Once Rufus is settled upon the comforter, Tseng runs a hand over his shoulder, squeezes once. Perhaps he has missed many years between them (is it missing, really, if they await your return?), but he has to believe that some cues between them survived these differences. In this, he means to leave Rufus with some small measure of comfort that he will return.
He takes the files with him. They are deposited in a neat stack upon the hardwood desk on his way to the serviceable kitchenette adjacent to the main parlour. He puts the kettle on, waits out the whistle by clearing Rufus's bloody clothes off the rug and hovering by the bedroom door to make his presence known.
And then there's the whistle. Finally, he slides into bed with Rufus, offering him the steaming cup of tea in his hand. It absolutely infuriates him that he is the first to think to do this. He's furious that Rufus was able to even arrange this meeting without a proper guard. But all of that is trained away, compartmentalized, saved for later with a mental note to order a few staffing changes when he has the time.
For now, Tseng will personally have to do.
"Tell me how you came to the decision," he says, very slowly, with excruciating care, "to face Sephiroth alone. How was this arrangement made? Who did you bring with you?"
The squeeze on his shoulder is a familiar gesture that brings comfort as he watches Tseng start the kettle and tidy his room a little. He didn't trust anyone else to know how to take care of him like this and know exactly what he needed without instruction.
Rufus gratefully takes the tea gratefully, taking a sip before answering Tseng. He shifts his body so he can lean up against him comfortably to steady himself. "I didn't arrange anything with Sephiroth. I went to Edge to find my younger brother and make contact with some of his associates to ask them if they could gather information for me. They aren't exactly friendly to Shinra but I also knew they wouldn't go so far as to hurt me which is why I didn't bring a full escort."
He knows this explanation raises more questions to explain to Tseng once he finishes telling him about Sephiroth. "I had just finished meeting my contact and when I arrived at the car waiting for me I saw him standing there. All my guards were dead so it was just the two of us," he explains as he wraps both hands around the mug of tea he holds.
"He claimed to have no intentions of summoning Meteor or destroying the planet. I don't know what incentive he has but even if that were true, he's still a danger to everyone." And that's just one Sephiroth. He still doesn't know anything about the other one but he assumes that Tseng is already investigating.
Tseng bides his time, watching Rufus impassively as he speaks. It is best like this, to make himself an empty slate, to let Rufus pour the things that trouble him into Tseng so that they are no longer his to bear alone. Tseng can handle it. Rufus does not know the world like he does, even now.
So he listens, still and accommodating. He lets Rufus lean on him and take comfort in the solid plane of his chest. He puts an arm around him to mire him in the moment.
Of course he has questions. He knows of Shinra's bastards—they're the company's worst kept secrets. How Rufus knows, however, is beyond him. (He doesn't like it. But it doesn't matter.) The picture he paints is chilling. Tseng wants a damage report, to know who they lost, what was sacrificed to Sephiroth's blade.
Worst of all, he wonders why Sephiroth let him go. This has been his greatest fear, that Sephiroth would retaliate by taking the last living idol of the Shinra corporation. It's what Tseng would do if he was in Sephiroth's place, crush SEPC for good under the ensuing power struggle that would crumble its proud towers to rubble in his absence. That Rufus is still standing makes no sense to him. But he's here, mostly unharmed, and all Tseng can do now is train himself to breathe evenly, because the worst did not happen after all.
First thing's first:
"What sort of information," he asks, and it is difficult to keep the sting out of his voice when he does so, "were you attempting to gather?"
Rufus is quiet for a long moment as he lets Tseng pull him closer. He closed his eyes as he gathered his thoughts, letting Tseng be the support he always needed. He hadn't had time to speak with Tseng after Cloud's visit, he felt as if he had to do something instead of just sitting around waiting for someone else to do it instead.
"Geostigma." And that was all he said for another few minutes, the last word hanging in the air between them heavily. He hadn't told Tseng all the details of those two years for a reason, he still had nightmares of waking up to see the black sores across his skin once more. No matter how much he attempted to distract himself and keep busy, the thoughts crept into his dreams.
"One of the Clouds came to see me- one from my time. He has it. If there are more cases in the Edge or Midgar, I need to know. It was best that I was the one who talked to my brother's associates alone, they aren't exactly fond of Turks but they were willing to talk to me for Evan's sake."
