Dressed to Chill

by EntreNous

The boys are all dressed up with nowhere to go. Tseng has other plans though, and takes Reno on a special little trip of his own.

1. Chapter 1

"Tuxedoes... This is ridiculous."

"It's not ridiculous, Reno. Quit complaining."

"Why can't we just wear our regular uniforms?"

"Because it is a black tie affair, and we need to blend," explained Tseng with careful enunciation. You can always tell he's losing his patience when he starts enunciating. Not that this was his first time explaining all this to me, I just loved to get him hot under the collar. Hey, if sheets weren't available, this would have to do.

"I'll blend, all right. It's an open bar, ain't it?"

Tseng's eyes narrowed until they were practically non-existent in his face. It's a wonder he could still see to drive. I laughed out loud at him before I could stop myself, and he rolled his eyes and sighed like only a weary mother can.

"Thing is," I said philosophically, "I've made it my entire life this far without having to squeeze into a penguin suit, and Shinra's stupid niece's stupid wedding is breaking my streak. I can't believe I have to dress up for someone I don't even know. Damn. It's not like we're in the fucking thing."

"You're working it. And you'll be getting overtime. Besides, our boss is blowing enough cash on this shindig to buy a small nation, so we'd better look nice."

"Hmph," I grunted. "Five million... five million fucking gil..." I boggled. "FIVE," I repeated, this time emphasizing my point by splaying my palm. "Imagine having that kinda dough to blow on a party, for cryin' out loud. And why's The Old Man paying for it anyway? She's not his daughter."

"Because President Shinra never resists the opportunity to make his big brother look like a worthless idiot."

I snorted. "Worthless," I said. "The dude owns his own fast-food chain."

"Yes, well, it's not his own power company, now is it?"

I shrugged, noncommittally. "Guess not." Personally, I couldn't see the difference. If person "A" has as much money as God, and person "B" has more money than God, it doesn't make a damn bit of difference, because I got no freaking idea how much God is worth anyway. I understand if I had a gil for every second I've been alive, a billion would leave me somewhere in my fifties...not to mention one rich motherfucker. About right there is when I hit the ceiling of my understanding.

Still... Imagine being in that family. Mama Shinra must be proud. And loaded as hell. "And Shinra's brother doesn't have a problem with the Old Man making him look like a complete tool?"

Tseng flashed me a quick knowing look. "Five million gil wedding? Let's see... the man's daughter gets to have the royal wedding of her dreams and he doesn't have to pay a single cent. He is not an idiot."

"Think the Old Man gives his brother a break on the power bill for his burger joints?"

"I doubt it. I wouldn't be surprised if he found a way to charge him more, actually."

"Damn, talk about sibling rivalry," I said. "Those two make Cain and Able look like the Gemini Twins."

"You're mixing your mythologies..." Tseng remarked. Oh, just leave it to him to shoot down the one decently educated comment I make all week. Smarty. Like keeping up with his brain is easy. I've even had to, gasp, read some since I started trying to make conversation with this guy. Not sure that it's made me much smarter, but at least I'm better informed.

"So, what's the catch?" I asked, getting back on topic.

Tseng frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Shinra. What's he get out of throwing five gigs at his niece's wedding?"

"He gets to give the bride away," he said.

"Ouch!" I flinched. "Damn... Not even letting her dad give her away on her own wedding day? Kinda harsh, ain't it?"

Tseng gave an indifferent shrug. "There's always a catch, isn't there? I've heard that the niece and her father never got along all that well to begin with. Besides, I think the Old Man wants to throw a wedding while he still can, but, well...there's a not a lot of prospects for Rufus right now."

I barked a derisive laugh. "Not until they allow same-sex marriages," I said meaningfully.

"Hey, watch it," warned Tseng, but not before I saw a playful flash of humor in his eyes. "I meant that he's still too young."

"Oh, right," I scoffed. "C'mon, that's like the worst kept secret in town... They didn't call Rufus Shinra 'Head Master' at his prep school because he was in charge of the place. I'm betting not a lot has changed now he's in college. And anyway..." I said, feeling my grin turn slightly feral, "not like I have any room to criticize..." I let my words trail away on that thought for a moment. Not that I even entertain the idea of marriage, be it gay, straight, interracial, interspecies, or inter-anything. Hell, the idea makes me laugh, and I'm the incurable romantic in this establishment. Still, it's hella-fun to tease. "So, Tseng... If they did allow same-sex marriages—"

"Don't even go there, Reno," he said flatly. "I didn't like marriage the first time."

"Yeah, but you weren't with me," I feigned a sniff. "C'mon, sweetheart. You wouldn't give me an 'I do?' Not even if I gave you a ring?"

Tseng ignored me for the moment as he expertly maneuvered his car into a parking space in the sexiest display of parallel parking I'd ever seen. Christ, even his driving gets me hot. He pulled his keys out of the ignition and then leaned over the console between us, his face mere millimeters from mine. I flashed a cheeky grin right back at him.

