I'm Not Like the Others


The light touch of his lips graze along my jaw and move down to my neck. They send sensations throughout me that I can no longer recall from my past no matter how hard I try. I don't realize it at first, until he continues to move lower while subtly undoing the buckles across my shirt and opening it that he doesn't appear to be stopping his descent.

And I find myself with an overwhelming sense of panic over it and mutter out, "No," while I close my eyes and grab him with an instinctual urgency to stress that I mean it as I pull him back up by the shoulders.

I don't blame him for being confused and I silently hope he's not going to ask me to explain where my sudden sense of fear is stemming from. But the question in his eyes suddenly disappears as he works out an answer for himself and he lightly nudges my jaw with his nose so he can kiss the tender flesh underneath to express that he thinks he knows the reason and understands.

"You're afraid you might not… taste right," he whispers.

Then he nods when the only answer I give him is a tightening grip around his shoulders while I avoid focussing on him and stare at the ceiling of the tent. He doesn't let it ruin the mood though, and he lightly massages the shoulder he's moved his hand to before he starts running his lips and tongue, teasingly, along my neck again. Though he's a little more cautious than he was a moment ago before he travels to my ear and begins to nibble on my earlobe with a light and teasing touch.

And then he takes more of a risk and works his hand downward and carefully undoes the buckles on my pants before whispering again, "Warn me, and I'll pull away."

"I'd prefer it if you didn't," I tell him, low and gruff, and self-conscious about the chemical taste I might have before I close my eyes when his hand finds what it's looking for and he starts to move over my pants with a lulling touch that's already starting to ease me away from my concerns.

"There's more than one reason for me to do it," he mutters as he decides to ignore my request and works his way downward again, "And if it makes you feel any better, it's more for my benefit than for yours."

I should have expected no less from him. Since the first day, he's refused to take no for an answer unless it suits him and the fact that he covers it up by making it seem selfish almost makes me want to smile at the irony.

Though I don't really know what benefit he could gain from doing it and I wind up asking as he places a tender kiss over the last scar I ever received when I was alive.

"How does it benefit you?" I mutter, half-curious and half-disbelieving as I look at him through half-lidded eyes and run my hands along his shoulders, being the only places I can reach while he continues on his journey and moves the restriction of my pants away.

He does the same thing with his own before he runs a flat-tongued lick along the tender skin of my inner thigh and sucks on the flesh while stroking me again.

"Lubrication," he mutters with warm breath against my skin. Then he looks up at me, eyes glazed over with a seductive sparkle that almost looks diabolical at the same time and he mutters in an even quieter tone, "And the closer I get you to finishing before we start, the quicker you'll be."

Despite the harsh undertone of accusation, I can't help but let it slide since he's making it difficult to focus on much more than what he's doing. But his comment still embarrasses me and makes me feel uneasy over the fact that he remembers more than I wish he did.

And it brings back that unholy sense of guilt over what I did without his permission. But the feelings wash away just as quickly as they enter when I feel a warming and heated hunger envelope me, making me realize that I've forgotten the feeling entirely.

And immediately, all of my concerns are washed away, along with all of my other burdens.

Mindlessly numb, I am now, as I find a method of unholy escape through him and I have no idea what it is that he's doing. But I try to guess at it nonetheless.

"Kjata," I breathe out like a whispered breeze quivering upon the breath.

It's barely audible. But I still surprise myself at the lack of self-control as I roll my eyes back and run my tongue along my bottom lip before breathing something else out as well. Though I'm not even aware of what it is. Either I've completely forgotten what it felt like, or he's doing something that I've never experienced before, or both.

Whatever it is though, I'm wanting inside of him even more, despite the dilemma over whether or not I really want him to stop. But the reminder of the chemicals in me flashes briefly through the back of my mind and I find myself reluctantly stopping him from whatever wild exploration he's embellishing in.

And when I go to sit up so I can help him onto his side, he firmly pushes me back down onto my back. Then he shakes his head while he looks at me with star-glazed eyes and crawls over top of me. I'm not exactly sure what his plans are, and when I try to remove his shirt, he stops me, verifying that his insecurities aren't about to wash away as easily as I'd hoped.

Whether it's the way he's always been or if it's due to the events of the last couple of years that made him feel ashamed, I'm not sure. But my question dissipates the moment he slowly and carefully lowers himself onto me and leans forward to seal the action with a deep kiss.


He doesn't let me touch him this time though, and his pace slows once I let out a nearly incoherent cry. Almost like my own satisfaction is enough for both of us and he wipes the hair back that's clinging to his face from the sweat of his efforts. Then his hands wander about my torso as if he's taking a strange sort of pleasure in the way I'm still unconsciously bucking into him as the last of the inner pulsations course through my insides.