Not that he had gotten a lot of information out of them aside from they hadn't heard of any cases and there was no sign of Evan or Kyrie anywhere. He was sure his brother could take care of himself but with the current circumstances, he needed to ensure that his brother wasn't found by the wrong person first.
Tseng takes it all in, nodding. Of course, he does not fully understand the implications of this mysterious illness apparently awaiting him in his own time. (Maybe.) He knows enough about it to know it's changed Rufus in some fundamental way. Nothing he can quite put a finger on, just hard edges here and there that seem to have been softened, blurred pieces that have become crisp and sharp.
"I understand."
That's all he needs to say. Rufus will let him know if his assistance is required in any capacity. For now, his place is here, softly kneading circles into Rufus's shoulder to release the last remnants of tension he feels there.
Suddenly, though, his hands swerve, over the line of his shoulders, up his throat, pausing upon the scratch he sees there.
"How did this happen?" he asks, and then his hand is back where it was, comforting, soothing.
He doesn't thank Tseng aloud, only lets out a breath as he sets his now empty mug aside on the table by the bed. It's not something he particularly wants to go into detail about at the moment so he appreciates that Tseng is willing to let it go for now until Rufus can put together a more solid plan of what he wants to do.
Rufus closes his eyes until he feels Tseng's fingers on his throat, his entire body tensing up once more. He doesn't pull away though and Tseng moves his hand away before he could make any protest. "Sephiroth held his sword to my throat. I don't know why he left me alive- I know it wasn't any kind of sense of mercy. This was about making a point that he could kill me any time he wanted."
He wouldn't deny that he's afraid of Sephiroth but his blue eyes are cold and angry. He couldn't spend his life cowering in the Shinra Building nor was he going to ever consider it. But Tseng's hand massaging his shoulder keeps him still and he even shifts closer against him without thinking about it.
It is Tseng's duty to be calm. Inside, he is seething at the absolute audacity. They are even now, blood for blood. Not a single drop was owed between them. But now Sephiroth has again taken from him more than what was deserved, and Tseng is going to have to teach him a lesson that he will never forget.
Already, his mind is reeling with possibilities. At least there is that small comfort of knowing what his face looks like as Tseng cuts into it, a vision that he will be sure to soon reprise.
But now, he must focus.
"He knows what sort of game he is playing with us," Tseng says, smooth and quiet. He presses a kiss into Rufus's hair. "I will not let you be made for a pawn ever again."
"We're going to find a permanent solution. I'm not going to tolerate him being the one to dictate terms to me. To any of us." Rufus shifts against Tseng, looking up at him when Tseng presses a kiss against his hair.
"I want to know what you're going to do to him. This time I want every single detail of your plan." He refused to just sit idly by- he refused to be anything like his father who just hid on the 70th floor behind thick walls while letting everyone else do things for him. He didn't survive Geostigma and everything else he had been through in his life just to sit at the top of the Shinra Building spending his days in blissful ignorance signing reports and pretending he had any kind of real power while everyone else did things for him.
"I'm not going anywhere, Tseng. Not even Sephiroth can kill me." He isn't going to ask if Tseng would stay the night as he leans up to press his lips against his, reaching up to wrap an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer.
Tseng tilts his head, letting Rufus in. He knows the way that Rufus likes it: hard and breathless, sharp with passion. Perhaps the better idea would be to treat him with a certain amount of fragility, after what he's been through, but Tseng does not even consider it. No, he thinks, Rufus needs this.
"He can kill you," he says, pressing a kiss to the corner of Rufus's mouth. "He most likely will, without a certain amount of leverage on our side."
And then that begs the question: how does one secure leverage on a god? Sephiroth holds no ties to humanity anymore. The thing he has become is so far beyond what they know. He cannot contemplate what it means to exist as Sephiroth does.
But perhaps... Perhaps he isn't so far removed as he thinks he is.
"He favors a SOLDIER," Tseng says. He amends, "Someone who was a SOLDIER. Your father cut ties with him in a fairly extraordinary display. I do not think he will be willing to partner with us voluntarily."
After his encounter with Zack on the clifftop, he knew that Zack would not willingly help them with anything, let alone anything to do with dealing with Sephiroth. He had given Zack his word he would leave him alone, he was reluctant to break that promise but there may not be any other option at this point. "No, he won't but we may have to secure his cooperation anyway."