"'I do' think you should shut your mouth," he growled, his breath ruffling my hair, "and 'I do' think you should not ever call me that again, or I shall 'ring' your neck."

He was smirking. He never fully means it when he's smirking. What I wouldn't do to be able to kiss that smirk right off his mouth right now—not even a breath away from me, he was so close it was killing me—but we were in public. In front of a clothing store, no less. Ugh... I glanced over at the storefront and my grin melted. "Why didn't Rude hafta come?" I sulked.

"He already got his," Tseng answered, unlatching his seat belt.

I stayed put in my seat like my ass was glued to it. "I don't suppose you went with him," I sassed.

"I didn't have to," he said opening his door and getting out. "He does what I tell him to the first time I ask him." He punctuated the end of his statement by pushing his door shut a little harder than strictly necessary. I still wasn't moving.

"Brownnoser," I muttered to the empty car as I crossed my arms and scowled. A few seconds later, my door opened for me.

"Out," Tseng ordered.

"It's a waste of money, you know," I argued, still seated. "I could just rent one."

"You're not paying for it. What do you care?"

Moving very slow and deliberate and generally making a huge production of not wanting to be there, I unbuckled my seat belt and let it retract away from me. "When am I ever going to wear a tuxedo again?"

Like an asp, Tseng struck out at me, grabbed me by my lapel of my uniform blazer and yanked me out of the car to my feet to stand in front of him. Fuck, but he is strong for a goddamn string bean. He grabbed two handfuls of my shirt and stuck his face in mine again. "You will wear it when I tell you to, where I tell you to, and how I tell you to," he growled. "And you will take it off when I tell you as well—"

"Hopefully sooner than later," I purred. He glared at me and gave me a tight smile. One that looked more threatening than it actually was. I was getting pretty good at reading Tseng these days, and this was a whole new look I'd been getting from him lately. It was a significant improvement from the old one, the one that could deep freeze a mammoth in its tracks. Lot better, too. Far as I could tell, this new one was somewhere between exasperated and horny. I liked this look. It, at least, let me know I was doing something halfway right for once.

He ignored my comment, but his eyes gleamed with amusement. "Stuff a sock in it," he commanded, "and get in there." He let go of my shirt and gave me a light shove in the direction of the shop.

"Socks?" I frowned and stopped in my tracks. "Nobody said anything about wearing socks."

"Reno!"

"I'm goin', I'm goin'!"

Well, you know. With Tseng, it's best not to overdo it...

"Ah! Signore Tsennng-ah! Ow aaahre you? So good to seeee you again!"

A silver-haired, wiry, not particularly ugly, but not particularly attractive man galloped up to Tseng as soon as we walked in.

I stepped to the side to avoid being greeted to death and gave Tseng a special look of my own: Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.

Tseng ignored me. "Buongiorno, Giovanni," he said, keeping his voice deep, low and serious. Oh what a character he was. To keep myself from cracking up, I broke off from him and circled a bit around the boutique. Er, manly...guy...suit...shop. Christ, who cared? I could still hardly believe I was here. It was, unsurprisingly, the most boring place I'd been all year. And I regularly attend staff meetings at work. It was a shop. And it had a bunch of suits. Imagine that. I headed for the clearance rack. Might as well get this over with.

"I'll'a get your suit, Signore Tseng. It's all ready for you right here in d'back."

"Hold on that for a moment, Giovanni," Tseng said. And then he quickly closed the gap between the two of them to speak privately. Even though there was no one else in the store. I snickered and randomly flipped through the clothing rack. Tseng can't have a conversation with anyone that doesn't look like a conspiracy operation. He barely ever speaks above a deep-toned whisper. Well, in public, anyway. The guy can yell like a banshee when we're alone, though. I'd call him a huge fake, but a guy can hardly be held responsible for anything he does when in the throes of passion. I'll just leave it at mostly he really is that quiet.

Ohhh, boy. I did not need to go there right now. It was only Wednesday and Friday—our "late night meeting" night—was far, far away, it seemed. And you can only jerk off so much in a day, man. I have to work sometime. I flipped through the clothes faster.

I paused when I picked out the words, "My associate" and "fitting" and "tuxedo" and "The Wedding (™)" over the classical Muzak playing overhead. Obviously, Tseng didn't trust me to be able to dress myself. Hmph. So much for individual taste.

I came to the most hideous thing on the rack: a powder-blue tux with a white ruffled shirt and maroon piping. It had "Lounge Singer" written all over it. Or "Band Director." Or "Pathetic Loser That Couldn't Get A Date To The Prom And Didn't Know Why." Hey, wait, that was me. Except I'd worn torn-up jeans and a t-shirt. And I'd had a two-foot Mohawk at the time. And I'd never gone to that high school. And I was 22, but still. Not even the ugly chicks would dance with me. Way to have killed a guy's ego, you know?

I picked up the suit and held it up to myself. "Hey, Tseng, how's this look?" I asked, feigning complete seriousness.

