Tseng does not bother to answer the text. He knows that he has already missed so many. (Or has he? Has his doppelganger been here the entire time, surveiling Rufus, answering emails, taking care of business in his stead? He cannot tell.) To tarry and text would be to deny what he reads as a direct order. Besides, he is sure the message that Rufus would prefer is his arrival.
On the best of days, he knows where to find Rufus as well as he knows how to find any target. It is a part of that keen instinct for people that he has. But today, he barely needs that. He knows exactly where to go.
When he passes through the door, he is rewarded for his intuition by the sounds of bathwater rippling beyond his sight. He can smell lavish salts and feel the heat from here. First, he passes into the den, retrieving a bottle from the bar and two crystal flutes. Rufus, he is sure, will need something to dull the edge of all this madness. Then he strolls silently towards the bath, appearing as a stark shadow against the gleaming white light and the dazzling white tiles. His gloves are removed along the way, tucked neatly into the pocket within his jacket.
He sits down at the edge of the tub, depositing his offerings somewhere nearby, and reaches out a hand to brush a sliver of gold that is clinging wetly to Rufus's cheek. His actions are automatic, withdrawing soap from its painted porcelain bottle, working it into Rufus's hair, taking particular care to ensure that not a single sud drops into that piercing glacial gaze.
He murmurs what he knows to be Rufus's favorite words to hear:
"Tseng." Rufus watches Tseng silently appear without warning, not startled. He's used to how Tseng is able to manifest from thin air as if he's just a shadow, it's one of the small things he loves about him. But right now he's not feeling the least bit sentimental and his gaze is hard as he looked at him.
He still leans back as lets Tseng work the soap into his hair and he can't let help the small moan that escapes his lips at how good it feels. It's not enough to make him forget the anger and frustration festering under his skin, however. He's silent for a moment as he let Tseng work, eyes drifting closed, enjoying Tseng's fingers massaging his scalp. It's almost enough to make him relax if it weren't for recent events.
"Are you going to tell me what is going on or am I going to have to guess?" he asks eventually, not looking at Tseng. Even though his tone is outwardly even and calm he's tense, tapping his fingers against the edge of the tub. "I appreciate the lengths you go to protect me but I have to do something, Tseng. I'm not just going to sit idly by and you know that."
Something that wasn't sitting around waiting for answers, going through reports that weren't going to help them when it came to Sephiroth. He may not be a Turk but he wasn't going to be his father and just hide away to let others do everything for him when it's his Turks who are dying in his arms. "And I can't do anything if I'm kept in the dark."
Rufus is annoyed. Tseng understands. It was so easy in that moment to forget that he answers to Rufus, to anyone. The matter felt so personal that he could hardly consider it work-related. But they are Turks and he ought to know better.
He overstepped the chain of command, and for that, he is willing to pay any price. For now, the only order that he understands is to keep working his fingers against the president's scalp, gentle but firm.
"I know, sir," he says. Rufus does not like to sit by the sidelines. As much as it pained him to have his men drop Rufus in the middle of a war zone, he was more than capable of standing up to that so-called ex-SOLDIER. He can handle his own.
But this is Sephiroth. It's different.
"I expect Sephiroth to be indisposed for some time. Long enough for us to collaborate on a plan of action." His fingers slip down over Rufus's shoulders, kneading into muscle. It's almost a persuasion tactic, but he knows they are both too stubborn for that. "I would rather you let our men handle this, Mr. President."
Rufus sighs as Tseng's fingers find tension spots on his shoulders but it would take more than that to get him to let this go. They both knew that eventually, Rufus would grant his forgiveness but he had never made it easy. Tonight he was in the mood to make Tseng really work for it.
He wants to protest and tell Tseng to reconsider but he knows that this was the right decision. He had held his own against Cloud and survived but Sephiroth was a different matter entirely. As much as he wanted to make Sephiroth suffer personally, that may not be a practical option.
"Very well." He can concede that much at least even if it was difficult. "But I want to be informed about everything. You know I don't like it when you or any of the others vanish without telling me in advance and I don't like surprises. I don't want to hear about what you do from someone else." He glances at Tseng, his expression still guarded. He could be just as stubborn as Tseng when he wanted to be.
Tseng very nearly asks. The temptation is very sweet, too sweet to hold in his mouth and not let go, to ask who it was that told Rufus anything he did not command them to.
But he doesn't have to ask. He does not even have to think for very long on who it might have been. There is only one logical option.
A trifle that can be dealt with later. He meets that blue-eyed stare with a dark and impassive one. His fingers work tirelessly through it all.
