Implications, Insinuations

by rokubi-raijuu

What use was it, knowing how to make a smooth business transaction, when one was President at only seventeen and looking into the deep, dark eyes of the man who would be answering directly to him? Rufus x Tseng Yaoi. Oneshot.

hey everyone ~ it's rai/mimi here again and I actually wrote a new fic! 8D be excited. I didn't fall off the face of the planet or something – writing fics is just something that takes a lot of inspiration because I'm so damn lazy. |D

so yes, this time it's tseng x rufus ~ cause they're really really awesome together. C: and this pairing needs more love.

enjoy!

And r&r, please. |3

Rufus had always known why he was alive.

Since he'd been able to understand speech, he'd had the concept hammered into his head by various people. As the only son of the President of ShinRa, he would be head of the company when his father passed away. He was going to continue the company's great legacy and bring it to further glory. Rufus had been prepared for this; years of being his father's shadow and then ShinRa's vice president had given him a taste of what he was going to be experiencing in the professional field.

However, nothing had prepared him for anything else, and it was only now that he realized just how lacking he was in every other aspect of life. What use was it, knowing how to make a smooth business transaction or bargain deals with foreign companies, when one was President at only seventeen and looking into the deep, dark eyes of the man who would be answering directly to him?

He had met him before, of course, had seen him around the premises. His father had introduced him to each of the employees that had mattered when he'd only been ten years old.
But, seven years later during the official, formal introductions, it seemed that Rufus was looking at a completely different person. Maybe that was only because he himself had changed enormously since his wide-eyed younger days.

"It is an honor to be serving you, sir." The Wutaian's head was bowed so that if there was any amusement past the tone of complete professionalism, Rufus could not see it. But he could not suppress the sudden shiver that passed through him as they shook hands. It was a brief gesture, with none of that lingering touch that seemed to be so popular in jaded romance films, but it still left him thinking.

The other employees passed before him one by one, each introducing themselves and declaring their loyalty to him, but it was all a blur to the young President. After the ceremonies were over, he did his best to search out the Wutaian again without seeming too conspicuous, though he had no idea what he wanted to say to him. He did not find him though; the leader of the Turks seemed to have mysteriously disappeared for the rest of the day.
Even so, Rufus found that, though he was difficult to locate even at the best of times, a direct call from him would bring the faithful Turk to his office within minutes. He found himself doing this somewhat often, taking a strange delight in the knowledge that only he, as Tseng's superior, could request his presence so efficiently and effectively. Often, he did not even have a reason for pulling Tseng from his work, and usually covered up this habit by idly demanding an intelligence report from Tseng's end of business while trying not to look at him too much.

If the stoic and professional older man ever suspected anything about these abrupt, meaningless updates, he did not let anything show. He answered the posed questions with direct, respectful, straightforward responses, and left when he was dismissed, never indicating that these meetings were wasting his time or otherwise out of the ordinary.

It frankly infuriated Rufus to no end.

He wanted to see what was under that stony exterior, wanted to peel away Tseng's shell and learn, explore the inner person. After all, Tseng was human, no? He could not be completely ruthless to the core. Many times, during these intermittent briefings, Rufus had to suppress the temptation to simply probe deeper there, to force Tseng, by executive order, to speak to him on a personal level, to drop the formalities and treat him not as Rufus Shinra, President of ShinRa Electric Company, but simply as Rufus, the man.

This might have continued forever, or at least until Rufus' patience ran thin, if not for his rendezvous with death when he had been twenty years old. It had been during a visit to Junon for a business conference; someone must have received notice that he was going to be there.
The first bullet was a near miss; the second struck him dead on and shattered part of his collarbone. If not for Tseng's quick thinking and even quicker motor skills, he might not have survived that day. Within another moment, the terrorist was dispatched and Rufus was on his way to a nearby hospital for immediate care.

The steadfast Turk scarcely left his bedside for the next three weeks while he healed, setting Reno in charge of most operations and only pausing to authorize a plan of action from Rufus' side every now and then or leave for a few hours to take care of something that required his direct attention before returning without fail. No words were spoken between them during this time, and yet more information was shared than in any of their professional meetings.