Both he and Giovanni broke their conversation for a moment to turn to me and give me looks of abject disgust. They turned back to one another immediately. "As I was saying..." I heard Tseng clearly emphasize. And then he said a bunch of crap I didn't understand: "Jean Yves, wool, single-breasted, two-button notch, full back silk vest in black, no cummerbund. And standard black silk bowtie..."

Oh boy. The dreaded "Tie" word. I understood that, loud and clear. I sighed like I was headed to my own execution. This zoo of a wedding was already shaping up to be a great night.

"No clip on's," said Tseng. "Tasteless."

"Well," said Giovanni, gesturing appropriately for his stereotype toward me, "look what I have to worrrk weeth."

"Oh, ha ha," I lamely butted in. "Tseng paid you to say that, didn't he?"

"Not yet," the tailor answered. He leaned over to Tseng. "I assume Shin-Ra is picking up the tab, no?"

Tseng nodded.

"Please," I scoffed. "Even I have better taste than this." I hung the horrendous thing back on the rack as quick as possible, as if it could infect me with its horribleness. "You actually sell those things?" I asked the tailor, making my way over to them.

"Ah, no," he said, matter-of-factly, "that is why eet's on the clearance rack." And then I thought I heard him turn into Tseng and mutter something like, "Idiota..." Tseng, I noticed, did not defend me in the least. Instead he cleared his throat behind his fist trying to suppress what better not have been a laugh.

"Fine," I announced loudly, stopping in the middle of the shop. "Lay it on me. Dress me up like a goddamn Ken doll, I don't care. Just get me the hell out of here as soon as possible."

Giovanni turned his indifferent gaze slowly up at Tseng, waiting for his permission, and Tseng gave him a nod that was equally indifferent.

"Verrry well," said the tailor, picking a suit off a rack nearby, "we'll start weeth thees..."

I had no idea tuxedos could be so bloody heavy. Giovanni loaded me down with only three of 'em, plus all their damn little accessories, and it felt like I was carrying around a fifty-pound sack of rice.

Tseng supervised all this extreme excitement, nodding his approval or shaking his head on cue when Giovanni would ask him "yes?" or "no?" to this or that. Damn. I had no idea Tseng had this much clue about fashion. I mean, yeah, the guy wears three-thousand gil suits, and I don't even think he owns a pair of jeans—hell, his Turk uniform is dressing down—but this was nuts. The man was a regular Fashionista. He played it straight, of course. But if I'd known this about him when I first met him, I wouldn't have worried so much about which side of the fence he played on.

To make things worse, Giovanni claimed he was having a hard time finding anything in my size. "You skin and bones, 'camello.' You should try to bulk up. Eat pasta. Latz a' pasta."

I wasn't sure what he'd called me, but I was pretty sure it wasn't nice. I rolled my eyes over at Tseng who still continued to look quite amused. "I can't help it," I droned to the tailor. "I'm small-boned." That, at least, got a full smile from Tseng, who's never once complained about my "skin and bones" at all.

Giovanni puttered around his shop a while longer continuing to find more things for me that he supposedly didn't have in my size. Finally he steered me to the back of the store into one of the dressing rooms stalls. And thank god, because my arms were beginning to feel like noodles from carrying around all this crap. Apparently he had found my awkwardness rather amusing since I heard him tell Tseng outside the dressing room, "I hung'a your suit for you in d'back, Signore Tseng. You try eet on when you like." Yeah, and thank you for your personal fucking assistance, Signore Asshole.

I groused and grumbled and kicked off my shoes inside the dressing stall.

"How are we doing?" Tseng purred, staring over the top of the door at me. He was taller than the top of it—in fact, I was taller than the door and I wondered what the point of having it was.

I looked over at him and scowled darkly. "Great," I snapped, "if you don't mind being humiliated. I think your tailor's a little loose in the raviolis."

Tseng quietly chuckled and leaned on the outside of the door, giving himself a very convenient view. I'd undressed a thousand times in front of Tseng—hell, usually he has a hard time keeping clothes on me—but I'd never felt this much on display. "Enjoying the show, there, dad?"

His eyebrows arched imperiously. "Excuse me?"

"I feel like a kid whose father is taking him to buy his first suit."

"Yes, you've grown up fast, Reno. I'm so proud," he said without skipping a beat. "You've become a real boy."

"Shut up."

I finished stripping down to my underwear. "Try that one," Tseng nodded toward one of the suits hanging on one of the racks in the small room with me.

"Hold your goddamn chocobos, I'm getting there. You can't rush perfection, you know." I ignored Tseng's snort and unwrapped the first tuxedo shirt I'd been given. I threw it around me and buttoned it up to my collarbones and no higher. No fucking way I was buttoning it all the way up. At least not until someone made me.

I stepped into the pants—they were a little long, but that's what the tailor was for...even I knew that—then I threw on the vest next. I stared at myself in the mirror—a three-foot by four-foot stall with mirrors on all sides, how could I not? Already, though, I was surprised how it looked on me. Suddenly I didn't look like a sloppy little slum rat. I looked like a slum wearing a nice suit. Amazing what clothes can do for a man.