"I was under the impression that I would not disappear," he tells Rufus, cupping water in his hands to carefully wash the soap away. "There is at least two of me in this place, is there not? And so I never truly left you..."
He breaks from their mingling look first, but only to bow his head and press a kiss that drips hot and toxic like poison against Rufus's shoulder. "I would never leave you."
"Of course you won't. I won't allow it." As if it was as simple as that. He knew it wasn't- he hadn't been able to stop Tseng nearly dying before but he's decided that he will ensure Sephiroth won't take any more of his Turks. He leans his head back as Tseng rinses the soap from his hair."You're the one with the scar."
He's quiet as Tseng works, pulling apart Tseng's words bit by bit in his mind. It would have been easy enough to let it go, bestow his forgiveness, and let himself be distracted with what the kiss to his shoulder promised. While he trusted Tseng, he also wanted answers. He wouldn't himself be distracted just yet. "How do you know Sephiroth will be indisposed?" Though it really wasn't a question. He knew Tseng well enough that he already knew the answer but he wanted to hear it from Tseng directly.
He couldn't be surprised that Tseng went after him- Reno was one of his own and Rufus felt a similar desire to hurt Sephiroth however he could no matter the risk to himself. He turns to fully face Tseng, eyes narrowed. "Tell me what you did."
Rufus has shown interests in their operations before, of course. When he was younger, he loved the few stories Tseng would tell him, whispered in the quiet isolation of one hideaway or another. But those were spy tales, old war tales, tales that made it easy to overlook the truth of what they really were. As far as Tseng understands it, his job is to make sure that the president does not have to contemplate the evil and necessary things a corporation-turned-government needs to do to keep afloat in such a cut-throat world.
So he is not sure exactly what to say. What Rufus wants him to say. Of course, he expects perfect candor, Tseng is sure, but which takes precedence here: protecting Rufus, or giving him what he desires?
It really is a silly question to ask, isn't it? Tseng sighs, dropping his hands for now. He meets Rufus's eyes with his own, black and empty and severe as the bloody blades he died with.
"I took his flesh from him," he says, "until it was enough to pay for what he took from us."
Rufus doesn't look away, meeting Tseng's dark gaze with sharp blue eyes. He crosses his arms at the edge of the tub to lean in closer. He's not shying away from anything. "Took his flesh how? Did you carve it out of him? I hope you left a visible scar or brand at the very least. I want to look at him and know you made him suffer for what he did."
He hates being treated delicately and after the last couple of years, after everything he had been through, he wasn't going to tolerate it. If Tseng thought that he would be able to get away with giving Rufus so few details he was very mistaken. "You tortured him."
There may be a hint of excitement in his tone. He knows why he couldn't be there for that but he wishes he could have been. "I'm not Vice President anymore, Tseng. All those carefully crafted stories you told me for my amusement were just children's stories. I want to know everything now no matter how gruesome the details are."
Tseng wonders how it must feel. In his eyes, Rufus is not a bad person. Driven to do things with terrible consequences, yes, but he was never in the thick of it until it was too late, and then it was their job to see him out.
But that was a different Rufus, he supposes. This one has known the touch of agony, the sort that is unyielding, that breaks you. His eyes come alive when he considers the prospect of Sephiroth laid out and vulnerable on his table. And Tseng isn't in the business of lying to his lovers anyway, so he nods.
"For hours," he says, always careful, always on watch for the moment when that look in Rufus's eyes switches. The last thing he wants is for Rufus to look at him with disgust. Even though the prospect is thrilling, it would be so professionally damning that he can't even consider the prospect. "I sliced piece after piece out of him. I am sure that he will recover; he is no mortal man."
Tseng doesn't sound discouraged or disappointed. It's just a matter of fact.
"I did not want to push him beyond recovery. I wanted to remind him of what we are, so that perhaps he will think twice before he so carelessly dispatches one of our own."
Rufus is quiet as he listens intently. He wanted Sephiroth to suffer just as much as he had from Geostigma. He wanted him to feel the fear he had felt as he felt the disease eat him away from the inside out. He indulges himself to a few moments to picture Tseng carving away bits of Sephiroth, cutting away pieces of him methodically.
He didn't think that was enough but he's sure there will be another chance in the future. Next time he wants to be the one holding the knife if he can. He appreciates that Tseng is honest even though he's still sparing what he's sure are the gruesome details. But he decides to drop it for now since he doesn't think he's going to get much else out of Tseng tonight.
