Having positioned myself directly outside of the closed door I assume leads to the bathroom, I lightly clasp my left wrist with my right hand in front of me at the waist, arms relaxed and shoulders back in a pose I think of as 'high-end bodyguard'. It is one of the first stances drilled into newly recruited Turks, keeping hands within quick reaching distance of the firearms concealed beneath the suit jacket, granting an air of elegant nonchalance, but most importantly, helping to prevent unacceptable fidgeting. Much of the initial training consists of little more than the rookies standing in this manner, for hours on end, observing whatever there is to observe and offering a fully detailed report after the proceedings, no matter how prosaic, that must be complete in its accuracy or further mind-numbing duty of the same will continue to be assigned. Rude still holds the record for fastest completion of the deportment training, while Elena was only subjected to a rudimentary course because of the rushed nature of her appointment as a Turk due to the scramble to replenish our depleted numbers, and has never succeeded in erasing all traces of fiddling with various effects upon her person. My own experience had been unremarkably average, other than breaking my habit of glaring murderously at anything that garnered my attention when I allowed my mind to wander.
Reno, predictably, was nearly terminated on several occasions as a result of his conduct during the entire year it took before he was approved for active duty, a record of a different sort. In one memorable incident, he managed to destroy enough of the support beams of an abandoned warehouse to topple the roof onto the building next to it, where a meeting between Shinra representatives and the members of an illicit human trafficking ring was taking place, killing everyone inside. The employees had been considered expendable and the traffickers likely to be targeted for disposal, but I was certain when I had arrived with Veld at the violently remodeled husk of twisted metal and crumbling brick, that the redhead's existence was about to come to a messy end. I had offered a silent farewell to my coworker when he turned to our leader with a jerk of his thumb back over his shoulder, said, "Yo, boss, that forklift still works," and Veld's gun-arm had raised up to point at his head with the loud chambering of a bullet.
The buzzing of a trimmer from beyond the barrier ceases and I idly listen to the short bursts of water from a faucet, a pitched clinking of an object being tapped against porcelain, and then the door swings inward to reveal the Commissioner, surprise evident on his damp face that swiftly changes to irritation at my presence.
"Now what?" he snipes brusquely, patience obviously exhausted to match his appearance.
"Now I tuck you into bed."
Stretching his neck back, he casts his gaze up to the ceiling, and mutters in exasperation, "The Ancients grant me strength. Don't you ever give up?"
"No." Abruptly, he feints to one side and then attempts to dart passed me to the other, but I easily bar his way with an arm to the wall and mockingly tsk down at him in disapproval. Raising my free hand, I place my index finger under his chin and tilt his face up, taking more satisfaction than I should in the simmering frustrated resentment I see there. "Why should I have to be the one to give up, Reeve?"
He licks his lips and my sight is drawn unerringly to them. Anticipating another ploy, I keep my focus diffused as I stroke my thumb across his mouth teasingly, tracing the edges of the supple flesh and brushing along the corners, before pressing firmly in the center until he opens to me. His eyes are solemn, almost grave, as they stare into my own and that as much as the tentative flick of his tongue ignites a languid, pulsing fire through my nerves to pool in my groin.
Such a simple action… Why does he affect me so strongly? Has it just been too long since I have touched another like this? Been touched like this? Is it the same for him?
I moan softly when he pulls my thumb further into his mouth, his lips tightening around it and his cheeks hollowing slightly as he begins to suck gently, lavishing my rough skin with his wet heat. I am utterly captivated by the delicate sensations of his subtle movements. Tingling bolts of pleasure race down my arm and spread throughout my body from that singular, deceptively innocuous connection.
What am I doing? What am I going to do?
In that moment, I feel lost and adrift and aching, as I fight to not be consumed by my sudden lust, to not cause irrevocable damage with my desire, to not violate his consent and trust by forcing what I want against his will. I know I can do all of that and more, take from him to satiate the growing primal need within, and merely the thought sends a damning thrill down my spine, tautening my muscles with the eagerness to act on my aggressive and possessive impulses to claim him.