Tseng had fallen quiet. I looked over at him as I picked up the black blazer that would complete the whole thing. "Well?"

He studied me thoughtfully, like I was some kind of puzzle he'd been assigned to figure out. "You forgot something," he finally said, and then tossed a roll of black dress socks over the door and beaned them off my head. They bounced to the floor and into the corner of the stall where I didn't move to touch them.

"Jackass," I muttered. "They can wait. I don't need 'em yet." I swung the blazer on and found it actually fit me quite nicely. I also found I didn't look half bad. "Whaddya think?" I asked.

Tseng was still considering this. "I don't like it," he decided, authoritatively. "Try that one."

I threw up my hands and sighed. "How can you even freaking tell? They all look the same to me."

"They're not," he simply said. Well, shit, that just explained everything, didn't it? Actually, I was glad he didn't elaborate, as I'm sure he could have. I was already dying of boredom, no need to speed it up and pull the plug.

Ten minutes later, I was all dressed up again in a new suit.

"Are you do-eeng okay back there, Signore Reno?" Giovanni called from the front.

"Yeah, great," I called, and then muttered under my breath, "just freaking peachy." I looked over to Tseng. "How this one, dad?"

"Better," he mused. "Come out of there and let me see."

"Oh, boy," I mumbled, "here comes the gay parade."

"Quiet," he warned. He led me out into the small walkway between dressing stalls to the three-way mirror at the end. I stood there and tolerated him as he preened and groomed me, first dusting off my shoulders, then my sleeves, and lapels. For no particular reason I could tell, he then tugged on the end of my ponytail. I gave him a mildly annoyed look.

"Where's the tie?" he asked, once he had my attention.

Sighing, I motioned back in the dressing stall, and he stepped away for a moment and brought it back with him. I rolled my eyes in protest, but he ignored it.

Standing right behind me, he draped the silk tie over my shoulders, then leaned over me and buttoned up my collar for me all the way. He was close enough I could feel his heat through his clothes. The front of his thigh accidentally grazed the back of mine. His fingers absently brushed over my neck. I felt my stomach tighten...just a little. He crossed the tie in front of me and then turned me slowly around to face him. Concentrating fully on his task, his long fingers worked the silk through a complicated bow. I watched his face, so calm and solemn, and if I weren't so goddamn horny for him, I would've laughed at how serious he was taking all this.

Tseng finished tying the bow, and his fingers lighted, for just a moment, on my chest. He continued to scrutinize me up and down, paying close attention to aesthetics, I suppose. I didn't bother telling him you couldn't look for something that wasn't there to being with. I'm not sure he would've heard me, anyway.

Slowly, he reached up and brushed a strand of hair that had fallen in my eyes. I saw him moisten his lips, I watched his throat as he swallowed hard. His eyes gleamed like black mercury. I felt humbled under that gaze. Nobody's ever looked at me like that—nobody. I've caught myself wondering at one time or another if I even deserve it. And if I do, why hadn't it happened before? Common Sense tells me I shouldn't give a flying fuck. Tseng noticed and that's all that should matter. But exactly what did he notice? Was it the red hair? The green eyes? My "great" personality? Or did Tseng just have lousy taste? Not bloody likely... The man was dishing out four thousand gil out of his own pocket today for a suit he was probably gonna wear once. If there's one thing Tseng has, it's taste. So, then...what? What does he see in me?

He looked into my eyes and I saw the heat behind that gaze, and Common Sense took over on autopilot.

I'm pretty sure Tseng actually forgot where he was for a moment. Those moistened lips parted, and I could just feel his breath on my face. And it's a damn good thing one of us was breathing because I know I wasn't. I was holding mine, wondering would he really do it? Sure, he'd gone into the fitting area with me, but there's not a lot of suspicion about that, just two guys in a locker room, more or less. But this was different. Would he really kiss me? Here? In public? There was only a thin veil of reality keeping us separated as it was, and I can't say that I would've stopped him. In fact, I know I wouldn't have.

He stared hazily at my mouth, and I slowly licked the back of my teeth in anticipation as I imagined him moving closer to kiss me. Of course, the bastard didn't. He stood rooted to one spot. Little too grounded in reality, in my opinion. But I tried every telepathic signal I could think of to get him to.

He took a breath. "Try—" Tseng broke off abruptly, his voice dry and throaty, calmly cleared it and tried again. "Try on the last one," he breathed, attempting to gain some kind of control over himself. "Just to see."

I grinned, wide as my face would let me, and gave him a cavalier wink. "You got it... Boss."

Turning back into the dressing stall, I realized I'd been going about this all wrong. All along, I'd been dreading this stupid trip when I should've been milking it! That's when I decided to start having a little fun.

I peeled off the blazer, exaggerating my movements by arching my back a little more than I probably needed to. Tseng didn't follow me this time, so I shed the coat with one arm and pulled the tie loose with the other before I even reached the booth. I couldn't be sure he was watching me, but I casually looked over my shoulder just briefly before stepping in, and saw him standing fixed to his spot in front of the mirror, one arm folded over his chest supporting the other as he slowly stroked his bottom lip. He seemed to smolder. And he was definitely watching me.