The age difference was not the only barrier between them. As the President of ShinRa and the leader of the Turks, the two of them had next to no time to spare for emotional trivialities.
Even so, things continued as before, and not two weeks after he was released from intensive care and allowed to assume full duties again, Rufus once more called Tseng to his office. As always, the man appeared, immaculate and flawless, at his door within five minutes.

Lifting his head from a stack of unsigned papers that had been piling since his absence, Rufus sat back in his chair as the man stepped through the door. "Close the door behind you."

The Turk did as he was told, and even locked it when Rufus requested that as well, his expression betraying no surprise or uncertainty if he felt any.

Sheer beginnings of a bridge had been forged between them during those three weeks that Tseng had remained with him. As their eyes met, dark brown connecting with bright blue, planks were added to that crude passageway, and when Rufus beckoned him forward, Tseng did as he was asked, each step bringing that bridge closer to completion.

"I appreciate the loyalty you have shown me these last several weeks," Rufus complimented, almost dismissively, as he watched the Wutaian close the distance between them.

"You do not need to thank me, sir," came the ever-composed response, and Rufus looked up at him again. A tiny gap of space separated them still, the last boards of the bridge waiting to be assembled. Now was the time if there ever was one.

"Let me show you my gratitude."

Even when Rufus pulled him down and kissed him, Tseng showed no signs of surprise. The blond's mouth moved against his for a second or two before the Turk decided to reciprocate. There was no need to comply verbally; he simply moved in closer and reached around to press one hand against the small of Rufus' back, bringing them closer together as his lips came alive and smoothed against the younger man's.

A moment apart to catch air, and then their mouths met again, more passionately this time, each unlocking a dormant vault inside of him that he had been keeping hidden for three years.

Tseng's hand drifted slowly down to sculpt the blond's chest and sides, and Rufus responded accordingly, as if he had been doing this for a long time, moving closer to that touch, tangling his fingers in the man's long black hair and pulling ever so slightly to urge him onward.

It was impatient Rufus who first began to tug at the Turk's pressed tie, sliding it from around the unmoving man's neck before continuing onto the blazer, resisting the urge to pull apart buttons in his haste. The only interruption came from Tseng's hand resting gently but firmly on his own, stopping him momentarily. The deep voice came in a query: "might I remind you of the risks?"

Rufus scowled briefly and dislodged the offending hand with a brush of his own, continuing with his removal of Tseng's suit. "Do I need to remind you who is giving the orders here, Tseng?"

The older man made no more attempts to stop the blond, and answered with a quiet, obedient "... of course, sir." The blazer fell to the ground in a pool of black material, and then soon Tseng's shirt followed, exposing a broad chest of well-toned muscle and a firm, flat stomach.

"Undress me," came the somewhat husky order, and Tseng did so with efficiency. Desiring to draw a noise out of the stoic man, any indication of a weakness past that icy exterior, Rufus smirked and brought a hand down to press his palm against the bulge at the front of his Turk's pants. As wanted, an unbidden breath caught in the older man's throat, which grew into a soft, deep groan as Rufus' hand massaged and kneaded purposefully.

"Tell me, Tseng," he breathed sinfully into the Wutaian's ear, "do you want this?"

The answer came without any hesitation: "yes."

That was all the prompting Rufus needed; another moment and he was unzipping the front of Tseng's dress pants and sliding his hand inside to cup the man's growing erection, delighting in the way he tilted his head back slightly and closed his eyes, barely able to keep from moving his hips against that touch.

With his other hand, Rufus took one of Tseng's and guided it towards the source of his own rising heat. He needed to give no order for this one; Tseng got the implication and pressed his hand forward, drawing out of Rufus' mouth a soft cry of pleasure as lightning seemed to jolt through his nerves.

That single noise was the what closed the final gap between them and brought them, at last, together.

The heat and passion rose between them quickly, the result of taut sexual tension on both their parts. As Tseng's hard erection began to leak precum, allowing it to slip effortlessly through Rufus' grasp, so the President's own cock was pushing insistently against the cloth of his white dress pants, yearning for genuine touch. Their lips had met again, breathing harsh and husky, eyes flickering with lust every time one of them gasped or moaned.

