The Truths of Us, FFVII (Sephiroth/Tseng) Title: The Truths of Us Author/Artist:_ice_lady_ Rating: Mild NC17 Warnings: It has Reno. And Zack. And booze. Lots of it. Word count: 1882 Prompt:October 5- Final Fantasy VII: Tseng and Sephiroth - going native: He preferred a world where a blade's legacy held meaning, and where a warrior's honor was as binding as any legal contract, and more so than many... and to be scrupulously honest, the hot springs were rather enticing as well. Summary: Some truths are better kept hidden, while some lies should be better spread. A/N: I know I'm late. *frowns at self*
---
“Forgive me, General,” Sephiroth hears a familiar voice, to which he does nothing but nod, eyes still on his cup of tea. “Too crowded to occupy three tables.”
Sephiroth only then allows his eyes to slide off the clear surface and onto a blank face sitting across the table. “And you chose this table over…” he glances across the small overcrowded room, towards the definite source of everything wrong in this place.
Tseng seats himself, casually, one leg across the other, back relaxed over the chair’s backrest, fingers entwined on the table. “There are days when I don’t mind headache induced by slamming my forehead over hard wooden surface, but this isn’t one of those,” the Turk says with a sharp smile.
“Perfectly understandable,” Sephiroth responds before placing the cup rim between his lips to take another sip, mostly because he wants to cover his nostrils from touching the foul smell coming from the teacup of his companion.
“Never knew you were the type to drink white tea,” Tseng tries, again casually, as though small talk is something they normally do.
Sephiroth grants him with a short smile, not more than just a tiny quirking of his lips. “Isn’t black too stimulating for such a late hour?” It’s obvious Tseng sees innuendo where there’s none. Perhaps he spent too much time with that redhead of his?
Then again, Sephiroth is not the type to complain, considering who the redhead’s been learning all his recent tricks from.
Tseng almost chuckles. “Tea, you mean?” he asks, though it’s obvious he’s just caught a good thread to pull. “With those two,” he, again, nods towards the loudest table in the room, “I think an all-nighter is in order.”
Sephiroth smirks, almost. “Major Fair seems to want to be known far and wide,” he says over the rim of his cup, “though I sometimes have to wonder whether he just tries to be an idiot or was born that way.”
That pulls a chuckle out of Tseng, a real one. Pity, Sephiroth thinks, for being that rare. Definitely befits that face. “I suppose it’s only a matter of time before they start comparing the size.”
“Yes, well, size isn’t everything, Turk,” Sephiroth just can’t pass it up, making Tseng actually laugh, though in that subdued sort of way that most humans are incapable of performing but it intrigues Sephiroth to no end.
“Says a man with a six foot weapon?” He pulls himself together by drinking his tea. “Forgive me, General, it was…”
“Sephiroth,” Sephiroth interrupts, nods his head at the obvious confusion of his conversation companion. “Titles won’t be necessary, Turk Head.” And Sephiroth has to wonder whether there’s something in the tea, but he can’t help himself – Tseng looks… intriguing when he laughs.
And again, Tseng manages to hide it, laughs in the manner which only a First Class can appreciate and it peaks Sephiroth’s interest enough to pull himself from the seclusion of his shadowed chair, elbowing his body onto the table.
“I simply beg you not to mention that title before Reno. I think he has enough ideas as it is.”
“Oh?” Sephiroth can’t help but want to push this conversation even further down the path it’s already going. “Is this some good office gossip that tends to escape us, field types?”
It’s a cheeky sort of grin that escapes onto Tseng’s lips in a blink of an eye, before he pulls himself together, again keeping Sephiroth in awe. Mako isn’t everything, or so it seems. “Why not ask Zack, then? I’m sure the boy has a few… ideas.”
“Quite certain he does,” Sephiroth continues, pursing his lips not to smile, not to know his companion has won the battle. “But I’m asking you. Forgive my bluntness, but I’ve always appreciated wisdom over youth.”
“Why, my dear General,” Tseng starts, makes sure to accentuate the title. He even pushes the cup a bit towards the centre of the table, a symbol that he’s done. “Have you just called me old?”
“Not older than myself,” Sephiroth retorts, playing with the saucer under the cup. It’s old. Quite old.
“I’ve seen you with a sword,” Tseng comments with a smile. “Doubt anyone would classify you as old.”
The chuckle that comes from Sephiroth’s lips indeed sounds old, at least somewhat. Things tend to pile up inside him, from time to time, escaping in small barely there gestures that take an expert to uncover. “So, what stops you?”
“Sorry?” Tseng asks, almost hopeful, making Sephiroth just want to smack him over the head. It sounds ridiculous, absurd even. Pathetic, perverted and just plain wrong.
“What stops you from playing with a sword yourself?” And if anyone else were to hear the conversation, they wouldn’t notice it. Definitely not, but Tseng’s a bit more than a normal human and Sephiroth just likes to test his limits. Never would have gotten where he is now otherwise.
Tseng’s smile is almost sharp as the object of their discussion. “Never got a good teacher, I suppose,” he says, perhaps a tad too lightly to sound sincere. “Besides, the speed of the bullet could outmatch any blade, no matter its size.”