"I'm cold," he suddenly decides, pulling himself up and out of the water. He holds out a hand for Tseng to take as he steps out of the bath carefully. "We'll talk about Sephiroth in detail later. While I trust you to carry out what needs to be done, I'm going to be involved even though it won't be in the field."
"Yes, sir," Tseng says, taking his hand. He is quick to retrieve a towel from the rack, plush and soft, a luxury that he turns against Rufus's skin unbidden.
See, he can still be a good underling. Maybe he will disappear himself to die on strange blades, but he's still made it here today to carefully work Rufus dry, meticulous and careful as ever.
He'll do his part, Tseng supposes, in culling their unseemly Sephiroth problem. In fact, he's looking forward to it. Rufus always has big ideas, offers a perspective he would have never considered. But now, he thinks, is not the time to press.
Instead, he pauses when Rufus is dry, considering him with a lingering look.
"We have other matters to attend to tonight." He stays still to let Tseng dry him before grabbing the towel out of his hand and tossing it aside. He grabs Tseng's tie tightly in his fist to yank him closer, their lips just a breath apart now.
He sees the lingering look Tseng gives him, intrigued about what the other man is thinking. There is no doubt a lot of changes that are new to Tseng- new scars, marks, the way the heel of his right foot looks like it never healed just right. He's not going to hide any of it.
Instead of closing the space between them he instead pulls away to pull Tseng towards his bedroom. It doesn't matter what else Tseng has to do tonight, Rufus has decided what he wants tonight. There was the other Tseng and other Turks to deal with anything that came up.
He finally let go of Tseng so he could lounge on the bed comfortably. He was putting himself on display but he was going to make Tseng work for what he wanted. "Strip."
Tugged by the tie and ordered to strip. Rufus must be in a mood tonight, the sort that he's only barely acquainted with. And in this place, who knows what tastes Rufus has acquired. His absence from whatever timeline Rufus previously inhabited has been a yawning void between them since his arrival here, and he is as curious as he is darkly amused.
"Yes, sir," he says again, without hesitation. The tie around his neck is unknotted, placed upon the gleaming top of a nearby nightstand with care. His jacket is discarded similarly. It's only when all of the buttons of his shirt are undone that he takes a moment to breathe, aware very suddenly of the image he is about to unleash. There have been scars between them before, but this one is...
He takes a step forward, close enough for his knees to brush upon the bed where Rufus lays. It is difficult now not to be caught between the two meanings behind the ugly, jagged scar across his stomach. In that accursed room, among the blood and detritus, it'd felt like his last hope for salvation. Here, he cannot help but wonder if it is the thing that will make him so imperfect that he is simply not worth anything but a swift discarding. Either way, he'll face his fate impassively and slowly pull aside the halves of his shirt for Rufus to see.
Rufus's smirk instantly fades when he sees the scar, his expression becoming almost impassive. This scar is different than the one he knows all too well in the future. The scar he had spent hours touching, kissing with care. It was a reminder of how close he had come to losing Tseng.
This one- he's not sure where this one comes from. The fact that Tseng had vanished for over day makes a heavy pit settle at the bottom of his stomach with the implications. There are only so many possibilities and after what happened to Reno he can start to put the pieces together. It wasn't a surprise though, given how the Turks were. Anger surges inside of him though and it's a struggle to keep that off his face even though his eyes are cold.
He sits up, reaching up to touch the scar as he traces where it's different from the one he was familiar with but his eyes are on Tseng's.
"Explain."
He needs to know. He needs to know if there is a chance that he's wrong but he's prepared for Tseng to confirm what he already suspects.
It takes most of his resolve not to wince at Rufus's touch. The scar tissue there is newly-sealed, Curaga-fresh, and still livid with open nerves. The slightest brush of Rufus's fingers invokes a throb of pain that extends far too deeply into his gut to be comfortable. But Tseng remains solid and unaffected, at least on a visual level, his eyes as clear and focused as ever.
"I am a Turk and one of my men fell." However Rufus attempts to conceal his anger, he knows it's there, has anticipated its presence in the wake of his brief absence. It wouldn't be enough for one of him to remain; Rufus would demand them all if he'd demand any. His hand slips over Rufus's knuckles, pressing in, no matter how strange and sickening it feels.
"So you decided to exact your revenge upon Sephiroth alone." Rufus knew he wouldn't have been able to stop Tseng, he also couldn't make him promise not to do it again but it still sits heavily on him. Emotions he couldn't quite identify welled up inside him but he carefully sets them aside the best he was able to. Getting ridiculously sentimental wasn't going to accomplish anything.