Tseng was a quiet lover, Rufus learned, and the things that made the blond cry out with pleasure only drew a grunt or, at most, a low groan from the Turk's flush lips, but it made every noise that much sweeter.

Finally, the friction became too much to bear, and Rufus took the man's hand in his own, backing himself against the office wall and pulling Tseng forward with him, the cold desire in his eyes conveying exactly what he wanted. His hands worked to completely undo the fastenings of the Turk's pants, pulling them down and off. The Wutaian's breathing caught with anticipation, but he spared a level glance at the bandages still wrapped around Rufus' chest to secure his still-healing collarbone in place.

"Sir... are you...?"

"Fuck that, Tseng," Rufus hissed in impatient reply, and then hurried to remove his own pants and undergarments, though his answer only seemed to further dissuade the concerned older man. Seeing the reluctance in those dark eyes, Rufus only groaned with exasperation and frustration. "I will be fine. Now, get on with it."

Tseng simply nodded then, and took both Rufus' wrists in his hands, pushing them back against the wall with a surprising amount of force, causing the blond to gasp with surprise. The fact that Tseng himself wanted nothing more than to take the President against the wall of his office was clear, despite his poise and self-control. Leaning in to mark Rufus' neck with lips, teeth, and tongue, he brought the man's hips forward and then pressed the head of his erection against the tight entrance. "Are you... certain...?"

In response, Rufus growled and rutted forward once, smearing a trail of precum against the Turk's stomach. Tseng took that as an affirmative, and pushed inside the younger man, capturing Rufus' lips with his own just as he tightened and froze momentarily, a wince of pain twisting his expression briefly. He gasped once as Tseng eased further inside, refusing to show weakness or portray how much it actually hurt.

The Turk was surprisingly gentle, distracting him with grazing, fiery touches along his neck, chest, sides as his mouth moved against Rufus' own. For himself, Rufus reached up to anchor his fingers in the long black tresses once more, pulling harshly in an attempt to alleviate the pain.

"Relax, sir..." came the husky request, and Rufus shuddered at the wash of heated breath over his throat, forcing himself to stop tensing and immediately feeling a tiny bit better.

Tseng opened his mouth to say something again, but Rufus sent the older man a glare, hissing sharply, "move, Tseng."

A brief nod was his answer, and then Rufus hissed in pleasure-pain as the man's erection drew out slowly and then pressed back in, though the way that the Turk shivered slightly and groaned indicated that he was having some trouble restraining himself.

But Rufus didn't want restraint. He wanted to see Tseng lose control, wanted to see that calm exterior stripped away. "Faster," he gasped out when the man thrusted in again.

How could he not comply? Hoping that Rufus knew what he was requesting, Tseng began to speed up, feeling his control beginning to slip as Rufus let out a blissful moan, the pleasure eclipsing the pain from before. "Mm... harder." That request was easy, considering Tseng likely would have done just that even without the prompting.

He couldn't help but snarl with lust as Rufus cried out louder with his next thrust, his grasp in Tseng's hair tightening as he panted, "again." There. Tseng knew he had hit the man's prostate, and adjusted for a better angle before striking it again, eliciting another sharp keening cry.

This continued for a bit, both men feeling the last vestiges of their control slide away as the passion grew, desire shrouding all coherent thought as all concerns and worries faded away in the sharp need to feel more of this pleasure, to reach that heavenly completion.

Tseng's thrusts became rougher, each one drawing a pleasured noise from the blond as Rufus struggled to remain grounded, his hands at this point having moved down to clutch the Turk's shoulders, nails digging into skin. At last, Rufus' head fell back against the wall and he shuddered, that heat in the pit of his stomach coiling until he gasped out "Tseng...!", nails piercing flesh and drawing blood on the older man's shoulders as he came, his seed spilling between them as he moaned, trying not to let the ecstasy do him in completely.

The Turk followed not long after, the feeling of Rufus tightening around him and the sudden prick of pain of broken skin bringing him over the edge with another couple desperate thrusts. He came inside his lover with another low groan and a growl of something that sounded suspiciously like Rufus' name.

