When Thigns Go Wrong, Smile (FFVII yaoi, Tseng/Reno, Dark #8 Shut your eyes) Title: When Things Go Wrong, Smile Fandom: FFVII Pairing: Tseng/Reno Theme set and #: Dark Theme, #8 Shut Your Eyes. Disclaimer: Don’t own. Rating: R Summary: *points to the title* Warning: This has Turks being Turks and human remains. Word count: 1577
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“That motherfucker!” I scream as I barge through the door, pissed (yeah, like you couldn’t figure that one). How that idiot manages to annoy the shit out of me, I just don’t fucking understand.
I mean, okay, he’s the boss and all that crap, but would his holy crown fucking fall off to admit he was… fucking… wrong?!
“Reno,” I hear a rather controlled voice from behind me say, but I don’t turn around ‘cause I have more important things to do (like remembering the combination of my locker).
The fuck am I supposed to say? I followed his orders and still royally fucked up. If I’d done it my way, perhaps it would’ve worked. But then I’d be hearing shit about protocol and procedure and the chain of command, the bigger picture, whatever the hell that was. Like this, I at least saved my ass on that front.
Still fucked it up, yo.
And the god damned motherfucking lock just doesn’t want to open! I kick it with all my might and leave a nice dent in the door.
Now my knuckles hurt. Great. But at least the lock’s not stuck anymore.
I hear him chuckle from behind.
“Came to glee?” I ask darkly, massaging the sore hand with my other. Fuck, if I managed to break something, I’ll call the day complete.
I turn around to see him at the door, arms crossed, leaned on one shoulder, a fucking annoying smile on his lips. Oh, and his head is shaking.
“Had I known you would be affected by it this much…” he leaves the words handing in the air between us and, wanna know the truth? I’ve no idea what they’d suppose to mean!
Fucking enigmas and him.
“My shift’s over. You got nothin’ on my ass now,” I say and nod my chin at him, fighting a growl. Fucker thinks he’s the king of the world.
He just pushes himself off the frame, straightens his perfectly ironed ShinRa issue suit, then proceeds to walk towards me, those perfectly clean ShinRa issue boots ringing on the concrete floor in a controlled rhythm.
I turn around instead, so not in the mood for his fucking mind games. Still hear the fucker chuckle.
“Shut your eyes, Reno,” he says, tone that typical stoic yet amused with just enough sarcasm to freeze you on the spot.
“Aw, Tseng, not one of those fucking…” I stop mid eyeroll and turn as I spot the look on his face.
That man can creep the shit out of anyone. Well, except me, ‘cause I happen to be special, yo!
“Shut your eyes,” he says again, corners of his lips almost unnoticeably curled, but the shine in his eyes… oh, the fucking shine!
“Tseng,” I start, eyebrows up, lids down, jaw pursed. I’m so not in the mood.
“Shut. Your. Eyes.” He fucking rolls each word like they’re bubblegums or some shit like that. I’m no poet, okay?
“Fine.” I roll my yes theatrically and follow his order.
I can feel him approach, his body heat, his smell, the ruffling of the suit as he nears some more and then some more. And just as I was about to comment or snort, I feel his fingers creep up my neck and back of my head (right under the ponytail), then grab a handful of my hair and pull.
Now, the logical reaction (at least to me) would be to introduce his balls with my knee, but there’s something in the way he does it; rough but just before the threshold of pain.
He’s a fucking robot, that’s what he is.
I manage an exhale and feel the hot air reflect on his face and turn back to me – he’s that fucking close!
“Tseng,” I say, all serious now as I open my eyes. “Not here.”
Well, bloody hell, ain’t that a smile on his lips? Bastard! He licks the corner of his mouth and his eyes land on my lips. Did I say he was a bastard?
“The way you stormed out of my office?” he starts and his lips curl some more. “With me following you?” The grip on my hair grows stronger and I shoot him a not so warm smile. “They’re expecting sparks by now!” He nods towards my baby on the bench, but I’ll be damned if those are the sparks he’s thinking about.