He would lose Turks- he had always been prepared for that but it didn't make it any easier, especially when it came to Tseng. He suddenly yanks his hand away from Tseng's, reaching out to grab a fistful of black hair to pull Tseng down on the bed roughly and closer to him.
"Don't ever forget who I am. And don't you ever forget who you belong to. Am I understood?"
Tseng owes him softness and reassurances. He would have no Turks, no organization, perhaps not even his life were it not for Rufus. Why his wretched fool of a father did not realize what an unbreakable bond that would form between the two of them, Tseng will never know. The point is, Tseng owes it to Rufus to be kind, and he knows Rufus well enough to take this mood beyond what it is at its surface level. He ought to be patient.
Instead, his eyes darken. He surges forth—not to the proximity that Rufus decides for him, but closer and closer, with a quick motion of his hands that lays Rufus flat on his back. The hand fisted in his hair is torn away, quickly enough to leave Rufus with several strands of dark hair still clutched in the grasp that Tseng is pinning down to the mattress.
"You knew what I was when you laid claim to me," he says, and bows his head, not out of reverence, but to suckle a halo of bruises across Rufus's throat. His teeth skid over the slender hollow of his throat. "I can only ever be this."
Rufus finds himself flat on his back before he can process what's happening. He does his best to bite back soft gasps that threaten to escape his lips as Tseng's teeth and lips leave marks across his throat. He's not going to give him the satisfaction so easily tonight.
"Do you think I've forgotten? I know exactly what you are, Tseng." Tseng may have his hand pinned but that doesn't stop Rufus from grabbing Tseng's shoulders and dragging his nails into his skin as hard as he possibly could to leave red, bloody tracks.
"I'm not fucking playing pretend anymore, Tseng. I won't be handled and I won't be coddled."
Whatever pain Rufus inflicts with his nails, Tseng routes it right back to him. There's a tab of skin between his teeth, and he grinds them together as Rufus shreds him soundly, a quick pressure, an abrupt pop, and then a flood of that metallic taste of Rufus's blood in his mouth.
"You need reminding," he corrects. His free hand clutches into the meat of Rufus's ass, lifting and opening him wide with one quick jerk as he slips between his president's thighs. "Not everything is revenge plots and grandiose displays of power."
Now. His fingers trail down the elegant curve of Rufus's throat. Blood is flooding his senses. They both know that it would be so easy for him to press, and the insult here is that he pets those spaces that would end him in an instant, rubbing whorling circles into pressure points, against the soft pulse of an artery.
There is only a sharp intake of breath when Tseng pops his lip, blood pooling in the corner of his lips and coating his tongue. He lays still for a moment as Tseng's fingers trail down his throat, his eyes never leaving Tseng even when he feels Tseng carcass an artery or press down on his windpipe.
He knows exactly what Tseng is capable of but there isn't any fear in his cold eyes. He only indulges Tseng for so long before he shifts his weight, hooking a leg against Tseng's hip to roll them over without warning. Blood drips from his lip onto Tseng's chest but he doesn't make any attempt to stop it. He thought it rather suited him.
"I don't need you to teach me that," he growls, grabbing Tseng's hair once more as he leaned over him. "I've changed a lot since that night when I stood with you on the rooftop that night."
They agree on one thing tonight. The splash of crimson across his skin is a thing of beauty, much like the image of his president, hovering, bloody-lipped, conveying nothing but coldness in his glacial gaze.
"Not with me," he asserts. His fingers find the wrist of that hand in his hair. They swerve and find a nerve to press into, firm and deft and practiced, until Rufus's fingers slacken. The rest Tseng will let him have, for now. There's nothing that people who love power hate more than to watch it be chipped away—he knows that to be so very true.
"Am I so unfamiliar to you that you would question me?" He has half a mind to stress the tendons in Rufus's hand until they snap. He won't, but the thought worries at his mind, compelled by all those by now rote instincts invoked by Rufus's pin. He cannot stop himself from snarling when he speaks, though. "What the hell did you think I would do?"
Rufus can't help but be disappointed when Tseng only applies enough pressure to make him let go instead of just snapping anything. Even now he was holding back with him which just made Rufus even angrier.
He doesn't stop himself from raising his hand and just backhanding Tseng across the face with all his strength.
"It doesn't mean I have to approve of it," he snaps as he grabs at Tseng's throat to pull him up a little then. Even though he knew Tseng could make him let go whenever he wanted to, he still dug his nails in hard without holding back. Tseng was holding himself back but Rufus wasn't going to return the courtesy. "What the hell do you expect me to do when you get yourself killed?"