After Rufus had gone limp and Tseng had laid him down on the luxurious couch in his office to doze, locating a comforter in the closet and placing it over the exhausted blond, he looked at him for a brief moment with impenetrable dark eyes before moving back over to the pile of clothing on the floor and beginning to dress himself again.

There was work that needed to be tended to. He had spent too long here, as pleasurable as it had been.

Pausing beside Rufus once more before he left, Tseng was surprised to feel the still-awake blond take his hand and pull him down so that he could murmur in his ear. "Tseng... I... lo - "

But the Turk raised a hand to cover Rufus' to interrupt him, and shook his head firmly. "You are too young still, sir," he murmured in response. "Do not say those words until you are sure you mean them."

With that, he stood up again and left the room, leaving a bewildered and slightly hurt Rufus on the couch.

xxx

For years, their relationship remained the same. Every few weeks or so, when both of them had time, they would meet either in Tseng's or Rufus' office for a passionate hour, only after securing the doors and windows and making sure that none of this would be discovered by the other employees. They took painstaking care to ensure that it would remain a secret, because their relationship could only be just that: a secret. A rendezvous behind closed doors.

During the day, when they happened to see each other, they treated each other as nothing more than a boss and his subordinate, and no one suspected anything.

Even so, as time went on, Rufus began to feel that something was wrong. The sex was fantastic – Tseng made sure of that. The man was perfect, flawless, and Rufus couldn't imagine wanting anyone else. But there was something that was missing, and it manifested itself in the way that, no matter what Rufus said or tried, Tseng would never let him whisper those three words that battered endlessly at his throat. It was always the same excuse: you're still young. You must mean it, sincerely.

Rufus was fairly certain that he meant it.

And Tseng never said them to him, either. Even though Rufus could see the fondness in his eyes as they lay together on the couch (when Tseng had finally been persuaded to stay for a bit after the sex itself despite work), even though he could feel the tenderness in his touch, in the comfortable silence between them, Tseng never said it.

And just like how Rufus had been infuriated before by the lack of contact, so he was now frustrated by the lack of verbal affirmation.

Their time together was punctuated twice in the five following years. Once in the Temple of the Ancients, when Tseng had been fatally wounded by Sephiroth. Rufus had been alarmed, but Tseng had returned to headquarters and had been nursed back to health under Rufus' watchful distant eye.

The second time...

xxx

A hiss of pain escaped through his teeth as the sword blade came down again, slicing just barely past the first layer of skin, opening flesh just enough that it hurt like hell.

A flash of glowing green eyes in front of him, and then that taunting, psychotic high-pitched voice came again. "Are you going to tell me? Cause I can keep going!"

Tseng scowled up at the Remnant, bending over to cough blood out of his lungs as a scream shredded the air not far away from him. His head jerked up and he gasped, his voice ragged with agony. "Elena!"

"Don't bother with her," Kadaj scoffed, giving the man another brutal kick to the side. "She won't talk either, but don't worry, she'll break soon. Now then – where is Mother?"

Tseng glared as effectively as he could with blood dripping into his eyes from the wound on his forehead. "I... don't know." Another groan of pain was brought out of him as Kadaj swung the Souba again, cutting through skin and muscle.

"I don't believe you," Kadaj replied bitingly, leaning down to leer at him, circling around him as a vulture does a carcass, blood dripping from the twin blades of his Souba. "I know you have Mother. You and that Shinra President."

At the name, Tseng exhaled slowly and closed his eyes for a moment. He was a Turk, the leader of the Turks; his loyalty to ShinRa came first and foremost. Even if Kadaj killed him here, he would not divulge the secrets of the company. He would not betray his President and his true lo-

Another rough kick to his cracked ribs made him cry out with pain, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to breathe too deeply and just concentrating on the image of Rufus. He had to return to him.

xxx

"Boy, do I hate lying."

Sounds of faint groans came from the two bodies on the floor as Reno and Rude attempted to push themselves up but failed. The silver-haired Remnant strode between them, approaching Rufus with a smirk on his face.

