Final Fantasy VII: Tseng/Rufus; Sins of the father. porn_battle, otherwise known as the best way to avoid doing all your other challenges...
His resolve broke the night he made the call, get onto the next flight into Midgar, your father is dead, sir, the sir hard to say now that everything had changed. Tseng shut his PHS, looked out of the windows of his office and waited for an indication and an arrival. Upstairs, blood was going cold. The President had died, now long live the President.
Rufus' helicopter descended on the roof, the jerking of rotor blades creating a cacophony of noise. Fanfare, Tseng was sure the new President would call it. He was there, ready, when the man stepped out. His suit was black to the greatcoat's white when he took up his position next to and a point behind Rufus Shinra.
Rufus walked to the edge of the building and looked down at the expanse of the city, his city, his denied birthright now reclaimed. Tseng let him gloat.
'I'm going to rule,' Rufus said, turning away and back to face him, 'with fear, Tseng.'
Tseng wanted to laugh, but did not.
Afterwards, after AVALANCHE, Rufus ordered Dark Nation out of his rooms and invited Tseng to have a drink. It was the first time they'd been in private together for - for how long? Tseng didn't bother to recall, didn't bother with the finger of brandy that Rufus poured for him, either; he slapped the glass out of pale hands and ignored Rufus' laughter. He pushed the President (your President, Rufus reminded him) up against the nearest wall, and said, 'You're everything your father bred you to be.'
Even cornered, Rufus had the gall to say, 'I'm more than anything my father could've expected.' He kissed Tseng; tongue, but mostly teeth. He raised his hands to touch - Tseng knocked them away. The Turk pushed Rufus' greatcoat off, unbuttoned one vest, pushed up one shirt. Rufus knew better than to try and push back.
'You've come into your inheritance,' Tseng said, simply. Inheritance meant more than just money or the company. He pulled the tangle of Rufus' shirts up and out of the way, kicking the younger man's feet apart and then spinning him so that Rufus faced the wall.
'Careful,' Rufus said, softly, when he felt the blunt, cold edge of Tseng's firearm press against the small of his naked back. He wet his lips, his mouth abruptly dry with something that was either triumph or fear or both.
Tseng did not reply. He reached around to work at the front of Rufus' pants, unhooking and unzipping and pushing them down. Rufus' cock was hard in his hand when Tseng touched him; Rufus groaned when Tseng let his fingernails graze and scratch. 'Are you going to fuck me up?' he asked Tseng, he who had once ordered Tseng to kill his own Director.
Tseng's answer was to drag the tip of his gun up Rufus' spine. Rufus shivered as the metal muzzle touched his throat, pressed against his jaw, nudged his lips apart. He opened his mouth, and sucked. Tseng made a noise low in the back of his throat, and jerked Rufus off hard and quick and watched with dark eyes when the President came over his hand and the wall.
He didn't give Rufus time to recover as he slid a dirty palm down a bare thigh, and gave no warning when he started to screw sticky fingers upwards and inwards. Rufus groaned, a panicked noise. Whatever he had to say was muffled by the gun pressed roughly against the inside of his cheek.
'I don't care for how fucked up you want to get,' Tseng said, just as softly as Rufus had earlier. 'I only want you to remember the sins of your father. Turks don't forget,' he said, pulling his hand away and loosening his own pants, 'and stay loyal only to those who remember.'
Tseng fucked Rufus Shinra up against the wall of the President's new office, his gun slick with saliva and pressed into the fleshy area under Rufus' jaw as the blond moaned – pretty, whorish sounds that weren't out of pleasure – and fought and bucked until he felt wetness trickle down the sides of his legs.
When Tseng pulled away, Rufus bent his head and laughed, his voice raw and dry and gone desperate for air.