The outburst is sudden, as jarring as the sudden strike to his face, as the sensation of his lip breaking through his own skin. He can barely register the hurt of it when he is so busy itemizing the hurt in the things that Rufus is saying.
It isn't that it never occurred to him; he would have to be blind, deaf, and dumb to not understand what it is between them, even if it's been kept largely unspecific. And he isn't without guilt, though the shock staved that off until the morning after, when he realized on that cliff what a daze he had been in when he'd done all the things that precluded his temporary demise. But it has been a long time since he's hurt Rufus, who knows how long on Rufus's end of things, and the language of it has changed.
How troubling it is, to feel sorry and unrepentant all at once.
His first strike is far more gentle than it ought to be. Rufus is the only person he knows that he's never lifted a hand against; he changes that with a swift blow to his stomach, to pour the breath from him, to leave him reeling. His legs entangle with his lover's and cast him on to his back once more. They roll, and he's careful to snatch Rufus's deadened hand away from where it might be crushed beneath them. His fingers feel Rufus's skin and they forgot the force behind them, all they know of him is care.
His words are what brings it back, ringing in his ears like a siren. Tseng clasps his jaw tight, digs it into the mattress. The wrist that struck him is easily dislocated; Tseng puts weight on it, there is a soft sound, and that is that.
"You should have been proud," he says, and snaps at Rufus's bloodied lip and then devours it, his mouth opening to silence him with a kiss that is too hard to be endearing. His weight drops solidly atop him, between his thighs, immovable.
The wind is knocked out of his lungs when Tseng hits him and ht hits the bed hard. He needs this though, he needs to know that he's no longer falling apart bit by bit as he had been for the past two years. The pain he wants to feel now is pain that is on his own terms and not being at the mercy of something darker.
He can't stop himself from letting out a soft cry of pain when his wrist snaps so exquisitely and his hand goes limp, now useless. "I would have been if I had been there with you to see what you did to him."
Tseng has him pinned and with one hand, it would be all but impossible to change their positions again. All he can do is shift against Tseng, grabbing his hip hard with his one good hand to bring him flush against him with a pleased smirk even though his eyes are dark with pain. "Your life is mine and not his to take."
Rufus's cry echoes in Tseng's ears. It's very wrong, absolutely sickening. His job is to take whatever pain is intended for Rufus, even if it kills him. Rufus says as much.
But this isn't a job, is it? This is Rufus pushing him, and Tseng standing his ground. It is probably the most that has ever been truly said between them in as many years as they've known one another. He supposes it is about time.
"You'll see what I do to you," he says, and rubs his thumb across the bridge of Rufus's cheekbone. Pain transforms his gaze; he looks absolutely lovely. There is a knife clipped to his belt, spring-loaded and jolting alive at the stroke of his fingers. He replaces the soft touches he's spreading over Rufus's face with the sharp edge of it. The thin line he draws across Rufus's cheek takes its time weeping blood, but Tseng's tongue is ready to collect it, to sting into the space that he's opened.
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no subject
On the best of days, he knows where to find Rufus as well as he knows how to find any target. It is a part of that keen instinct for people that he has. But today, he barely needs that. He knows exactly where to go.
When he passes through the door, he is rewarded for his intuition by the sounds of bathwater rippling beyond his sight. He can smell lavish salts and feel the heat from here. First, he passes into the den, retrieving a bottle from the bar and two crystal flutes. Rufus, he is sure, will need something to dull the edge of all this madness. Then he strolls silently towards the bath, appearing as a stark shadow against the gleaming white light and the dazzling white tiles. His gloves are removed along the way, tucked neatly into the pocket within his jacket.
He sits down at the edge of the tub, depositing his offerings somewhere nearby, and reaches out a hand to brush a sliver of gold that is clinging wetly to Rufus's cheek. His actions are automatic, withdrawing soap from its painted porcelain bottle, working it into Rufus's hair, taking particular care to ensure that not a single sud drops into that piercing glacial gaze.
He murmurs what he knows to be Rufus's favorite words to hear:
"Mr. President."
no subject
He still leans back as lets Tseng work the soap into his hair and he can't let help the small moan that escapes his lips at how good it feels. It's not enough to make him forget the anger and frustration festering under his skin, however. He's silent for a moment as he let Tseng work, eyes drifting closed, enjoying Tseng's fingers massaging his scalp. It's almost enough to make him relax if it weren't for recent events.