I jerk my hand from him, step back, and turn away. When my chest expands rapidly, hitching in a lungful of air with a sharp painful gasp, I realize I had stopped breathing at some point.
"Tseng?" he asks quietly, hesitance and confusion plain in his voice.
My mind is reeling, off kilter, and I growl out, "You were right. I shouldn't have stayed. I will leave." It seems like the only acceptable decision to make and I seize on the concept desperately.
"What? Wait!"
I am nearly to the archway that leads into the living room when he grabs onto my bicep, and I don't require his urging to spin around and pin him to the wall. I crush my mouth to his and furiously plunder him with deep plunges of my tongue until my awareness registers that his hands are pushing frantically against my chest. With a cruel parting bite to his bottom lip that floods me with the bitter copper taste of blood, I withdraw and glare at him, panting harshly.
He stares at me while lifting a hand to gingerly press his fingertips to his bleeding mouth, shocked, stunned, and then he murmurs with what I can only interpret as awe, "Wow."
"Wow?" I repeat back disbelievingly. "You don't know just how close I came to seriously hurting you."
"I trust you not to," he responds immediately with total confidence. I flinch at the words, and he continues earnestly, "What I said in the kitchen, I didn't mean any of it. I was… angry, that you were touching me when I told you not to, that I wanted you to touch me so badly. I know you wouldn't do something like that."
I laugh, but the sound contains no joy, only jagged shards of acidity. "Why, exactly, do you think the accusation almost sent me into a rage? I was this close," I hold two fingers an inch apart to demonstrate, "to hitting you. Have you considered that?"
"I thought… you had figured out what I was up to and that was what made you mad."
"No, it was because there is much more truth to what you said than I want to admit!"
My confession, which had risen to a low shout, seems to echo through the small corridor in the silence that follows. The expression that gradually flows over Tuesti's features is not one I want to see, and he practically shimmers at me with sympathy and compassion.
"I still trust you," he states firmly.
"You shouldn't."
"It is not our desires, wants, or even our thoughts that determines who we are, but the actions we choose to take in spite of what we might feel, what we might be driven to do from within." He reaches out to my face, but I move back out of range and his hands hover awkwardly in the air for a moment before dropping to his sides. "I believe that you are an honorable person, Tseng."
With a light scoff, I regard him disdainfully. "Rewriting the past, are we? Will you absolve me of all my many sins now?"
He hums ponderously with a portrayal of serious consideration, and then amends, "Well, partly honorable, I guess would be a more accurate description. You are honorable in some ways." I make a disgruntled noise deep in my throat when he flashes a bright grin at me, openly pleased with his clarification.
"You… are a fool."
"So you have said."
An idea begins to form in my mind, one that is decidedly dishonorable and would certainly push the boundaries he has set, erode the restrictions he has placed between us, but I find that my integrity fails to balk in response, which probably means nothing regarding right or wrong at this stage.
"You trust me?" I ask for confirmation.
Wariness alights on his face instantly, but he doesn't hesitate. "Yes."
"Then will you allow me my 'Please, just once' request?"
His cheeks flush pink at my imitation of his earlier begging to kiss me, and he replies slowly, "That depends on your request."
"I want you to agree before you know what it is, and since I am an honorable person, you shouldn't be nervous at accepting my terms."
Completely underhanded. If I wasn't already guaranteed to end up in Hell…
"You are an evil bastard."
I smirk. "Finally, something we can fully agree on."
"But I accept your terms."
The fissure of warring compulsions that strikes me at his ready compliance nearly causes me to reconsider, but I shut away my doubts with little effort. I hold out a hand to him and after a brief pause, he places his own in my grasp and I begin to escort him to his bedroom.
"If you are going to simply send me to bed, I will be both relieved and disappointed," he says with a slight staccato rhythm that has a hint of apprehension to it as we walk down the hallway.
"That's not what I am going to do."
"But it will only be once?"
"Unless you ask me to again."
"That's not comforting."
"It wasn't meant to be."