How that happens is going to be the difficult part. "Sephiroth did say he has no incentive to summon Meteor and try to destroy the planet once again. I'm sure his relationship with Zack has something to do with that."
Rufus unties the sash of his robe, letting it fall to either side as he pulls down Tseng onto the bed with him. It's been a long day but the last thing he wants to do right now is rest. "You worked with Zack in the past and I assume you know him fairly well, how do you suggest we approach him? I made him a promise I would not let anyone at Shinra come after him."
That's something to consider. Tseng thinks back to the legends, to scripture, those ancient tableaus excavated from the earth and pored over and debated by archaeologists for as long as he's been alive. He has always had faith in their most literal interpretations, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was no metaphor inherent in their creation, no smokescreen beyond the warnings the Ancients left behind for the simple, verminous species known as humankind.
Which means that if he tries Sephiroth, the entire world may be at risk. He could set this whole planet ablaze simply to prove a point. Tseng needs to ask himself if Rufus's life is worth the lives of many—perhaps life as he knows it.
It's not much of a question. Of course it is. He'd kill them all with his bare hands if that was the only option left to him.
He smooths a palm over Rufus's bare chest, considering the question. The two things that he is have not yet merged in his mind: Rufus and president, his lover and the single most powerful man in the world. It was different, when they would steal away to the shadows and whisper treasonous things. Now, there is nothing stopping them at all—nothing stopping Rufus from rebuking him harshly if he does not like what he hears.
This is why it's always been important for presidents to stay mostly ignorant of Turk operations, to let the results speak for themselves. But Rufus has made it more than clear that that will not be an option here.
"A Class A narcotic blend," he says, working his fingers into the divots between Rufus's muscles, his gaze trailing to some far away place deep within again. "I mixed it myself. The results were instantaneous. I was able to subdue Sephiroth for hours." That wasn't exactly Rufus's question, but he needs to learn to be mindful of who he's asking. Tseng is no advisor or diplomat—his job is to kill men, or worse. "That is the only way to approach him now."
Rufus is silent for a moment as he reaches up to loosen Tseng's tie, the only sound in the room is a soft rustle of fabric before Rufus tosses the tie over the edge of the bed. If they begin down this road there will be no going back. They would have to handle the consequences as they come.
And it's a path he'll have to tread carefully. He wonders what his father would do in this situation. He most likely wouldn't have hesitated to give the order to bring Zack in, extract any information from him, and then turn over what was left to Shinra's finest scientists. All in the name of preserving the wealth and power of SEPC.
His own ambitions may in the interest of the greater good but that doesn't change how unpleasant some of the methods they have to use really are. His gaze meets Tseng as he starts unbuttoning his shirt slowly, pulling each button lose with steady fingers.
Those words feel amazing. And to think, he'd been apprehensive before. Rufus is smarter than that. Tseng has taken great pains to raise him under their code. And now, finally, they have a president who understands.
It compels him to reach out, grasping Rufus by the shoulder, one hand fisting in his hair. He opens his mouth wide to consume him, to take him into a hard and demanding kiss. He kisses him until he sees lights like a constellation of blinking stars, and only then does he pull away, rubbing his wet mouth across Rufus's jaw, smirking.
"Yes, Mr. President." He rolls his shoulders, lets his undone shirt slide down them. He pours his hot breath across Rufus's throat with each of his slow pants. "Whatever you like."
Rufus wraps an arm around his waist, hand spayed across Tseng's back once his shirt is off. He lets himself go the minute Tseng's lips capture his. Everything else outside seems to fade away, he shuts it out for now.
The world can wait. Even Sephiroth could wait, for all he cared.
His breath catches as Tseng's lips move down his throat, shivering at that tickle of pleasure. Tseng's words make his cock twitch with anticipation, every time Tseng said those two magic words never failed to send shivers down his spine and cause heat to pool at the bottom of his stomach. Even after the last two years, those words remained just as powerful.
Tseng opens his palm against Rufus's back, the perfect plane for him to lean against as those nipping kisses descend the length of his chest. He rubs his teeth across one pretty pink nipple, his tongue flashing. He can feel the tension built up under the president's skin, knows precisely what he has to do to work it loose. His fingers drift, brush over the thin line across his throat.