"Be right back," I sang, waggling my eyebrows just a little bit.

Of course, once I got back inside the dressing room, my perspective changed some. It was gonna take me ten minutes to change the suit and all its ridiculous little pieces...

The last suit fit me better than the rest; very little alteration would need to be done. Not sure it looked any better or worse than the rest, but, as any of my old girlfriends would say, my idea of fashion is putting on whatever smells the least that day. Hey, I might prefer guys now—or one in particular, at least—but I'm still a guy, too. Some habits won't ever break.

Sure enough, though, I got hung up on some of those details. The damn tie, for instance. No way I was ever gonna be able to replicate the knot Tseng made, and I wondered why the fuck I'd even undone it in the first place. Not like this shirt was much different from the others. And don't get me started on the suspenders, for cryin' in a beer...

"Everything all right?" Tseng asked after I'm sure he heard me muttering curses to myself.

"Well, these goddamn suspenders aren't tight enough," I griped and fiddled with the straps. "What the hell do I need these for anyway? The suit fits just fine without 'em."

"So leave them off," he replied. "Let's see how it looks."

"All right, all right... And what the hell's wrong with these sleeves?" I said noticing the shirt cuffs as I unlocked the door. "There's no buttons." I walked out, tugging at the sleeves under the jacket. By now I was too agitated to remember that I'd been trying to seduce Tseng into a kiss, so my Charm-O-Meter had plummeted back to zero.

"Cuff links, Reno, for the gods' sake. It's amazing you function on your own every mor—"

I stopped and looked up at the sudden break in his words. Especially in the middle of an insult. Tseng almost never misses an opportunity to point out one fault of mine or another.

He was staring at me. Glaring, even. I wouldn't go so far as to say leering—sometimes it's still hard to read Tseng, though. His leer, glare, ponder, and frown look awfully similar. One way or another, though, he looked like a hungry tiger ready to pounce. The tips of my ears burned.

"Stop it," I snapped.

"Stop what?"

"Stop looking at me like that."

He drew back slightly and arched a haughty eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Like..." I paused a second and then closed my mouth again without an answer. He had me there, and I had no idea what to tell him. I didn't know. Like I'm worth a damn? Like I'm remotely desirable? Like he's looking through me, not just at me? Like... like nobody else ever has?

"Like what, Reno?" he repeated, his voice a rich, sultry baritone. He started to approach me; I felt like an insect under glass.

"Like I'm a piece of steak and you haven't eaten anything in days," I smirked. Hey, I could still act the part even if I wasn't convinced.

"I'm vegetarian," he came back.

"Don't avoid the topic."

"You can't take a compliment?"

"No."

"Then what if I just did this?"

"I..." I started. And then I never finished. Quicker than I could blink, he was there, his mouth locked on mine, tongue immediately thrust inside my mouth. I was reeling. It even took me a moment to register what was happening before I closed my eyes and gave in to it.

Right away, he pushed me back into the dressing stall never breaking contact. I was so caught in the feel of his lips, his face close to mine, his scent, every goddamn thing, he could've been pushing me off a cliff, and I would've gone right over without a notice.

He pulled the door closed, interrupting just for a moment to lock it behind us. Then he shoved me bodily against the far wall mirror and crashed into me, locking me in a kiss so hard, I felt it in my spine. There was hardly a part of him that didn't cover me. And all I could do was grab him, cling to him, and hope he wasn't going to come to his senses and suddenly stop what he was doing.

Tseng pushed me to the balls of my feet and held me there, pressed up against the mirror. He tore his mouth from mine and I groaned loudly to complain—"No," I gasped, tightening my grip on him; I was pretty sure I would actually die if he stopped now.

But he didn't. He bit my throat and nuzzled my neck, then moved his lips to graze against my earlobe before drawing it between his lips and sucking on it, tonguing my earring. "I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, his breath hot on my skin. I sighed a small sigh of relief that lingered and became a drawn out moan that somehow transformed into a high-pitched whimper. Ah, the things he was doing, just to my ear!

"Signore, are you all right?" came the tailor's voice at the opening to the back fitting area.

"Ungh... uh, yeah!" I called out, a little too enthusiastically.

"Smooth, Reno," Tseng quietly chuckled into my ear. He pressed his hand down my stomach toward my crotch, and every muscle in my body tensed.

"Have'a you found a suit you like?" Giovanni asked again.

I panted as Tseng's hand lightly brushed over the growing bulge at the front of my pants, as I was trying to parse what Giovanni was asking me. Oh, he was cruel! But I wasn't about to stop him, either. "Um, sure! Yeah... I just... I just have to finish, um...this...here..." I ran out of words and the motor skill required to form them and collapsed against Tseng.

"Okay, you let me know if I can 'a get you anything else. How about you, Signore Tseng? Did you try d' suit yet?"

