Tseng groaned. His head felt woolly as a mammoth. He gazed around his room, eyes alighting on the mirror. Then he stared. He had... no reflection!
BEGIN FLASHBACK
Rufus shuddered and gasped, his back arching, as Vincent Valentine's vampire venom surged through his body, completing the transformative process. Tseng bit through the strands of hair around Rufus' penis as fast as he could, but it was too late. Rufus moaned and gripped Tseng's shoulder in an iron grip. Then he bit him.
Tseng caterwauled as Rufus' fangs sank into his neck, burning and icy all at once, and also a bit like when you sit on your leg for ages and it loses circulation and it goes all springy, but worse. He heard a slurping sound. He closed his eyes; the end was nigh. He lay back, limp, and ceased to try, fixing his gaze on Rufus' thigh. At least, this way, he'd go out high.
"Goodbye," Thought Tseng. "Goodbye, goodbye."
END FLASHBACK
But Tseng's goodbyes had been premature, premature like an insatiably curious baby that had abandoned the womb at five months to seek pastures new. And now Tseng had not died. Instead, he was... a vampire!
A vampire, and also a Turk. That boded ill for his arch-nemesis... Sephiroth.
.
Rufus sat awkwardly in the Shinra canteen, conspicuously not eating his potatoes (since he was still a vampire). Around him, men in their underwear slapped and tickled each other. Rufus wanted to be sick.
He didn't understand it. He just didn't understand it. Why was every single recruit gay? What did they see in each other? Where were the breasts? Rufus could write an ode to the humble breast, or better yet, the not so humble, 'is it real or is it made of silicon- eh, who cares; it's bigger than my head' kind of breast. Hell, he could write a a bloody opera about breasts. Maybe, one day, he would. And maybe, just maybe, when he got away from this sword-comparing, poetry-reciting, bottom-pinching excuse for an army, he might actually get the chance to touch one...
So thinking, he reached into his pocket and drew out the crumpled photo that had accompanied him many a time to the men's room. He stroked a finger down the paper- now THOSE were breasts!- and sighed.
Tifa...
.
Tseng was hungry. He headed down to the Soldier training field, looking for some fresh blood...
.
As Zack did his pressups, the thrusting motion reminded him of sex, and soon he felt horny. So when the Silver general tiptoed over to him and then stroked a single, sensual finger down his neck, he held his breath, heart pounding with excitement.
Sephiroth slowly bent and then lay on top of Zack's press-up-ing body, moulding himself to Zack. The steady motion made him feel like a butterfly made of candy was pressing against his jockstrap.
They both stayed silent as they bounced up and down; they knew that seeking pleasure together, master and recruit, was wrong, forbidden- but there was nothing wrong with Sephiroth lying on top of Zack to help strengthen his arms, and that was all a casual observer would see. Most observers wouldn't have noticed Sephiroth's hand, stroking up and down Zack's bare thigh, or Zack's underwear-tent that scraped along the ground with each pressup, creating glorious friction.
Unfortunately for Zack, however, there was somebody watching them who was more than just a casual observer...
.
A/N: GUESS WHO!