It makes him so angry, this mark that he did not consent to leave here. His fingers glow, taking on a minty green aura, as he pours curative magic into the wound, slow and steady, his touch sweeping to erase the scar it might leave behind. In the aftermath, his eyes are dark, his mouth twisted into a frown. This is just like Rufus tangling with that so-called ex-SOLDIER again. His blood boils at the very thought of it. Rufus is not his—if anything, it's the other way around—but that does not stop him from seeing red at the fucking audacity of it all.
"Lay down," he says, letting the anger overcome him, cool his voice down to something low and deceptively soft. He presses his fingertips to Rufus's chest, puts more force behind it than he means to.
Rufus gasps as Tseng's mouth finds one of his nipples but he pauses as he feels Tseng's hand on his throat. He doesn't flinch but the memory of steel is still fresh in his mind. But Tseng's touch is soothing and he feels the warmth as the thin red line heals under his touch. He watches Tseng's expression, how dark his eyes are when he looks at his throat. He doesn't have the words to tell Tseng that he had done it to himself more than anything just to push his own morality once more.
He realizes the look in his eyes and decides that he doesn't need to tell Tseng after all. The anger isn't directed at him but it seems it doesn't matter right now. He lets Tseng push him down on the bed, willing to accept his punishment.
He can't promise he won't do it again. There is something about feeling cool steel at his neck or standing on the edge of the building that is intoxicating. It's the same feeling he gets now as he looks up at Tseng.
Tseng knows he can't make that promise. He also knows how Rufus feels about it, knows that he made his own promise to the president about his darker impulses. And no, he does not know that Rufus is the one to blame for his wound, but it does not matter. That promise was made because Tseng does not trust anyone but himself to hold steel to the president's flesh. What Sephiroth did has infringed upon that promise.
But not tonight. He moves over Rufus's body, straddling him. He reaches into his boot and retrieves his switchblade, presses the catch and lets it hiss open.
"Pick a word," he says, sounding hollow, empty, completely void as he holds the blade to Rufus's throat. He watches the subtle motions of his breathing beneath the razor edge. "I will stop for nothing else."
"No word. You know my limits. I'm at your mercy tonight."
Even if he had chosen a word, he would never use it. Even the mere thought of it is distasteful. He had never stepped away from the ledge when driven to it, he had never turned back. He hadn't looked away from Diamond Weapon's blast, and he hadn't relented under Mutten's torture.
Tseng was capable of so much more but as he stood on the edge, he wasn't going to look away from those dark, blank eyes. It wasn't the first time he had stared into the void, it wouldn't be the last.
His breath catches as the blade presses against his throat. They had an agreement and Rufus was going to go give himself over to Tseng so that there would be no holding back.
Tseng honestly should have expected as much. This is Rufus, after all. He sighs, tries to maintain. Lets the flat of the blade drift down his throat harmlessly, revealing the faint line of healed skin beneath. It is easier when he focuses on his hatred of that mark.
But it still feels like a betrayal, spinning the blade upon his palm until it curves down like a reaper's scythe. His breath catches at the first cut, as if he's the one whose skin is opening, as if it's his blood that is pouring. Tseng cannot say it does not feel like exactly that, not when it is Rufus.
He chooses the space over Rufus's ribs. There is more meat between bone and flesh there, more space for him to work within. He presses a hand down on Rufus's chest and slices into his skin, slow to let him feel it.
At first, he doesn't feel any pain, only the sensation of Tseng's knife slicing through his skin. Sometimes he thinks he's built up a tolerance so he'll need more to feel anything this next time. He can only trust Tseng to take him a step further and give him what he needs now.
"Again." His voice is slightly breathless as he feels the blood on his skin as the pain starts to creep in. There it is, it's something so familiar he doesn't want to give up. He looks down at Tseng, reaching to smear some of the blood across his stomach, over the raised ridges of visible scars, and tracing the outline of invisible ones left behind by the Geostigma sores. "Deeper this time."
The scent of blood hits him and it is intoxicating. This blood, Rufus's blood, it feels so much like sacrilege. He'd given his own on a night that feels like forever ago, Rufus with the new crown of the Shinra empire and Tseng's blood swirling in his drink. There is so much power in the act of pressing his scarred palm against Rufus's open wound. His breath hitches, his heart skips a beat, and he lifts his knife again.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, opening a curving shape in his skin and carving its mirror in crimson relief. He keeps this knife so very sharp; it cuts through like butter. When the blood comes, he presses his cheek to it, then his lips.
