"...Jiao-Long?"
Dark eyes shot up to stare through the darkness at the door as it was cracked, letting in a sliver of shimmering grey light. An all-too-familiar sillhouette was backlit by the hall's light, and Jiao-Long sighed. Not caring to acknowledge him, and knowing the fact that he hadn't dismissed him was good enough, he went silently back to the task of wrapping his ankle. He wasn't very good at it, and it took a lot of focus to get it right, in a way he knew would support the injury and didn't feel like it was cutting off all circulation to his foot. Rufus slipped through the crack like a ghost, closing the door behind him carefully as if moving quietly would make him less obvious to the other Turks sleeping on the floor.
"They beat you again." Not a question; Rufus was past questions by now. He was twelve now, there were no excuses to be had. He was the son of President Shinra, would become the Vice President some day. Though no one talked about it, they all knew it. Jiao-Long knew it better than anyone. He was about to be assigned to Rufus, as only four years his senior; he'd risen so very fast. So fast people still hated him. But he was cold, colder even than he had been when he'd first been brought to the building he would never escape. Slowly, Rufus knelt by the young man's side, watching him work for a long moment. He wanted to reach out, to help fix the bandaging up, but knew he would only get glared at for it.
The pair's relationship had been tentative at best for the past two years. For about a month after the materia incident, things seemed to be going well between the trio of children at the Shinra building. Despite the fact that Tseng was almost constantly riddled with bruises, cuts, and other small injuries, he still managed to get out and play, as well as cause mischief, with the other two boys. In the long stretch of silence, Tseng remembered it. He remembered keenly the smell of greenery in the glass-enclosed playplace he'd been dragged to. Renaud's laughter, the touch of Rufus' warm, small hand. A comfort, small comforts in a world of pain and unknowing.
"This is my mother's greenhouse," Rufus explained to him. It was a new word to Jiao-Long, and he tested it silently on his lips. Renaud bounded ahead of them at that moment, shoving Jiao-Long a bit and making him wince and frown at the child. How careless! But it was one of a great many small things Renaud did that really irritated him, and at the time he was trying not to hurt him. He'd had enough bad stigma about that already. Rufus, however, had only watched him, holding tighter to his hand as he winced, and stalling to wait for him to feel up to walking once more. Renaud was still young; he didn't know any better. Rufus had patience beyond his years, and knew how to use it. He waited until Jiao-Long's obsidian orbs met his own mako-enhanced blue, and smiled warmly, pulling him along eagerly.
They'd played in the trees, chased each other across the grass and pretended to shoot at each other. It was the one chance Jiao-Long and Renaud had to wrestle good-naturedly, and a stray punch was actually fretted over, apologised for. And then, once more, all pain was forgotten, shoved away by the warmth of the sun, and the smell of life and dirt, and the carelessness of childhood.
"Jiao-Long?" Dark eyes snapped open, a slow, languid gesture bringing them onto the concerned poppy-blue ones that stared at him. "You went somewhere without me again." It always seemed to hurt Rufus when he did that. Not that he did it on purpose...
A few days after the greenhouse, Rufus had been taken back to Shinra Manor, been spirited away without so much as a goodbye. The Turks rounded on Jiao-Long the minute he was gone, prodded him about being without his little protective barrier. They tore Renaud from him, stuffed him back into his suit, and took him out for his daily abuse. By the mechanical beasts in the labyrith training courses, that would not stop until one of them was dead. By the men themselves, who were even more ruthless, and wouldn't stop until they had each tasted his blood in their own special manner. He spent an entire night on the field, soaked by the rain and his own blood, nearly every bone in his body broken, wanting to die. But they hadn't let him. Not then, not ever. They were careful killers, perfect murderers, and by the time Rufus returned Jiao-Long was one of them. He was Zheng then, and remained so for the next five years. Distant, a being apart, though Rufus tried so hard to crack his shell.
"I'm sorry, Sir," he replied softly after a long moment, unwrapping a bit of bandaging to try again, and give him something else to focus on besides the curious creature next to him. He gritted his teeth in pain, and hissed a little through Rufus' next phrase.