"Not yet, Giovanni," Tseng said, completely cool and even, the bastard. "I'm giving my associate a hand first." Emphasizing this, he curled his fingers around my erection through the fabric of my pants and squeezed. I was trying my best not to pass out.

"Ah. All right," Giovanni said, seemingly satisfied. "You gentlemen 'a take your time."

"I intend to," Tseng intoned and grinned at me, steadily holding my gaze. I had just enough time to gulp a lungful of air before I grabbed his head and kissed him again.

His hands worked quickly; he unzipped my fly and reached in past the suit material, and stroked my shaft over a thin layer of raw silk—Tseng mentioned once to me he found silk boxers sexy, so I made sure I wore them all the time now in case, well...in case of times like this. When apparently I was just too irresistible for him to take it.

It hazily occurred to me then that tuxedos work a lot like lingerie on a woman: it exists solely to rip it off. In that case, I swore right there I was gonna wear this tux every single day for the rest of my life.

He massaged my cock until I was completely hard—not that it took a lot of coaxing. But I was enjoying the hell out of it anyway. He alternated, teasing the underside of the head of my dick with his thumb, stroking the length, and reaching down to cup and fondle my scrotum. Never once did the obsidian gaze leave mine, even when he would lean in to lick and bite my lips, or kiss my face. Tseng finally reached in past the silk and touched my bare flesh, and I shuddered, pushing myself into his hand as I groaned.

"Shhhhh," he hissed, though his eyes gleamed with plenty of mischief of their own. He covered my lips with his index finger.

Can't help it... I'm a groaner. Especially when Tseng does something I like, I wanna make sure does it again. Or, in this case, he doesn't stop.

I glanced at him apologetically for a second before a moment's inspiration caused me to draw his finger it into my mouth and suck on it. I've learned that the best way to get me to shut my mouth is to put something in it. Tseng, who more or less discovered this, highly approves of this rule.

He froze a moment, and shuddered the slightest bit; I watched his eyes roll behind smooth eyelids. His reaction excited me even more, and I sucked on his finger harder, scraping it lightly with my teeth, running my lips over the knuckles, wetting it with my tongue. It was a pretty good impression, if I do say so myself.

I swear I heard Tseng purr like a great cat. Then he snapped his eyes open and met mine with a heated gaze so intense it was practically volcanic. This from a guy who I once thought could start his own Ice Age. I had been so very wrong...

He pulled his finger from my mouth and immediately clamped his lips onto mine again. He caught a small gasp from me, and gave it back with his next breath, and I moaned into his mouth and sucked on his tongue.

His fingers, still curled around my erection, began to move again. I felt his thumb circle around the head, slicking it with the wetness weeping from the tip. It was all too much; the feel of his hand working my cock, his tongue caressing mine, his body, solid and warm pressing against me...I broke the kiss and panted, trying to stand on my own with the gradual weakening in my knees. Tseng reached back and firmly grabbed my ass with his free hand to steady me. I swayed, chewed my bottom lip, and gave him my most pathetic and deprived expression. It worked like a charm. And I wasn't even acting.

Tseng swung me around and parked my ass down on the small, hard bench inside the tiny dressing stall, of which I was suddenly quite thankful for. He let go of my cock and I choked on a whimper when Tseng shot me another reproachful look that reminded me to "turn down the volume." I went back to vigorously chewing on my lip, and I actually thought I'd bitten through it when I watched Tseng slowly peel back my zipper and pull down the elastic of my boxers to hook the band beneath the bottom of my balls. He grinned deliciously at my bare cock twitching against my stomach.

The build-up from there was excruciating: He dipped and licked my stomach, or ran his tongue over my hipbone. Worse yet, he lapped at the skin in the crease of my thigh and I nearly cried real tears as he kept purposely evading my aching erection. I caught his glittering gaze and saw that he was truly enjoying torturing me. "You're evil!" I spitefully hissed. He only grinned wider and waggled his eyebrows. Eyes still full of amusement and trained on me, he stuck out the tip of his tongue and in a slow, agonizing downward arc, bent, and just barely touched the tip of his tongue to the most sensitive part of my cock. I watched, enraptured, while trying to shove my whole fist in my mouth, trying, like never before in my entire life, not to make a sound.

I was marginally successful. That was until Tseng increased the pressure of his tongue, flicking over that same spot again and again until I thought I would go mad. Once again, I completely forgot where I was and moaned as I thudded my head back against the flimsy Formica wall. It sounded like a big kettledrum being hit under water. Tseng immediately stopped; I snapped my head back up and held my breath. And once again, he glared daggers at me.

Surprisingly, Giovanni didn't come to the other side of the dressing room to shout concerns in at us. But Tseng abruptly sat back on his heels, and I still held my breath fearing I'd finally done it—he was going to stop and leave me in this crappy little dressing room with my wang hanging out on fire. He didn't. Instead he searched hastily around the small room, seeming to look for something in particular. He lunged forward to grab something and sat back up holding the perfect solution: the roll of socks.