He remembered the sharp taste of Tseng's blood that night and he shudders with pleasure as he watches Tseng's lips press against bloody skin. Each cut sends shivers through his body and reaches out to grab Tseng's sides with bloody hands, digging his nails in.
A thought occurred to him as watched blood run down his stomach and pool. "I need a scar. One that is yours." All the scars he had were reminders that he had survived against all odds. That he had been stronger than anything else that had tried to break him.
He needed a scar that was on his own terms. "Make it hurt."
He wanted to see if Tseng could actually make him scream.
"You want me to scar you," he echoes, sounding distant. His pulse is pounding in his ears. Imagine. He'd been nothing and no one, and now Rufus Shinra, the most powerful man in the world, is asking to wear his mark. It had been unthinkable before now. It was clear, the terms upon which their arrangement was made, Tseng's place in it all.
This makes it decidedly unclear. But Tseng's blade is moving, carving, burrowing beneath the surface layer and digging into the dermis tissue below. He sees red everywhere, dripping down his face, spread in stark relief against Rufus's pale skin with his trailing fingers. He can hardly contain the moan that escapes him, hardly wants to mute such an honest sound from himself within the intimacy of this moment.
He draws more curves, radiating outwards.
"It will hurt," he promises, raking his nails over the cuts he's drawn, careful not to disturb his craft. The blood wells so beautifully against his cuticles.
The sheets and most likely the mattress itself is going to be ruined as blood runs down his sides, soaking into the bed. The moan he hears from Tseng makes warmth pool at the bottom of his stomach despite the sharp pain burning across his chest.
He lets out a small strangled cry as Tseng continues but he doesn't tell him to stop. He's not sure what Tseng is carving but he's sure that it will be flawless when it's done.
"Tseng-" it's not a plea for him to stop, he's addicted now he's chasing this high for as long as he can. This will change everything but he knows that he wants this without a doubt.
More curves, more blood. His knife floats like poetry, from one slicing verse to the next. It's all rhythm and weight. It's the most beautiful thing Tseng has ever see.
He bows his head to lap the blood from his skin in long, lavishing licks. The taste of it is heady, potent, powerful. His whole mouth tingles in the aftermath. He feels drunk on it.
He hears his name, and his gaze drifts back to Rufus. Little droplets of red have clung to his lashes like dew, obscuring his vision. His entire face is painted with it. It gives him the strength to try something he's never done before.
"Rufus," he says, in a low whisper. The volume builds as he cuts deeper. "Rufus," becomes a chant, loving and condemning, despairing and deep within the throes of this twisted ecstasy. A sliver of flesh slides loose, hanging off the edge of his blade; he places it upon his tongue like a pill and leans over Rufus, thrusting it into his mouth.
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no subject
He takes the files with him. They are deposited in a neat stack upon the hardwood desk on his way to the serviceable kitchenette adjacent to the main parlour. He puts the kettle on, waits out the whistle by clearing Rufus's bloody clothes off the rug and hovering by the bedroom door to make his presence known.
And then there's the whistle. Finally, he slides into bed with Rufus, offering him the steaming cup of tea in his hand. It absolutely infuriates him that he is the first to think to do this. He's furious that Rufus was able to even arrange this meeting without a proper guard. But all of that is trained away, compartmentalized, saved for later with a mental note to order a few staffing changes when he has the time.
For now, Tseng will personally have to do.
"Tell me how you came to the decision," he says, very slowly, with excruciating care, "to face Sephiroth alone. How was this arrangement made? Who did you bring with you?"
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Rufus gratefully takes the tea gratefully, taking a sip before answering Tseng. He shifts his body so he can lean up against him comfortably to steady himself. "I didn't arrange anything with Sephiroth. I went to Edge to find my younger brother and make contact with some of his associates to ask them if they could gather information for me. They aren't exactly friendly to Shinra but I also knew they wouldn't go so far as to hurt me which is why I didn't bring a full escort."
He knows this explanation raises more questions to explain to Tseng once he finishes telling him about Sephiroth. "I had just finished meeting my contact and when I arrived at the car waiting for me I saw him standing there. All my guards were dead so it was just the two of us," he explains as he wraps both hands around the mug of tea he holds.