"Jiao-Long, don't call me that. We're alone, you don't have to be formal. Call me Rufus..." Tentatively, the boy reached out a hand, but Jiao-Long jerked his head away from it before the pristine fingers could brush his hair. He shot Rufus a look he was more than familiar with by now; the look a wild black chocobo gave the person who dared to come close enough to challenge it. How dare you think you can tame it, ride it. You're merely human, and you could never, ever understand its wild beauty. Rufus blushed lightly, and Tseng set his jaw once more. He could feel it, could feel the sexual tension like a fog settling over them. If this wasn't awkward, he didn't know what was.
That had started fairly recently, when Rufus had hit puberty and realised that he had an attraction to the idea of sex. Especially sex with men, and especially sex with the dark untamed beauty he'd called friend for the past few years. When Renaud found out he made a total ruckus about it, which had led to a boisterous fistfight (broken up by Turks themselves) and a deadly threat to keep the information hush-hush. Jiao-Long, unlike Rufus, had been having sex since he got into the Turks. At first, it was that girls, and even women, were drawn to the dark danger of the suits. The innuendo of it, that they were untouchable, which was entirely true. Early on, Jiao-Long realised just what kind of moral crime it was that Renaud even existed in the first place, and did not to this day understand what had allowed him to stay. He supposed maybe it was because he'd been cute as a baby. He'd seen Renaud's baby pictures, and didn't think anything of the sort, but Jet still cooed a little at them, and anything that could make Jet coo was certainly worthy of attention. The women loved it, though, loved the idea of the mystique and exotic danger, and they especially liked Jiao-Long. Evander had a special look on reserve for when he overheard them commenting that the young Wutaiian was taking his place, and that he was getting a touch old, wasn't he?
They liked his thick, silken hair, the colour of coal, and he was thinking about growing it out for them after official initiation was over. They liked that, despite the fact that he was Wutaiian, as evidenced by the slant of his eyes among other things, his skin as he'd aged had settled into a smooth olive, practically milk-white compared to his comrades. And of course his pretty face, which stayed so feminine as he grew older, despite all efforts otherwise. He was like a delicacy to them, and Rufus, to whom everything was a posession, seemed to think so as well. To Rufus, Jiao-Long was the only thing in the world that was still untouchable, and Jiao-Long wanted it to stay that way. As far as he was concerned, while he may stoop to the occasional sexual encounter with men, Rufus was absolutely off limits. Not only was he the President's son, and therefore his ward, but he was four years his junior, and they had a long history of awkward half-dislike on top of it. He wasn't about to be a pedophile who destroyed his career - and most likely his life - just for the challenge. Turning a quick, fleeting glance to Rufus, he caught back the smirk that wanted to turn one corner of his lips up. No, the skinny, overly-pampered child was definitely not worth it.
"Is there something you wanted?" Jiao-Long asked finally, and Rufus actually did smile a little. He loved the sound of Jiao-Long's voice, its soft, deep intonation. To everyone else, it was a monotone thing, only discernable by the slight accent that still touched some consonants, but to Rufus...he could read Jiao-Long like a book. His beautiful, expressive eyes, the slight intonations of his voice that to him were almost musical in their quality. He was smitten, and always had been, but now that he was faced with him, probably for the last time, he had to own up to it all. He steeled himself a bit, nodding a little. Rufus had to admit to himself that he didn't feel nearly as confident as he thought he did.
"This is...I mean, I...I wanted to see you," he managed, sighing and falling dramatically onto the bed beaneath him. Jiao-Long paused in his work to watch him, as his bright eyes blinked at the ceiling, his arms coming together behind his head to pillow it against the hard mattress Jiao-Long was sure his body wasn't used to. He watched him in silence, until their eyes met once more, and Rufus sat up slowly. Another long silence ensued, and Jiao-Long took the moment to finish wrapping his ankle. He was tucking the bandage in carefully when Rufus spoke once more.