He falls silent when I open the door and enter into the bedroom, tugging him in behind me, and I stand motionless for a moment, taking in what appears to be the only space in this 'home' that is personalized and speaks to what I thought I knew of the man. Warm, earthy tones are the main theme, creating a cozy atmosphere, and lights hang in shaded globes that manage to provide intense functional illumination over the many surfaces scattered with various collections of unfinished robotic projects without being glaring to the eye. The bed is large and partially concealed with heavy drapes, but set against the far wall seemingly as an afterthought.
I frown in puzzlement as I absently scan over the numerous frames containing pictures of AVALANCHE within the shelves and random prints of landscapes along the walls. "Why… if you have all this, do you even bother with a workshop? This is a workshop."
He chuckles softly with embarrassment. "These are just hobbies, really, not anything I often have much time for and I don't like to have this clutter in the way when I am working on something important, hence the actual workshop. I sometimes… tinker before going to sleep."
Shaking off the strange sense of uneasiness I feel from being confronted with this apparent display of authenticity of his character, I lead him through the profusion of hardwood tables to the bed.
"Sit down," I order and then without waiting for him to respond, I push him down onto the mattress.
"So impatient, aren't you?" he quips lightly at my manhandling, but his eyes are narrowed with irritation.
"Yes," I answer distractedly as I deliberate how to go about this. It is not something I have ever done before, nor an act I had ever given serious consideration to performing, not willingly, anyway, and had certainly never thought to do so eagerly.
This is simple. People do it every day. Surely it can't be that difficult.
My mental gearing up to the task has less effect than I had hoped. I am out of my element and I loathe the insecurity that snakes a path through my consciousness, which only increases when I notice Tuesti staring at me with perplexity and faint traces of concern.
Just do it!
With no warning, I quickly drop to my knees on the beige carpeting before him and watch the startled realization of what I have planned dawn on his face. His mouth shapes the word 'no' but no sound accompanies it and he instead shakes his head adamantly at me.
"You agreed," I remind him.
He recovers his ability to speak, unfortunately. "I know, but this is… This is your 'just once'? You can't want to do this," he denies firmly, and then suggests, "Perhaps a reversal of roles would be more to your liking?"
"Don't tell me what I want. Why are you so set against being pleasured?" I question with exasperation, but hold up a hand to forestall any reply. "It doesn't matter. I am doing this, and you are going to sit back and enjoy it."
"Have you ever given someone a blow job before?" he inquires bluntly, likely attempting to scare me off by stating explicitly what I am about to do, and all doubt of his intention is removed when he issues his next question. "Ever sucked someone's dick before?"
"No," I respond calmly. "But I'll figure it out. I have another stipulation, shut up."
Surprisingly, he does, but that could be because I am now unbuckling his belt. Once the slim leather band is undone, I pull it slowly from the loops that restrain it and carelessly let it fall to the floor, and then return my attention to the front of his slacks and reach for the button. He wraps a hand around my wrist before my fingers touch the small metal fixture, stalling my movement, and I glare up at him sternly.
"Tseng…" His gaze is pleading as he uncertainly trails his turbulent eyes along my face and down over my kneeling form, and then drags them back up. "Just once?"
"Just once," I assure him with a faint smile.
Eventually, he nods and releases me. I waste no time in unbuttoning his pants, but slow my pace to leisurely part the teeth of the zipper, which he is already straining against the confines of, the thickness of him distending the fabric in a long, solid ridge.
If it's unpleasant, at least it won't take long.
I tilt my head down, as if in concentration on the task, but the true purpose is to hide my smirk, and even though my enjoyment is irrelevant, I am elated by the undeniable entertainment I feel in spite of my hesitancy. Until I separate the seams of his fly, that is, and stare in horrified fascination at what lies beneath.
"I wasn't expecting-"
"I don't want to know," I cut him off tersely and regard the hideous neon green boxers covered in tiny pink moogles with distaste. "This will have to go. I can't focus with… that looking at me."
"It's not looking at y-"
"Enough. There is no excuse capable of justifying this." An odd noise causes me to raise my gaze to Tuesti's face, and I am greeted with the sight of him with his hands clamped tightly over his mouth and his eyes dancing with brilliant mirth. "Did you just giggle?" He shakes his head violently back and forth. "You're lying. I heard it."
