fingerprints Rude left upon his skin and it's the most exhilarating thing.
He walks his fingers down Rude's chest, watching him with his dark, impassive gaze as his fingers slip lower, lower, lower. "Rude," he answers back in kind, but his is a hiss, venemous and hungry.
just tseng things
He squints his eyes to focus on a little speck of what might be dirt in the far corner, but the scent of blood seems to carry straight to his nose. It doesn't matter whose blood when he can smell and taste it better than he can feel any heartbeat coming from Tseng despite him being pressed so close.
It didn't make sense to think too deeply about the man on top of him. When he had moments like this, Rude found it more helpful to just let it happen and then move on as though it hadn't. Just one of those things that happens that no one in the office ever talks about. He definitely isn't going to question it now when he's barely been alive for a full 24 hours. Dark hair drags over the blood dripping down the lower half of his face, but he still keeps his eyes away from the human equivalent of Medusa.
Tseng says his name, Rude makes the mistake of making eye contact, and immediately he's rock hard.
#poorrude
Immediately, he clicks his tongue, hums low like anyone else would before proclaiming, "Poor baby." But Tseng doesn't say anything of the sort. Instead, his gaze just goes a little darker as his fingers climb the solid, flushed length of Rude's cock. His nails catch in the ball of the piercing shot through it and pull, quick and hard and just enough to make him feel it without doing any damage. Wouldn't want that now.
"Take your pants off," he commands, slowly rising from his seat atop Rude's thighs. The toe of his boot slips forward, pressing into Rude's balls with just enough force to make those pretty nerves spark. "And wait here for me. Do not move."
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He's given up staring into space and props himself up on his elbows to look down at the fingers nearing his cock. Maybe Tseng would take pity on him and not take advantage of his love affair with pain. When those nails catch on his piercing his whole body jerks to attention, his lungs holding onto the breath it has and not letting go. Had it been anyone else he might have excused it as accidental but with Tseng nothing ever was.
Rude starts to breathe again as the weight of his superior eases off of him, but he's sluggish to comply. Before he can even get very far there's pressure against his delicates. Not enough to cause serious pain, but enough to send discomfort rushing through him, challenging arousal for the top spot. "Yes, sir." Rude indulges Tseng by using honorifics as he carefully shifts his hips this way and that to get out of his dress pants, not wanting to lift his hips while there's a polished boot on his junk threatening to do damage.
It takes him less than a minute to get them off and kick them aside leaving him awkwardly undressed from the waist down except for shoes, socks, and the garters attached to them.
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"Very good," he says, and it is a special kind of hell to tear himself away from the sight of Rude spread wide open beneath the pin of his boot. He wants to emblazon this image in his mind, but there are things to do, procedures that take priority.
The first of which is locking the fucking door, which is what he should have done the second Rude stuck around after that meeting. Whether it ended here or elsewhere, no contingency would have been pleasant for others to witness. Once the bolt has slipped into place, he strolls around the desk to procure a bottle from one of the drawers, eyeing the amount that has been spent on his way back. These moods of his have been happening more and more frequently. It is abhorrently distasteful.
Whatever. Maybe this will put it out of his system for good, this vile act of slicking up his hands and settling between the spread of Rude's thighs. He lets wetness drizzle over Rude's cock and run and run and run without anything else to soothe the ache, while his other hand works below, massaging that furrow of flesh clenched tight over his hole.
"Mm," he hums, his lips curling with some dark delight, "this is going to be terrible for you."
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Tseng probably knew which of his buttons to press better than anyone else. There was a very narrow area where the pain to pleasure ratio had to be just right for him to not be in agony while side-stepping boredom. So far Tseng has been the only one to walk that path perfectly, and the only one Rude has trusted enough to allow access to his body to figure it out.
The lube is running low, and Rude wonders just how often he's been having these moods, but the questions could wait until later. The last thing he wants to do is upset Tseng when he was about to assume full control of him. That's what all of this boiled down to. Winner take all where each participant was a notorious control freak. Only Rude never won the game, and never once got to claim Tseng as a prize, yet he kept playing. It was definitely on his bucket list.
Rude stifles a moan when he's touched again, his cock jumping with the building anticipation of having to wait to be touched. Tseng's words bring on a cold sweat. He's about as terrified as he is aroused. Yeah. He's definitely going to win next time, Rude thinks. He's going to step on his pretty face, fuck him over that desk of his, and leave him spent on top of all of that paperwork he's always fussing over.
"Do your worst."
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And now, this perfectly solid vessel has appeared before him to take all of those frustrations out. There is so much muscle laid out before him, just waiting to be torn at and bruised and hyperextended. It is a paradise of potential pain. Tseng could not look hungrier for it.
"If you touch..." he says, low and lethal, twisting his fingers as he fucks Rude up to his gloved knuckles, "I will break every bone in your body until this is the only one left."
His breath falls hot on the head of Rude's cock. His smile could not be more twisted.
"And I will take my time mangling this one. You know that." His fingers surge, drinking in the pleasing topography of Rude's chest, skittering into the dips between his muscles, nails bearing down into the solid swell of them. "Say it. I will not..."
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His eyes follow smirking lips when they speak, but the comprehension is delayed. Every bone in his body? There were about 200 of them, it would take a remarkable amount of time to get to each one, and technically his cock wasn't a--Oh. He wants a response.
"I will not touch." He knows what it means, knows exactly what the fuck Tseng doesn't want him touching, but doesn't ask for clarification so that if the time comes that he needs to, he can use misunderstanding as an excuse for not following directions. It was low, but he's seen Reno use similar tactics to some success.
As Rude inhales, his muscles seem to shift and move under his skin. The gloved hand seems unbothered and enjoying the movement until sharp nails bite into his skin. His thighs spread further apart in an effort to offer more of himself to Tseng, hopefully pacifying him in the process.
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"Beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers clasping with too much pressure around a single nipple, twisting until he feels the throb of pain. Of course, the gloves make it harder to feel anything, so his reaction might very well be drastically delayed—or that's an excuse he thinks he'd like to outfit, should it come to that. His touch skitters down, and again he's confronted with the sight of Rude's cock, so heavy and swollen and wet with need. It makes him hurt all over again, makes him want it even worse, and he hates it but it won't be a problem for much longer.
His fingers clench into the muscles of Rude's thighs now, dragging him closer, digging in wet and hot from their service under Rude's skin. The only thing he wants to bury inside him anymore is this sharp ache between his thighs, and he barely wets his cock enough before he presses the head of it against Rude's hole and forces his way through, with his fingers and his hips driving that first push hard. This is always the best part, the maddening pressure until that always sudden pop through his defenses, and Tseng is watching closely the entire time, even if the look in his eyes is drifting far away on the feeling of it.
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no, baby, who hurt u?
EXISTENCE
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ty for the collab lmao
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