It’s an insult, or as close as it gets, by Sephiroth’s standards. “I take that personally.” He rises up, makes the room grow quiet for a few seconds, before he turns on his heel, beeline to the door with such a small, smug smile granted Tseng’s way that nobody else sees it.
Tseng follows nonetheless.
---
“And what did we agree about flirting in public?” Sephiroth moans right into Tseng’s neck the moment after the two of them crash with the nearest wall of his bedroom.
Tseng gasps. “I only wanted to see your sword,” he manages through the mouthful of hair and two handfuls of war hero trying to get every inch of their skin together.
“And you shall,” Sephiroth continues, so much lust in that voice, though that’s far from needed, considering Tseng’s having a hard time missing the already hard cock pressing right between his legs.
Ripping it off wouldn’t make them naked fast enough and, besides, what little is left of their brains still remembers they need to go on with their mission tomorrow.
Still buttons can be mended and Tseng, smartly, always packs a few shirts extra if he has to leave his apartment for more than a working shift in the office. The moment Sephiroth’s teeth slide their way down his muscle, biting the nipple a bit too harshly (but just enough), he forgets all about suits and proper conduct and turns into a piece of rubbing, moaning, twitching flesh, trying to grip as much of his lover with every part of himself until they both crash, once again, into the hard bed.
Sephiroth has to wonder what the guests in the neighbouring rooms must be thinking.
“You better have…” Tseng starts, hands already working their way around his belt, pants, underwear, as he pushes his shoes off his feet. And Sephiroth grants him enough wiggling room just to get that damned uniform off as he fiddles with his own clothes, though there’s not as many layers to work when it comes to his choice of attire.
“It’s me you’re talking about, Turk,” Sephiroth says at last, his pants down his knees and his legs will take care of the rest. Funny thing, he hasn’t even noticed his gloves are still on.
It’s a feral sort of growl that Tseng makes then, legs already spread for Sephiroth to fit in, nails scraping down the strong muscles of his back, giving the look that would melt rocks the moment Sephiroth thinks about taking the damned gloves off.
“Playful today?” Sephiroth teases, his throat vibrating in a way that seems to have far too many positive effects on the Turk in the bedroom. But still, he can’t help it – the moment he slides the black soft leather around that already hard cock, it does make a lovely contrast.
It doesn’t take much between a quick foreplay (which started about an hour back, but that’s not the point) and Sephiroth’s already slick cock sliding gently into Tseng’s prepared ass. They never were the type to take their time, especially in unknown hotels of faraway lands.
“If you don’t hurry, I will hurt you,” Tseng says, seriousness in that voice, making Sephiroth produce a rather throaty laughter. Still quite subsided for a normal human; for Tseng even, but it's as loud as they sometimes get.
“And how do you plan on doing that?” he manages a whisper, a growl almost, as he pulls out with even half his speed, making Tseng’s hips shudder.
“I…” Tseng starts again, a minute too late realizes how much he resembles a spoilt brat having a fit by an ice-cream stand. Especially after both his hands end up restrained and slammed into the all of a sudden surprisingly hard surface of the mattress. “Keep them spread,” Sephiroth warns, squeezing those wrists enough to turn the skin of Tseng’s hands blue. Just a warning, nothing more. And he looms there like an insane beast. “I love to see my cock disappearing inside you.”
---
“I think I have a headache,” Tseng murmurs, lids half shut, lips quirked, a smile nothing but a bundle of tease, making Sephiroth chuckle and snuggle closer.
In spite the fact that a General and a Turk leader don’t exactly snuggle. But, the doors are locked, nobody knows, they’re as fucked as they want to be, so they’ll slip over this. Again.
“If sex gives you headaches, we won’t do it again,” Sephiroth says in a tone that wouldn’t fool anyone, and Tseng seems far too unbothered to comment anything.
Then the phone rings. Without bothering much, Tseng just grabs his, then Sephiroth has to do the same, frowning, wanting to kill the person or persons bothering them at such an ungodly hour. Considering both their phones ring, it’s quite likely it’s the Company, so no time to delay things.
“Sephiroth,” he says flatly, though he knows it’s Zack and hopes to gods the boy dies before the morning, because he’s dead anyway. Like this, it’s only merciful, because once Sephiroth gets his hands on him, there’ll be no doctor able to put him together ever again.
“Hi, General, sir, I…” Zack starts, that slur typical for a drunken man obvious even through the lousy signal, making Sephiroth actually roll his eyes. He hears Tseng say Reno’s name, and he can’t help but think this evening’s just going down the drain.
“Where do I get you and how much money do I have bring?” Sephiroth says with a flat, a tad annoyed tone, like he’s used to it.
It doesn’t take superhuman hearing to hear Reno’s voice after Zack’s far too loud snicker. “Why are you using Seph’s phone, Tseng?” Sephiroth’s not sure whether he hears it through his own speaker or Tseng’s, but once it’s there, the time freezes, as does the air.
“And why are you using his, sir?” Zack continues, laughs and that’s the last thing Sephiroth hears before the two of them promptly hang up to stare at one another.
“Oh shit,” Tseng says.
“If anybody asks, they were ambushed, and we couldn’t save them.”