He arches back in a taut line that is pleasing to the eye and loses his battle with his amusement, thunderous husky laughter shattering the stillness of the air, his entire body quaking with the force. While I watch his explosive reaction, I inhale sharply as my chest begins to constrict with a heavy, unwelcome emotion that I refuse to name.
When he finally tapers off, I raise an eyebrow at him and question haughtily, "Are you done cackling during a highly inappropriate moment?" I regret my tone and phrasing when the delight drains from him as abruptly as a light switch being flipped off and he nods seriously in response. "You look adorable," I say in an attempt to recapture the joy I had just chased away.
He offers a crooked smile at the compliment, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Thank you, especially for… this." He gestures indistinctly at the both of us. "If you were to stop right now, I wouldn't mind. I have had a wonderful time already."
I sigh in annoyance and then hook my fingers over the bands his repulsive undergarment and slacks. "Lean back."
He obliges me without further protest, resting his weight on his forearms and helpfully lifting his hips up from the bed, and I begin to ease the apparel off of him carefully, tactfully ignoring his diminished erection. Regardless of my objective of remaining detached, I find myself riveted as his thighs are revealed inch by inch. The same intensity I normally experience with women is absent, but while I survey the differing shape and swells, the dense hair that liberally covers the long limbs, my budding physical attraction is unmistakable. When I finally finish lowering the clothing down his shins, I pull it from around his ankles and cast the bundle aside idly, thankful that he had removed his socks before my arrival, as they had no doubt been as vile as his boxers.
"Unbutton your shirt and spread it open," I order softly, keeping my sight fixed on the floor until I can see in my peripheral vision that he has obeyed my command and he automatically returns to a reclined pose on the mattress without any prompting.
Starting at his feet, which I have little interest in, but I want to be thorough in my attentions, I take note of the neatly clipped nails and graceful arches, how they are slender and lanky to match the rest of him, before slowly and deliberately dragging my gaze back up for another, closer examination of the exposed skin I had just traversed while undressing him. Given that much of his duties as Commissioner take place behind a desk, I am pleasantly surprised at the compact yet sturdy muscle definition of his calves and thighs that suggests a great deal of jogging exercise. The inclination to run my hands along the length of them and caress their texture is strong, but I resist and raise my eyes for a teasing tracing of the profile of his narrow hips. Not allowing myself to balk at my discomfort, I turn to the most intimate part of him with unwavering concentration. That he is perfectly groomed here is as I expected and certainly welcome to my sight, and I stoically take in the contours of his member, half-erect and blushed a darkened shade. Attempting to see beauty in such an awkward appendage is difficult, but I manage to admire his girth and proportioning, trailing over the veins that stand out in delicate, twisting lines, and studying the sack that hangs down below and appears slightly swollen, drawn in tight to his body. Once I deem my assessment complete, my reservations at observing his private anatomy conquered, I venture up the planes of his abdomen and fight back the frown that tries to surface at the sunken quality I can detect now that my view is unobstructed, which indicates recent, substantial weight loss. Shoving away my concern with vicious impatience, I climb the ladder indentations of his ribs that flare up his chest and I alight across the lithe expanse of his pectorals, the shaded areola of his nipples, and then move higher along the sharp points of his clavicles, the elegant column of his neck. As I linger on every area of him laid bare for my perusal, I force the desire I feel to show clearly in my expression.
After my visual journey is concluded, I meet his eyes and state simply with genuine appreciation, "Breathtaking."
His eyes slide shut and he turns his head away mutely in response, his throat convulsing briefly. When he speaks, I am alarmed at the agony drenching his words, "Tseng, please don't do that. I can't-" His voice breaks on whatever else he has to say.
When I realize that he is crying silently, I stand with alacrity and then gather him into my arms, holding him to me in a steady, tight embrace. As I tuck his head in beneath my chin and sense the faint trembling of his body, I breathe out, "I'm sorry."