"Are you going to tell me what is going on or am I going to have to guess?" he asks eventually, not looking at Tseng. Even though his tone is outwardly even and calm he's tense, tapping his fingers against the edge of the tub. "I appreciate the lengths you go to protect me but I have to do something, Tseng. I'm not just going to sit idly by and you know that."
Something that wasn't sitting around waiting for answers, going through reports that weren't going to help them when it came to Sephiroth. He may not be a Turk but he wasn't going to be his father and just hide away to let others do everything for him when it's his Turks who are dying in his arms. "And I can't do anything if I'm kept in the dark."
no subject
He overstepped the chain of command, and for that, he is willing to pay any price. For now, the only order that he understands is to keep working his fingers against the president's scalp, gentle but firm.
"I know, sir," he says. Rufus does not like to sit by the sidelines. As much as it pained him to have his men drop Rufus in the middle of a war zone, he was more than capable of standing up to that so-called ex-SOLDIER. He can handle his own.
But this is Sephiroth. It's different.
"I expect Sephiroth to be indisposed for some time. Long enough for us to collaborate on a plan of action." His fingers slip down over Rufus's shoulders, kneading into muscle. It's almost a persuasion tactic, but he knows they are both too stubborn for that. "I would rather you let our men handle this, Mr. President."
no subject
He wants to protest and tell Tseng to reconsider but he knows that this was the right decision. He had held his own against Cloud and survived but Sephiroth was a different matter entirely. As much as he wanted to make Sephiroth suffer personally, that may not be a practical option.
"Very well." He can concede that much at least even if it was difficult. "But I want to be informed about everything. You know I don't like it when you or any of the others vanish without telling me in advance and I don't like surprises. I don't want to hear about what you do from someone else." He glances at Tseng, his expression still guarded. He could be just as stubborn as Tseng when he wanted to be.
no subject
But he doesn't have to ask. He does not even have to think for very long on who it might have been. There is only one logical option.
A trifle that can be dealt with later. He meets that blue-eyed stare with a dark and impassive one. His fingers work tirelessly through it all.
"I was under the impression that I would not disappear," he tells Rufus, cupping water in his hands to carefully wash the soap away. "There is at least two of me in this place, is there not? And so I never truly left you..."
He breaks from their mingling look first, but only to bow his head and press a kiss that drips hot and toxic like poison against Rufus's shoulder. "I would never leave you."
no subject
He's quiet as Tseng works, pulling apart Tseng's words bit by bit in his mind. It would have been easy enough to let it go, bestow his forgiveness, and let himself be distracted with what the kiss to his shoulder promised. While he trusted Tseng, he also wanted answers. He wouldn't himself be distracted just yet. "How do you know Sephiroth will be indisposed?" Though it really wasn't a question. He knew Tseng well enough that he already knew the answer but he wanted to hear it from Tseng directly.
He couldn't be surprised that Tseng went after him- Reno was one of his own and Rufus felt a similar desire to hurt Sephiroth however he could no matter the risk to himself. He turns to fully face Tseng, eyes narrowed. "Tell me what you did."
no subject
So he is not sure exactly what to say. What Rufus wants him to say. Of course, he expects perfect candor, Tseng is sure, but which takes precedence here: protecting Rufus, or giving him what he desires?
It really is a silly question to ask, isn't it? Tseng sighs, dropping his hands for now. He meets Rufus's eyes with his own, black and empty and severe as the bloody blades he died with.
"I took his flesh from him," he says, "until it was enough to pay for what he took from us."
no subject
He hates being treated delicately and after the last couple of years, after everything he had been through, he wasn't going to tolerate it. If Tseng thought that he would be able to get away with giving Rufus so few details he was very mistaken. "You tortured him."
There may be a hint of excitement in his tone. He knows why he couldn't be there for that but he wishes he could have been. "I'm not Vice President anymore, Tseng. All those carefully crafted stories you told me for my amusement were just children's stories. I want to know everything now no matter how gruesome the details are."
no subject
But that was a different Rufus, he supposes. This one has known the touch of agony, the sort that is unyielding, that breaks you. His eyes come alive when he considers the prospect of Sephiroth laid out and vulnerable on his table. And Tseng isn't in the business of lying to his lovers anyway, so he nods.
"For hours," he says, always careful, always on watch for the moment when that look in Rufus's eyes switches. The last thing he wants is for Rufus to look at him with disgust. Even though the prospect is thrilling, it would be so professionally damning that he can't even consider the prospect. "I sliced piece after piece out of him. I am sure that he will recover; he is no mortal man."