"He claimed to have no intentions of summoning Meteor or destroying the planet. I don't know what incentive he has but even if that were true, he's still a danger to everyone." And that's just one Sephiroth. He still doesn't know anything about the other one but he assumes that Tseng is already investigating.
no subject
So he listens, still and accommodating. He lets Rufus lean on him and take comfort in the solid plane of his chest. He puts an arm around him to mire him in the moment.
Of course he has questions. He knows of Shinra's bastards—they're the company's worst kept secrets. How Rufus knows, however, is beyond him. (He doesn't like it. But it doesn't matter.) The picture he paints is chilling. Tseng wants a damage report, to know who they lost, what was sacrificed to Sephiroth's blade.
Worst of all, he wonders why Sephiroth let him go. This has been his greatest fear, that Sephiroth would retaliate by taking the last living idol of the Shinra corporation. It's what Tseng would do if he was in Sephiroth's place, crush SEPC for good under the ensuing power struggle that would crumble its proud towers to rubble in his absence. That Rufus is still standing makes no sense to him. But he's here, mostly unharmed, and all Tseng can do now is train himself to breathe evenly, because the worst did not happen after all.
First thing's first:
"What sort of information," he asks, and it is difficult to keep the sting out of his voice when he does so, "were you attempting to gather?"
no subject
"Geostigma." And that was all he said for another few minutes, the last word hanging in the air between them heavily. He hadn't told Tseng all the details of those two years for a reason, he still had nightmares of waking up to see the black sores across his skin once more. No matter how much he attempted to distract himself and keep busy, the thoughts crept into his dreams.
"One of the Clouds came to see me- one from my time. He has it. If there are more cases in the Edge or Midgar, I need to know. It was best that I was the one who talked to my brother's associates alone, they aren't exactly fond of Turks but they were willing to talk to me for Evan's sake."
Not that he had gotten a lot of information out of them aside from they hadn't heard of any cases and there was no sign of Evan or Kyrie anywhere. He was sure his brother could take care of himself but with the current circumstances, he needed to ensure that his brother wasn't found by the wrong person first.
no subject
"I understand."
That's all he needs to say. Rufus will let him know if his assistance is required in any capacity. For now, his place is here, softly kneading circles into Rufus's shoulder to release the last remnants of tension he feels there.
Suddenly, though, his hands swerve, over the line of his shoulders, up his throat, pausing upon the scratch he sees there.
"How did this happen?" he asks, and then his hand is back where it was, comforting, soothing.
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Rufus closes his eyes until he feels Tseng's fingers on his throat, his entire body tensing up once more. He doesn't pull away though and Tseng moves his hand away before he could make any protest. "Sephiroth held his sword to my throat. I don't know why he left me alive- I know it wasn't any kind of sense of mercy. This was about making a point that he could kill me any time he wanted."
He wouldn't deny that he's afraid of Sephiroth but his blue eyes are cold and angry. He couldn't spend his life cowering in the Shinra Building nor was he going to ever consider it. But Tseng's hand massaging his shoulder keeps him still and he even shifts closer against him without thinking about it.
no subject
It is Tseng's duty to be calm. Inside, he is seething at the absolute audacity. They are even now, blood for blood. Not a single drop was owed between them. But now Sephiroth has again taken from him more than what was deserved, and Tseng is going to have to teach him a lesson that he will never forget.
Already, his mind is reeling with possibilities. At least there is that small comfort of knowing what his face looks like as Tseng cuts into it, a vision that he will be sure to soon reprise.
But now, he must focus.
"He knows what sort of game he is playing with us," Tseng says, smooth and quiet. He presses a kiss into Rufus's hair. "I will not let you be made for a pawn ever again."
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"I want to know what you're going to do to him. This time I want every single detail of your plan." He refused to just sit idly by- he refused to be anything like his father who just hid on the 70th floor behind thick walls while letting everyone else do things for him. He didn't survive Geostigma and everything else he had been through in his life just to sit at the top of the Shinra Building spending his days in blissful ignorance signing reports and pretending he had any kind of real power while everyone else did things for him.
"I'm not going anywhere, Tseng. Not even Sephiroth can kill me." He isn't going to ask if Tseng would stay the night as he leans up to press his lips against his, reaching up to wrap an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer.
no subject
"He can kill you," he says, pressing a kiss to the corner of Rufus's mouth. "He most likely will, without a certain amount of leverage on our side."
And then that begs the question: how does one secure leverage on a god? Sephiroth holds no ties to humanity anymore. The thing he has become is so far beyond what they know. He cannot contemplate what it means to exist as Sephiroth does.