He leaned forward over me and growled through clenched teeth, "Now, shut up," and stuffed the roll into my mouth. I choked around the muffler, something between a laugh and my gag reflex kicking in, but when those dark, devilish eyes stared back at me as he plunged his mouth down the whole length of my cock, I had the vague thought that Tseng was a goddamn genius. Stuff a sock in it, huh? Who knew he'd been serious?

Tseng, as always, was amazing: His soft lips and warm mouth, impossibly wet tongue, plunging, kissing, licking, sucking, tonguing...for all I knew right then, I had left the little suit shop and gone to Heaven. He bent lower to nuzzle my balls, sucking on one at a time before returning to take my cock in his mouth. I clenched my hands in his thick hair, loving the sensation of the velvet strands brushing over my lap and stomach. And now and then those smiling, hematite eyes would catch mine and my entire body would seem to ignite. He was just so goddamn...beautiful.

I'm sure I looked like an idiot, half-undressed in a suit that wasn't technically even mine and a roll of socks stuffed in my mouth, but I didn't care. Incongruently, though, it occurred to me that here I was in a dressing room in the back of a public clothing store on a Wednesday getting a blow job from my boss. And it wasn't even lunchtime yet. That, for whatever reason, did it for me.

I thrust forward on reflex, but Tseng steadied my hips in a vice-like grip, his long powerful fingers leaving imprints in my skin. I bit down on the cloth in my mouth so hard I thought my teeth would bend, and cried out—or would have if I could make a sound. Squeezing my eyes shut, I came hard, trembling and emptying myself into his mouth as he seemed to draw it from me. I arched my back and gripped his shoulders, and then everything went away—all sounds, the crappy Muzak, my breathing, all shapes and colors blurred...all of it, gone...save for the sound of the blood thrumming in my eardrums.

As the last wake washed over me, my senses came reeling back, and the very next thing I felt was Tseng releasing me from his lips. I jolted forward tearing the socks out of my mouth, grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him, hard. So many things I wanted to say to him, but why waste the words when a kiss said it all? Was that Hallmark, or what? Told you I was the incurable romantic...

The kiss softened, incidentally as I did, and became a slow, meandering brushing of my lips on his. I stroked his throat with my fingertips and cradled the back of his head, pulling him close to me. I could feel the heat of his own need pushing against me, and I slowly trailed my hand down to his belt to unfasten it. I was more than willing to return the favor. But he grabbed my wrist and stopped my hand and broke the kiss to give me a heated, aroused, but highly amused look. "No, Reno," he whispered, his voice deeper than normal, "that one was for free. For being a good boy today."

Normally I would've given him at least some kind of reproachful glare for such an undercut, but my head was still spinning. Then he jerked me to my feet, pulled up my shorts, fastened my pants and zipped my fly, straightened my vest, smoothed my coat, unlocked the door, and swatted me on the ass. In that order. "Go get 'em, Tiger," he chuckled, and shoved me out the door.

I glanced over my shoulder in time to see him collapse—elegantly, of course—onto the dressing stall bench, looking slightly ragged, but grinning like a maniac at me, nonetheless. Sneaky little bastard. It occurred to me he'd probably been planning this the whole time. Tseng has a way of making all of his meticulously planned and organized ideas look completely spur-of-the-moment. Smooth criminal.

"Hoi, Reno!" he called as I stumbled my way out of the dressing area.

"Huh?" It was the most coherent sentence I could manage under the circumstances.

"Forgot something," he chirped, if he ever would do such a thing. And then a soggy roll of socks beaned me in the face. I narrowed my eyes at him and scowled.

Thanks...Dad.

"Ah, Signore Reno, find something you like, eh?"

Was there anything this guy did that wasn't over the top? Talk about a walking cliché.

"Yeah, I'll take this one," I croaked.

"Are you okay, Signore? You look a little...flush."

Oh crap, now I was on the spot. Quick, what's my cover story? 'Uh, I was having hot, sweaty mansex in your dressing room with my boss,' probably wasn't gonna cut it. "It's freaking hot back there, you know," I complained. "That's not very nice to do to a guy trying on wool suits."

He approached me and began doing his little tailor-ish things to me. "Ah, yes, we have dis problem for a while now... You don't a' sp'ose you could get the Shin-Ra to come and take a look at it, no?"

He stared at me expectantly for a moment and I shot him a sarcastic look. "What do I look like, a repairman?"

The tailor's lip curled down condescendingly and he went back to fidgeting. "Well, you did when you walked in here," he muttered. "But now you don't look a' so bad in d' suit. Up with your arms," he ordered, smacking me on the back of my hand. I raised my arms in a cross-like position, and he ran a tape measure from my armpit to my waist. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked again, almost sounding concerned. "You're burning up. I can feel it through d' suit. You have fever?"

Oh, I had fever, all right. It was a six-foot-two Wutain stud with a sound-effect for a name: ZZZZANG!

"You wan'a something to drink, maybe?"