“Bastard!”
“I suggest you take your clothes off.” He finally lets go of my hair only to step back and cross his arms over his chest. “Don’t want to soak the car seat.” Bastard adds an eyebrow raise to the mix.
“Well, enjoy the view,” I add sarcastically as he obviously shows no attempt at diverting his gaze. I bare my teeth at him, but my hands are on my shirt already. Fucker just knows me too well.
“Oh, I plan to,” he just says and remains still.
I unbutton my shirt and pull both it and the jacket off my shoulders, then crumple it in my hands and throw at him.
Without bothering much, he steps aside and lets the mess I call uniform fall to the floor, then he smiles, nodding at my pants.
Now, mind you, I don’t give a shit about nudity. Turks locker room isn’t exactly the place for privacy, but the bastard knows I’m already hard as a rock and I hate giving him the privilege of actually seeing it. I should be pissed at him. And stuff.
Were he not so god damned gorgeous would help, you know?
Oh well… I pull my boots down using only my legs, then let the pants fall freely to the floor (which wouldn’t be that easy were I not a skinny little shit I am, no matter the piles of crap I devour daily).
And then there’s that grin. That fucking grin could get anything from me, but I ain’t tellin’ ‘cause I’m supposed to be pissed at him.
Fucking bastard!
I throw the pants at him too, then start digging through my locker for the spare suit. Going home soaked in drying blood is not my kind of thing, even though I wouldn’t mind granting a few people with that view.
“When will you stop pouting?” I hear him say as his arms encircle my waist and the voice is surprisingly soft. Fuck, why was I angry at him again?
“Never,” I answer and try to suppress a chuckle as it finally sinks in – man, I can be childish sometimes!
Well, he chuckles instead, though, and the arms around me tighten. “Your behaviour is as logical as that of a pregnant woman,” he starts, tone of voice definitely amused. “Should I start planning home renovations, Reno?” I hear another chuckle and I growl, furious again, then quickly turn around to face him.
And the bastard’s smiling, all eyes and innocence, looking as sweetly as only he could. How the hell am I supposed to be angry at that?
No, seriously! I swear, he was an actor in his past life, or a conman, or something that made him capable of controlling his facial expressions and body language to the fullest. And you haven’t seen everything until you’ve seen him blink and smile innocently at you while his face is still splashed with blood of the guy he just offed two seconds ago.
I growl at him again, bare my teeth and all that shit. For a second I actually think about giving him the privilege of getting a taste of my knee, if you follow. But then the bastard smashes his lips into mine and all I manage is a moan as I start fighting for air.
And for another reason to smack him. Too bad my brain’s fried as it is.
Then he pulls away and grins at me. “Son of a bitch.”
“Come on,” he says, winks and smacks my ass. “I’ll be waiting in the car.” He shoots me his last smile and leaves to the door.
I don’t grant him with a greeting or anything, actually. I’m above that, yo! But I do hurry getting dressed ‘cause I’m not in the mood of explaining the next moron that walks through that door why I’m sitting in the Turk locker room alone with a hard on of my life.
Good thing I did so, though. The moment I pull the jacket on and push the now useless locker door shut, the door opens again and my partner walks in, forehead covered with sweat. There’s a splash of blood on his shirt too, but it wasn’t him who got the front row view of once in a lifetime experience of seeing man’s head introduced with a hydraulic press and no, you don’t wanna know the details.
I grab the sticky mess that leaves a red trail on the floor and shove it into a bag.
“You okay, partner?” he asks and I shoot him a ‘don’t go there’ look as I grab my baby and the bag that’s already showing a red stain from the blood soaked clothes within.
Oh, just fucking great! Now I’m supposed to wash the bag too?!
“He didn’t give you too much shit ‘cause…?” he starts, but my eyeroll stops him mid sentence.
I push the now ruined bag into his hands. “Just burn it!” I say and drag myself out the door. Tseng better be cooking and doing the dishes tonight!