"Let me kiss you?" Jiao-Long started despite himself, gaze flying back onto Rufus'. The boy's eyes were pleading, as his low voice had nearly cracked with fear. There was a hesitation, in which Jiao-Long fought with himself, and then closed his mouth to blink at Rufus. "I won't order you to. I'm asking you this...as a friend. As Rufus." There was more he wanted to say, but he was afraid it would be too much. Jiao-Long remained silent for a long moment, waiting.
"I won't refuse you," he said finally, after much contemplation of how exactly to word himself. It hurt to hear him say it like that, but Rufus couldn't help accepting that small amount of permission. He wanted to lunge at him, tackle him into a heated kiss, demand he take him right then and there while they were still alone. But he was much too dignified for that, and was afraid it wouldn't turn out anything like the way he imagined it. With a small nod, Rufus stopped chewing his lip and tentatively dipped his head toward Jiao-Long's, feeling a twinge in his stomach as the man didn't pull away. He hesitated, milimetres from him, savouring every sensation of it, knowing it would never happen again. The feel of his slow, warm breaths against his lips. The smell of him, that exotic sandalwood-and-iron scent that lingered in rooms where he'd been, so very close to him that it made him more excited than he'd ever wanted to be. The sound of his heartbeat, which Rufus had never known to be so loud. And as he allowed him to slip his fingers into the curtain of pristine, silken black hair, Rufus practically moaned. Closing his eyes, and feeling a tear threatening to spill, he let their lips touch, rested there for a moment before doing anything. It was Jiao-Long who initiated movement, and Rufus really did moan when those lips parted slightly, sighing against him and yielding to him with tiny, exquisite movements.
Jiao-Long let his eyes fall closed, feeling himself fall back as the world fell away from him. He'd been kissed before, but it had never been like this. Rufus had no idea what he was doing, that was for sure, but the very sensation of the soft, pampered skin, the natural heat of him so close, was a greater comfort than anything in his life ever had been. It wasn't arousing, per se, but he needed it still more than anything he'd ever had in his life. More than food, more than a release from the pain...because, somehow, this simple gesture gave him all of that. It was his sustenance, and stole every sensation away but the warmth and gentle desire of this awkward, teenage kiss.
Rufus moaned again, softly, something akin to a breathy whine. It was the sound he made when he first fell into sleep, Jiao-Long knew, and he had a split second to wonder why he made it now. And then it occurred to them both the position they were in. Without realising it, Jiao-Long had allowed Rufus to lean him back, and had both arms around the boy's neck, was holding him close in comfortable want as the hand that wasn't keeping Rufus balanced slipped through the strands of Jiao-Long's hair in a gesture of something akin to adolescent need. The kiss broke, and Rufus was panting, while Jiao-Long merely stared up at him in mild surprise, his eyes half-lidded from being closed and his lips parted gently. They stayed like that for a long time, staring at each other, each wondering in silence exactly what this meant. It was once more Jiao-Long who broke the stillness, his expression unchanging as he spoke lowly.
"I don't love you," he said, and a slight tint of sadness crossed Rufus' face. He offered a little smile in return, bending back down to touch his lips back onto Jiao-Long's gently.
"I know," he whispered, before initiating yet another kiss, and showing just how fast he learned by imitating some of the movements Jiao-Long had made on him. It was Jiao-Long's turn to moan, a tiny cracking sound that was more like a deep sigh. This kiss deepened, and they spent hours together silently sharing sensations, teaching each other what felt good, and what it felt like to be wanted for more than sex.
A few floors down, Kunsel lit up the last of tonight's cigarettes and sat back in his swivel-chair, blinking at the black-and-white screen that flickered a bit in its small box. This was so much more interesting than Evander masturbating with an old dildo and Jet watching his pre-recorded soaps till 3 am. Smirking, Kunsel made a note on his little notepad, the one he kept in his drawer for personal observations.
June 3, 1991
Rufus initiated the kiss. Asked for it, actually. But Jiao-Long liked it. A lot.
Sitting back once more for a moment to gaze back at the screen, Kunsel chewed the end of his pen a little, and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Keep an eye on that one. He's good. A note he'd written a million times by now about the kid, but this time was about young Mr. Shinra.