But perhaps... Perhaps he isn't so far removed as he thinks he is.
"He favors a SOLDIER," Tseng says. He amends, "Someone who was a SOLDIER. Your father cut ties with him in a fairly extraordinary display. I do not think he will be willing to partner with us voluntarily."
no subject
After his encounter with Zack on the clifftop, he knew that Zack would not willingly help them with anything, let alone anything to do with dealing with Sephiroth. He had given Zack his word he would leave him alone, he was reluctant to break that promise but there may not be any other option at this point. "No, he won't but we may have to secure his cooperation anyway."
How that happens is going to be the difficult part. "Sephiroth did say he has no incentive to summon Meteor and try to destroy the planet once again. I'm sure his relationship with Zack has something to do with that."
Rufus unties the sash of his robe, letting it fall to either side as he pulls down Tseng onto the bed with him. It's been a long day but the last thing he wants to do right now is rest. "You worked with Zack in the past and I assume you know him fairly well, how do you suggest we approach him? I made him a promise I would not let anyone at Shinra come after him."
A promise he may be forced to break now.
no subject
Which means that if he tries Sephiroth, the entire world may be at risk. He could set this whole planet ablaze simply to prove a point. Tseng needs to ask himself if Rufus's life is worth the lives of many—perhaps life as he knows it.
It's not much of a question. Of course it is. He'd kill them all with his bare hands if that was the only option left to him.
He smooths a palm over Rufus's bare chest, considering the question. The two things that he is have not yet merged in his mind: Rufus and president, his lover and the single most powerful man in the world. It was different, when they would steal away to the shadows and whisper treasonous things. Now, there is nothing stopping them at all—nothing stopping Rufus from rebuking him harshly if he does not like what he hears.
This is why it's always been important for presidents to stay mostly ignorant of Turk operations, to let the results speak for themselves. But Rufus has made it more than clear that that will not be an option here.
"A Class A narcotic blend," he says, working his fingers into the divots between Rufus's muscles, his gaze trailing to some far away place deep within again. "I mixed it myself. The results were instantaneous. I was able to subdue Sephiroth for hours." That wasn't exactly Rufus's question, but he needs to learn to be mindful of who he's asking. Tseng is no advisor or diplomat—his job is to kill men, or worse. "That is the only way to approach him now."
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And it's a path he'll have to tread carefully. He wonders what his father would do in this situation. He most likely wouldn't have hesitated to give the order to bring Zack in, extract any information from him, and then turn over what was left to Shinra's finest scientists. All in the name of preserving the wealth and power of SEPC.
His own ambitions may in the interest of the greater good but that doesn't change how unpleasant some of the methods they have to use really are. His gaze meets Tseng as he starts unbuttoning his shirt slowly, pulling each button lose with steady fingers.
"Very well. Do what you need to do, Tseng."
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It compels him to reach out, grasping Rufus by the shoulder, one hand fisting in his hair. He opens his mouth wide to consume him, to take him into a hard and demanding kiss. He kisses him until he sees lights like a constellation of blinking stars, and only then does he pull away, rubbing his wet mouth across Rufus's jaw, smirking.
"Yes, Mr. President." He rolls his shoulders, lets his undone shirt slide down them. He pours his hot breath across Rufus's throat with each of his slow pants. "Whatever you like."
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The world can wait. Even Sephiroth could wait, for all he cared.
His breath catches as Tseng's lips move down his throat, shivering at that tickle of pleasure. Tseng's words make his cock twitch with anticipation, every time Tseng said those two magic words never failed to send shivers down his spine and cause heat to pool at the bottom of his stomach. Even after the last two years, those words remained just as powerful.
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It makes him so angry, this mark that he did not consent to leave here. His fingers glow, taking on a minty green aura, as he pours curative magic into the wound, slow and steady, his touch sweeping to erase the scar it might leave behind. In the aftermath, his eyes are dark, his mouth twisted into a frown. This is just like Rufus tangling with that so-called ex-SOLDIER again. His blood boils at the very thought of it. Rufus is not his—if anything, it's the other way around—but that does not stop him from seeing red at the fucking audacity of it all.
"Lay down," he says, letting the anger overcome him, cool his voice down to something low and deceptively soft. He presses his fingertips to Rufus's chest, puts more force behind it than he means to.