Not bothering to lift his head, the President calmly replied, "I apologize. This time you get the truth. The object you seek fell from the helicopter while we were running from you. I'm afraid we were careless." He was glad, for once, for the cloak covering his face from view, and not just because it concealed the small black box he held in his hand. His voice was calm, confident, flawless like his father had trained him and like he had perfected himself all these years. But one look at his eyes and it wouldn't be hard to see how pained he was.

Intelligence on Tseng and Elena was still scarce. Reno had no idea what had become of them after he had left the Northern Crater; for all anyone knew, they were dead. Both of them.

Turks could be replaced. The skill level wasn't the problem; though, emotions aside, losing someone of Tseng's caliber was a shame.

However, that was not the concern. More than anything, Rufus wanted to know at least if the Wutaian was alive. The President of ShinRa was ruthless when it came to many things, but not this.

"Is that right?" came the taunting voice, and Rufus didn't need to see to know that Kadaj was standing just in front of him, mocking him.

"I swear it."

The sound of something being removed from a pocket could be heard. "Then swear on these."

Rufus looked down to the floor to see two ID cards, bloodied and dirty, tossed onto the hardwood. The people were unmistakable, and it sent a sharp stab right through him. "Why did you do this?"

He could not believe it. He had expected that misfortune befell his two Turks in the Crater according to Reno's report, but... if Kadaj had possession of their IDs, then that meant that they were likely... dead.

Rufus refused to betray emotion here, in front of Kadaj who would doubtlessly use it to his advantage. Now was not the time to think about this; he would dwell on it later, when he was alone. The rest of the conversation went seamlessly, and Rufus prided himself on how Kadaj didn't notice a single thing. A Remnant of Sephiroth. That answered many of the questions on the President's mind.

After the door closed behind Kadaj again and the room was once more silent, Reno and Rude finally managed to ease themselves onto their feet. Rufus had turned his gaze out the back window, remaining completely still as he struggled to comprehend how this could have happened. He had always depended on Tseng. Ever since he had been a child, Tseng had been indestructible; he always returned, no matter the danger.

Had it been foolish of him... to expect the man to always come back? To take his skills for granted? To expect that what they shared... would transcend everything?

There had to be a way. This couldn't be the end. Rufus refused to believe that Tseng was truly dead until he saw the body lying in front of him. "Reno. Rude."

The two turned towards him. "Sir."

He hesitated for a second – how could this work? "... Find Vincent Valentine. Tell him to bring them back."

"... Yes, sir."

xxx

He could not count the number of times he drew breaths of immense relief when the twin nets caught him in midair, then lowering him to the ground. Only Rufus had the confidence to jump off of a building thirty stories above the ground and know that his Turks would handle everything.

But the relief wasn't because he hadn't misplaced his trust in his Turks. It was because of the face he saw a few buildings away, looking back at him with those dark eyes that seemed to demand what he thought he was doing.

Rufus never thought he'd be so happy to see that look again.

And when the five of them assembled again, Rufus gave them their standard orders with a simple nod and had to resist the overwhelming urge to place his hands on Tseng's body just to make sure it was really him and he wasn't just hallucinating. As always, the Turk maintained a steady gaze that betrayed nothing, none of the passion they did behind closed doors. And neither did Rufus.

A near death experience, and yet still, everything was to remain a secret.

xxx

In the end, Cloud had helped them anyway. And though Rufus was fairly certain it was more due to personal reasons than a desire to assist ShinRa, it all added up to the same thing in the end. The Remnants were gone, Sephiroth had been defeated again, and now, as he looked out over the ledge of the building, a healing rain had begun to fall. The sound of children's laughter filled the streets below as they streamed through Midgar to head for the church in the slums. As for Rufus, he would not be going there. That place was far too sacred for him and what he had done.

How could he be expected to be healed with the rest when it was his fault that the Planet was in the state it was? No. He would receive his forgiveness another way.

Footsteps behind him drew his attention, and he lifted his head though he did not turn around. He didn't need to see to know who it was. "... I thought you had died."