Tseng doesn't sound discouraged or disappointed. It's just a matter of fact.
"I did not want to push him beyond recovery. I wanted to remind him of what we are, so that perhaps he will think twice before he so carelessly dispatches one of our own."
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He didn't think that was enough but he's sure there will be another chance in the future. Next time he wants to be the one holding the knife if he can. He appreciates that Tseng is honest even though he's still sparing what he's sure are the gruesome details. But he decides to drop it for now since he doesn't think he's going to get much else out of Tseng tonight.
"I'm cold," he suddenly decides, pulling himself up and out of the water. He holds out a hand for Tseng to take as he steps out of the bath carefully. "We'll talk about Sephiroth in detail later. While I trust you to carry out what needs to be done, I'm going to be involved even though it won't be in the field."
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See, he can still be a good underling. Maybe he will disappear himself to die on strange blades, but he's still made it here today to carefully work Rufus dry, meticulous and careful as ever.
He'll do his part, Tseng supposes, in culling their unseemly Sephiroth problem. In fact, he's looking forward to it. Rufus always has big ideas, offers a perspective he would have never considered. But now, he thinks, is not the time to press.
Instead, he pauses when Rufus is dry, considering him with a lingering look.
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He sees the lingering look Tseng gives him, intrigued about what the other man is thinking. There is no doubt a lot of changes that are new to Tseng- new scars, marks, the way the heel of his right foot looks like it never healed just right. He's not going to hide any of it.
Instead of closing the space between them he instead pulls away to pull Tseng towards his bedroom. It doesn't matter what else Tseng has to do tonight, Rufus has decided what he wants tonight. There was the other Tseng and other Turks to deal with anything that came up.
He finally let go of Tseng so he could lounge on the bed comfortably. He was putting himself on display but he was going to make Tseng work for what he wanted. "Strip."
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"Yes, sir," he says again, without hesitation. The tie around his neck is unknotted, placed upon the gleaming top of a nearby nightstand with care. His jacket is discarded similarly. It's only when all of the buttons of his shirt are undone that he takes a moment to breathe, aware very suddenly of the image he is about to unleash. There have been scars between them before, but this one is...
He takes a step forward, close enough for his knees to brush upon the bed where Rufus lays. It is difficult now not to be caught between the two meanings behind the ugly, jagged scar across his stomach. In that accursed room, among the blood and detritus, it'd felt like his last hope for salvation. Here, he cannot help but wonder if it is the thing that will make him so imperfect that he is simply not worth anything but a swift discarding. Either way, he'll face his fate impassively and slowly pull aside the halves of his shirt for Rufus to see.
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This one- he's not sure where this one comes from. The fact that Tseng had vanished for over day makes a heavy pit settle at the bottom of his stomach with the implications. There are only so many possibilities and after what happened to Reno he can start to put the pieces together. It wasn't a surprise though, given how the Turks were. Anger surges inside of him though and it's a struggle to keep that off his face even though his eyes are cold.
He sits up, reaching up to touch the scar as he traces where it's different from the one he was familiar with but his eyes are on Tseng's.
"Explain."
He needs to know. He needs to know if there is a chance that he's wrong but he's prepared for Tseng to confirm what he already suspects.
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"I am a Turk and one of my men fell." However Rufus attempts to conceal his anger, he knows it's there, has anticipated its presence in the wake of his brief absence. It wouldn't be enough for one of him to remain; Rufus would demand them all if he'd demand any. His hand slips over Rufus's knuckles, pressing in, no matter how strange and sickening it feels.
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He would lose Turks- he had always been prepared for that but it didn't make it any easier, especially when it came to Tseng. He suddenly yanks his hand away from Tseng's, reaching out to grab a fistful of black hair to pull Tseng down on the bed roughly and closer to him.
"Don't ever forget who I am. And don't you ever forget who you belong to. Am I understood?"
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Instead, his eyes darken. He surges forth—not to the proximity that Rufus decides for him, but closer and closer, with a quick motion of his hands that lays Rufus flat on his back. The hand fisted in his hair is torn away, quickly enough to leave Rufus with several strands of dark hair still clutched in the grasp that Tseng is pinning down to the mattress.
"You knew what I was when you laid claim to me," he says, and bows his head, not out of reverence, but to suckle a halo of bruises across Rufus's throat. His teeth skid over the slender hollow of his throat. "I can only ever be this."
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"Do you think I've forgotten? I know exactly what you are, Tseng." Tseng may have his hand pinned but that doesn't stop Rufus from grabbing Tseng's shoulders and dragging his nails into his skin as hard as he possibly could to leave red, bloody tracks.
