marchingjaybird (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} marchingjaybird) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} porn_battle, |
It was just one of his dirty little secrets. He had his fair share, and so did everyone else at Shinra. Sometimes he thought the entire corporation had been built on secrets, though he wasn't one to judge them. You did what you had to do to get ahead in the world, and then once you found that foothold, you planted yourself firmly and didn't budge. There were consequences to that sort of thing, though, itches that had to be scratched.
Sephiroth loomed over him, corded muscle under white skin, and wrapped viciously strong fingers around Tseng's wrists. There was no point in resisting; he would only hurt himself, and while it might have been part of the game to struggle a bit, there was a difference between playing along and risking injury. Slim hips insinuated themselves between his legs and he strangled a cry. So soon? But maybe he shouldn't have been surprised. There was an edge to Sephiroth tonight, a light in his eyes that Tseng didn't entirely trust.
He purred something and it was lost in a cascade of silvery hair. It flowed across Tseng's face, down his chest, over his belly, dripping and pooling like water in the subtle dip of his hipbones. Sephiroth's mouth found his skin, shockingly warm, and Tseng twisted his spine like a cat, rubbing himself against that deceptively lovely face. There was something delicious about being able to let himself go like this, to feed off the other man's energy until they'd both built themselves up into a frenzy.
Sharp nails clawed his sides and Sephiroth delivered a brusing bite to Tseng's abdomen. He cried out softly and was shushed by long fingers. Sephiroth's eyes seemed to glitter as he stared up, face haloed and lit by the glow of streetlights catching in his pale hair. "I want something better," he said.
"What's better?" Tseng asked.
"I'll show you," Sephiroth answered. Tseng's silence was agreement, and he stretched himself out, limbs flexing against the cheap weave of the rug in his office.
Sephiroth stood, unfolding like a spider as he rose up to his full height. His hair spilled down around his shoulders, covered his arms, and Tseng didn't see it when he moved. Maybe it was the darkness or maybe it was because it was Sephiroth, but one second he had been standing there looking like a debauched angel, and the next he was holding his sword and the tip tickled Tseng's adam's apple and he froze.
"You don't look like you're having fun," Sephiroth said. His voice was light and teasing, and the sword didn't waver a hair. Tseng swallowed. "Do you think I would kill you?"
"I don't know," Tseng answered.
"Maybe I would," Sephiroth said. He dragged the sword down Tseng's chest, opening a thin gash all the way down, from the hollow of his throat to the top of his navel. Blood welled up sluggishly and Tseng lifted his fingers, dragging them across the cut and smearing bright red down his ribcage.
"Maybe I should go," Tseng suggested. But Sephiroth was kneeling again, hooking Tseng's knees over his arms and lifting them up. He was already stretched, the product of an agonizing hour's worth of teasing in his desk chair. He groaned as Sephiroth slipped inside him, prick pressing deep as he squirmed against the uncomfortable ground. Warm lips found the spot behind his ear and he gasped, tangling his fingers in silken hair. Sephiroth began to move, slow and steady, hands stroking up and down, scratching at his thighs and digging into his hips as they both searched for that perfect angle.
"I wouldn't have hurt you," Sephiroth murmured, breathless. Tseng arched up and was vividly aware that both their chests were slick with his blood. Sephiroth shifted his hips and pleasure flared deep in Tseng's belly. His legs wrapped tight around Sephiroth's waist and he pulled him in deeper, his lips caressing the smooth lines of his broad shoulders.
"I know," he breathed. "It's fine."