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He realizes the look in his eyes and decides that he doesn't need to tell Tseng after all. The anger isn't directed at him but it seems it doesn't matter right now. He lets Tseng push him down on the bed, willing to accept his punishment.
He can't promise he won't do it again. There is something about feeling cool steel at his neck or standing on the edge of the building that is intoxicating. It's the same feeling he gets now as he looks up at Tseng.
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But not tonight. He moves over Rufus's body, straddling him. He reaches into his boot and retrieves his switchblade, presses the catch and lets it hiss open.
"Pick a word," he says, sounding hollow, empty, completely void as he holds the blade to Rufus's throat. He watches the subtle motions of his breathing beneath the razor edge. "I will stop for nothing else."
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Even if he had chosen a word, he would never use it. Even the mere thought of it is distasteful. He had never stepped away from the ledge when driven to it, he had never turned back. He hadn't looked away from Diamond Weapon's blast, and he hadn't relented under Mutten's torture.
Tseng was capable of so much more but as he stood on the edge, he wasn't going to look away from those dark, blank eyes. It wasn't the first time he had stared into the void, it wouldn't be the last.
His breath catches as the blade presses against his throat. They had an agreement and Rufus was going to go give himself over to Tseng so that there would be no holding back.
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Tseng honestly should have expected as much. This is Rufus, after all. He sighs, tries to maintain. Lets the flat of the blade drift down his throat harmlessly, revealing the faint line of healed skin beneath. It is easier when he focuses on his hatred of that mark.
But it still feels like a betrayal, spinning the blade upon his palm until it curves down like a reaper's scythe. His breath catches at the first cut, as if he's the one whose skin is opening, as if it's his blood that is pouring. Tseng cannot say it does not feel like exactly that, not when it is Rufus.
He chooses the space over Rufus's ribs. There is more meat between bone and flesh there, more space for him to work within. He presses a hand down on Rufus's chest and slices into his skin, slow to let him feel it.
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"Again." His voice is slightly breathless as he feels the blood on his skin as the pain starts to creep in. There it is, it's something so familiar he doesn't want to give up. He looks down at Tseng, reaching to smear some of the blood across his stomach, over the raised ridges of visible scars, and tracing the outline of invisible ones left behind by the Geostigma sores. "Deeper this time."
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"Beautiful," he murmurs, opening a curving shape in his skin and carving its mirror in crimson relief. He keeps this knife so very sharp; it cuts through like butter. When the blood comes, he presses his cheek to it, then his lips.
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A thought occurred to him as watched blood run down his stomach and pool. "I need a scar. One that is yours." All the scars he had were reminders that he had survived against all odds. That he had been stronger than anything else that had tried to break him.
He needed a scar that was on his own terms. "Make it hurt."
He wanted to see if Tseng could actually make him scream.
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This makes it decidedly unclear. But Tseng's blade is moving, carving, burrowing beneath the surface layer and digging into the dermis tissue below. He sees red everywhere, dripping down his face, spread in stark relief against Rufus's pale skin with his trailing fingers. He can hardly contain the moan that escapes him, hardly wants to mute such an honest sound from himself within the intimacy of this moment.
He draws more curves, radiating outwards.
"It will hurt," he promises, raking his nails over the cuts he's drawn, careful not to disturb his craft. The blood wells so beautifully against his cuticles.
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He lets out a small strangled cry as Tseng continues but he doesn't tell him to stop. He's not sure what Tseng is carving but he's sure that it will be flawless when it's done.
"Tseng-" it's not a plea for him to stop, he's addicted now he's chasing this high for as long as he can. This will change everything but he knows that he wants this without a doubt.
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He bows his head to lap the blood from his skin in long, lavishing licks. The taste of it is heady, potent, powerful. His whole mouth tingles in the aftermath. He feels drunk on it.
He hears his name, and his gaze drifts back to Rufus. Little droplets of red have clung to his lashes like dew, obscuring his vision. His entire face is painted with it. It gives him the strength to try something he's never done before.
"Rufus," he says, in a low whisper. The volume builds as he cuts deeper. "Rufus," becomes a chant, loving and condemning, despairing and deep within the throes of this twisted ecstasy. A sliver of flesh slides loose, hanging off the edge of his blade; he places it upon his tongue like a pill and leans over Rufus, thrusting it into his mouth.
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