"I'm not fucking playing pretend anymore, Tseng. I won't be handled and I won't be coddled."
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"You need reminding," he corrects. His free hand clutches into the meat of Rufus's ass, lifting and opening him wide with one quick jerk as he slips between his president's thighs. "Not everything is revenge plots and grandiose displays of power."
Now. His fingers trail down the elegant curve of Rufus's throat. Blood is flooding his senses. They both know that it would be so easy for him to press, and the insult here is that he pets those spaces that would end him in an instant, rubbing whorling circles into pressure points, against the soft pulse of an artery.
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He knows exactly what Tseng is capable of but there isn't any fear in his cold eyes. He only indulges Tseng for so long before he shifts his weight, hooking a leg against Tseng's hip to roll them over without warning. Blood drips from his lip onto Tseng's chest but he doesn't make any attempt to stop it. He thought it rather suited him.
"I don't need you to teach me that," he growls, grabbing Tseng's hair once more as he leaned over him. "I've changed a lot since that night when I stood with you on the rooftop that night."
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"Not with me," he asserts. His fingers find the wrist of that hand in his hair. They swerve and find a nerve to press into, firm and deft and practiced, until Rufus's fingers slacken. The rest Tseng will let him have, for now. There's nothing that people who love power hate more than to watch it be chipped away—he knows that to be so very true.
"Am I so unfamiliar to you that you would question me?" He has half a mind to stress the tendons in Rufus's hand until they snap. He won't, but the thought worries at his mind, compelled by all those by now rote instincts invoked by Rufus's pin. He cannot stop himself from snarling when he speaks, though. "What the hell did you think I would do?"
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He doesn't stop himself from raising his hand and just backhanding Tseng across the face with all his strength.
"It doesn't mean I have to approve of it," he snaps as he grabs at Tseng's throat to pull him up a little then. Even though he knew Tseng could make him let go whenever he wanted to, he still dug his nails in hard without holding back. Tseng was holding himself back but Rufus wasn't going to return the courtesy. "What the hell do you expect me to do when you get yourself killed?"
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It isn't that it never occurred to him; he would have to be blind, deaf, and dumb to not understand what it is between them, even if it's been kept largely unspecific. And he isn't without guilt, though the shock staved that off until the morning after, when he realized on that cliff what a daze he had been in when he'd done all the things that precluded his temporary demise. But it has been a long time since he's hurt Rufus, who knows how long on Rufus's end of things, and the language of it has changed.
How troubling it is, to feel sorry and unrepentant all at once.
His first strike is far more gentle than it ought to be. Rufus is the only person he knows that he's never lifted a hand against; he changes that with a swift blow to his stomach, to pour the breath from him, to leave him reeling. His legs entangle with his lover's and cast him on to his back once more. They roll, and he's careful to snatch Rufus's deadened hand away from where it might be crushed beneath them. His fingers feel Rufus's skin and they forgot the force behind them, all they know of him is care.
His words are what brings it back, ringing in his ears like a siren. Tseng clasps his jaw tight, digs it into the mattress. The wrist that struck him is easily dislocated; Tseng puts weight on it, there is a soft sound, and that is that.
"You should have been proud," he says, and snaps at Rufus's bloodied lip and then devours it, his mouth opening to silence him with a kiss that is too hard to be endearing. His weight drops solidly atop him, between his thighs, immovable.
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He can't stop himself from letting out a soft cry of pain when his wrist snaps so exquisitely and his hand goes limp, now useless. "I would have been if I had been there with you to see what you did to him."
Tseng has him pinned and with one hand, it would be all but impossible to change their positions again. All he can do is shift against Tseng, grabbing his hip hard with his one good hand to bring him flush against him with a pleased smirk even though his eyes are dark with pain. "Your life is mine and not his to take."
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But this isn't a job, is it? This is Rufus pushing him, and Tseng standing his ground. It is probably the most that has ever been truly said between them in as many years as they've known one another. He supposes it is about time.
"You'll see what I do to you," he says, and rubs his thumb across the bridge of Rufus's cheekbone. Pain transforms his gaze; he looks absolutely lovely. There is a knife clipped to his belt, spring-loaded and jolting alive at the stroke of his fingers. He replaces the soft touches he's spreading over Rufus's face with the sharp edge of it. The thin line he draws across Rufus's cheek takes its time weeping blood, but Tseng's tongue is ready to collect it, to sting into the space that he's opened.
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