"Shot of bourbon?" I suggested.

Giovanni drew back and snickered at me through his long, aquiline nose. Then he went back to patting me down like a suspect. Here was a guy who truly enjoyed his job, you could tell. Sticking pins in people seemed just his forte. And he poked me like nobody's fucking business. Excuse me, there, Gio...those are my balls you're stabbing at. Could you be a little gentle? I just got done using them, and I'd like use 'em again eventually, thankyouverymuch in advance...

"Up," he instructed, pointing to a small step stool. I obeyed without any rejoinders as I was nearing my limit of patience with all this. I'm fucking cranky after I have sex, and I wanted a nap.

Then, Giovanni bent before me to pin up the cuff on my pant leg, and I had sudden flashbacks of Tseng kneeling between my knees. I rolled my head back and let out a little moan. "Ah, god..."

"Patience, 'camello,' almost finished," the tailor reprimanded. "I never met a grown man complain so much about getting a suit." He finished and stood up, appraising me from toe to head. "Eet looks good, no? And, may I suggest a haircut, Signore—"

"No, you may not suggest a haircut," I sassed back.

"Good luck, Gio," said a third voice. "It was difficult enough to get him in here."

Tseng knew I wouldn't let that go—it was my moral obligation to tease back. I rolled my eyes in the direction of Tseng's voice with a snappy remark right on the end of my tongue...and then promptly forgot it when I actually looked at him. There's just not a lot you can say when you're staring at Perfection.

Giovanni and I both turned to see him at the same time, and neither of us said much for a couple seconds. Giovanni was the first to speak, which proved right there he not only wasn't gay, but he wasn't bi, hetero, or anything in between, either. It would be impossible to not have been moved by Tseng at that moment. I am heavily biased, I realize, but...damn.

"Ah, Signore Tseng, you look a' very handsome!" Giovanni left me on my perch for a moment and strided over to Tseng.

"Handsome" was an insult. "Beautiful" was an understatement. There were no words in any language I know to describe him. From the tiny dot in the middle of his forehead to the last thread in his tux, Tseng was the paragon of class. I mean, the man could crawl out of a swamp covered in leeches and still look like a million gil, but I never knew something as simple as a nice suit could make so much of a difference on a person who needed no help to begin with. This was downright overkill.

The suit had a high, stiff collar on the jacket that looked a little like a priest's collar, only totally open in the front. The jacket was button-less, but cut in such a way that emphasized his slim waist and broad shoulders. His vest had this textured accordion look to it, like crepe paper, only even and uniform, and instead of a traditional bowtie like I was being forced to wear, a black silk cravat draped around his neck and a small diamond stud pierced through the center of the silk. It was by no means a conventional tuxedo. But it did the job. And then some. My mouth literally watered.

"You're a' gonna look better than the groom! You look good enough for your own wedding, no?" Giovanni remarked. Tseng smoothed his jacket sleeves, while Giovanni dusted off Tseng's shoulders, and I resisted the urge to run over and slap the tailor's hands off him. He was touching a priceless work of art. My art, dammit.

Tseng gave him a dubious look. "Not likely, Giovanni," he intoned humorlessly.

"Yeah, what the hell?" I barked.

They each looked up at me, and Tseng in particular arched one pompous eyebrow and waited for me to answer. Somehow, that pompousness made him even sexier.

"I thought the idea was to blend," I remarked. "You stand out like a lighthouse." It was a left-handed compliment, and I hoped he took it as one. Still...Giovanni was right. Not only was he gonna look better than the groom, but the bride, too, and the entire wedding party put together, for that matter.

"Doesn't mean he can't look his best, no?" Giovanni offered. Tseng inclined his head just a notch in agreement. "Maybe he look good for someone special, eh, Signore?"

Tseng slowly turned back toward the dressing room without saying another word, but followed me with his gaze before leaving. I think I caught a small, subtle smile playing on his sensuous mouth just before he disappeared.

Like Tseng had to look good for me. Please. But even just the unlikely and very small idea that he wanted to look good just for me, made me a little dizzy. I swallowed hard and felt my face burn.

"You still feel not well, no? You not gonna be sick, are you?"

I shook my head. "No," I croaked. "I'm fine." I took a few deep breaths and tried like hell to think of something boring—algebra, chess, Rude, what have you—to calm my heartbeat.

"You feel better when we have d' new suit ready. Clothes make'a the man," he announced, kissing his fingertips and then fanning out all his fingers.

"Yeah? Then make me look like that," I quipped, nodding toward the dressing room Tseng had just passed through.

Giovanni stopped and sized me up with a look like he'd just smelled something funny. "Like a' that? Signore Tseng?"

"Yeah," I said feeling my grin darken. "You're the tailor, aren't you?"

Giovanni threw his head back and laughed genuinely. "I like you, 'camello,'" he said. "You very funny." Continuing his task, he grabbed my pant leg cuff and continued to fidget, adding, "But I'm a tailor...not a plastic surgeon."

Hmph. Good thing I wasn't paying.