There was silence for a moment, and then gentle hands brushed over his shoulders, sculpting down his arms and sides with the same appraising worship that they had five years ago. Rufus closed his eyes before turning, opening them again to meet Tseng's pale face, no less handsome with the bandages that circled his forehead. The Turk's eyes flickered over his President and he frowned slightly, reaching up to touch Rufus' own bandages, shielding from view the evidence of his Geostigma. "I am sorry," he said simply, and then redirected the conversation to a new topic. "You don't look well, sir."

Rufus smiled that wan smile of his, just a minute tugging at the corners of his mouth. They always played this game, pretended that there was yet a barrier of professionalism between them when they were alone. In five years, Tseng had not changed, not in the slightest.

But Rufus did not want to play that game now. For a heartbreaking period of time, he had honestly thought he had lost the man forever; it was something that had never occurred to him before as even a possibility. And he never wanted to feel such sinking emptiness again.

Ignoring Tseng's comment about his state of health, Rufus reached forward to, finally, rest fingertips on the man's chest, touching him at last. For almost two months now, he had been worrying about where Tseng was, whether he was alive. And now, to feel him here, alive and solid and warm beneath his touch was more than he could have asked for.

"Do not scare me like that again, Tseng." It came out a little harsher than Rufus had meant it to.

"I won't, sir," came the ever-stoic reply.

"That's Rufus."

A moment of pause, a flicker of confusion across the Turk's face. Never before, in the five years they had been together, or in the eight that they had known each other, had Rufus granted permission to use his name. It was sudden and unexpected. "... I'm sorry?"

Blue eyes lifted to meet dark brown for a moment. "My name. You do know it, right?"

The faintest hint of a smile flickered on Tseng's face, eclipsing the tiredness etched there for a moment as he leaned slowly forward...

And was meant with a hand pressed against his chest, pushing him back. The blond's eyes flickered with a moment of uncertainty. "I still have Geostigma, Tseng. It wouldn't be wise - "

For the first time ever, Tseng interrupted the President, the smile widening just the tiniest bit. "That is not how it is transmitted... Rufus." And before the younger man could protest again, he closed the remaining distance between them and pressed their mouths together in a kiss that twined their hearts once more. Rufus was powerless to resist once the connection had been made, and let out a quiet moan against the Turk's lips, closing his eyes and simply relishing in the relief and emotion that washed over him. Tseng was the only one who could make him feel like this – weak, wanted, almost... vulnerable: a word not typically associated with any member of ShinRa and certainly not its President.

When at last they pulled apart again, Rufus was breathing just a little harder than normal, and was mildly surprised when those arms moved to circle his waist completely, pulling him close. As he inhaled, he could feel Tseng's familiar scent wash over him, comforting and warm.

"... I love you."

A strange jolt shocked the President, and he stepped back, pulling away to look at the Turk with startled, confused eyes as if trying to figure out if Tseng had really just said those words.

But the black-haired Wutaian looked more fond than he had ever before, maintaining that soft smile as Rufus struggled to comprehend what had just happened. "Tseng..."

"I have been trying to find the right time - "

"Tseng, I love you."

Now it was the Turk's turn to pause, blinking. But it hardly came as a surprise, and as he searched those wide blue eyes, he was suddenly reminded, if only for a moment, of innocent, ten-year-old Rufus Shinra standing before the row of employees, his father introducing him to each one of them. It had been fifteen years since then, and when Rufus had first wanted to say those words, at the immature, impassioned age of twenty, Tseng had not let him. "Do you mean that? … Sincerely."

Rufus narrowed his eyes slightly, lips curving into a faint smile of his own. The fact that Tseng had not stopped him this time, for once, meant that the Turk already knew the answer to his own question. So Rufus saw no need to answer. At least, not verbally. Instead, he merely kissed the man again.

The need to breathe brought them apart fifteen seconds or so later, and Tseng stepped back, looking like a large weight had just been lifted off his shoulders. With one hand, he took Rufus', nodding to the younger man.

Torture, death, sickness. It didn't matter. He could survive it all to come back to the man he loved. Tseng was like a cat, they said. With nine lives.

"Come, sir. The others are waiting for you. It is time."

Rufus only nodded once and followed his Turk to the elevator of the building. His Geostigma would be cured and he would rise again as the head of a new ShinRa. He could do it all if Tseng stood beside him.