And only then, does he take care of himself. Though he stays connected to me. But he still manages to send mixed signals by the sheer and confusing fact that he refuses to let me touch him this time. Whether he thinks I don't know what I'm doing or if this is typical of him, I'm not sure, and about the best I'm able to do is run the palms of my hands over his thighs until he mutters out, "Leviathan," and collapses over top of me.

Then he breathes out as if he's been temporarily released from his personal restrictions and can finally admit to the fact that, "I almost forgot what it felt like."

"How long has it been?" I ask him, as I stop him from trying to get up so I can stay inside him a little longer and run my hands along his back to mindlessly massage away the pains I know he feels.

"Before the last time… Years" he mutters and closes his eyes as a light moan escapes from his throat, "Maybe four… Maybe five…"

Then he lets out a releasing breath and simultaneously breathes out, "I'm afraid I've lost track."

"Why so long?"

"Bad luck," he answers before he traces his fingers down my torso and moves slightly so he can circle them in his own semen. He spreads it about like he's playing with it and for some reason, I find it strangely fascinating while he adds, "And after the Temple…"

With a short nod to let him know that I think I understand even though I highly suspect that he knows exactly how long it's been, I reposition him so he's back to the way he was before he moved and I start massaging my fingers along his back again. I can't help but think that what the remnants did to him sealed whatever solitary fate he chose though, since he doesn't want anyone seeing the evidence of the state he was left in.

"What kind of bad luck?" I ask him as he sighs and moves his fingers to my lips.

Not paying too much mind, I kiss the tips and let him place them in my mouth after he toys them across my lips.

"You'll eventually figure it out on your own," he mumbles while he pushes himself up a bit and watches me with a subtle slyness and a slight turn to the corner of his mouth while he continues to molest my mouth with his fingers as if he suddenly found something fascinating.


I think nothing of it at first, or even why they were moist when he initially brought them to my mouth until I realize that they're the fingers he was tracing his semen with. And my next reaction is nothing more than pure reaction, void of any thought as I grab his wrist, hit him, and throw him off of me before he wipes at the blood at the corner of his mouth that I'm probably responsible for. Then he snickers as I spit on the floor before wiping at my own mouth in disgust.

"And here, I thought that you cared," he says, trifling and still snickering at me with a toying look in his eyes that appears almost spiteful as he grabs his pants and puts them on.

I'd apologize but I can't bring myself to do it since all I can really think about is where the hell he's going now as he opens the tent and walks out.

"Tseng," I call while I push myself to my knees, knowing that he's not angry from the look he had in his eyes. In fact, they suggested that I did exactly what he wanted me to do like he wanted to prove something to me. But I don't know what it is and I need to find out as I follow him to the river that we're near.

"What are you doing?"

"I have no desire to sleep with your filth all over me," he answers, aloofly as he waves his hand at me like he'd like me to go away. Then he dips his toes in the water and quirks his brow, suggesting that it's not up to his standards but it will have to do.

"Now go away."

Go away, I think to myself, and I think of how much I'd love to while he hangs onto his pants to hold them up and stares at me like he's waiting until I'm completely out of his sight. I don't go anywhere though. Instead, I tell him in a low and gruff voice that, "I think I'm beginning to understand why you're relationships never work out."

He's not offended though, and all he does is snort at me like he's thinking I have no idea what I'm talking about.

"I wouldn't be so quick to judge my past relationships based on the small amount of sex you've had with me, Vince," he tells me. Then he turns around and crouches at the water's edge and mutters, "Usually, I have taste."

Arrogant bastard, I think before I completely react again and push him forward into the water. I figure if he wants to wash all traces of me away from him, I'll help him by grabbing him and holding him under the accursed water.

After he grunts when he hits the cold and sharp stones in the river's bed, he tells me that he should have expected no less from the mangy animal that I am. Then he snickers at me as he lies restrained and beneath me with his hair flowing like tendrils as the stream catches it and pulls it into tantalizing swirls while his soaked skin reflects the pale glow of the moonlight from the glistening droplets that almost make him seem otherworldly.

I don't know why I'm letting him get to me like this though, and I tell myself that nothing he does or says should affect me, or even matter to me. I even go so far as to tell myself that I deserve whatever it is that he's doing to me and that I probably deserve to be driven crazy like I fear he's doing too.

But I'm not exactly certain that I should kill him over it even though I want to right now, and I'm beginning to suspect that he wants me to as well. Though I don't know why, especially if he fears going back to where he went after the Temple, and I remove my hands from his throat and sit back, suddenly confused and still in the water.

"You have the temperament of a Mongrel," he mutters as he pushes himself up and rings his hair out to his left side. Then he sits beside me and shakes the water off his hands while letting out a frustrated sigh over the fact that he's soaked. After that, he looks at me and sneers before he hits me on the shoulder with the back of his hand and gets up.

"Are you so far-gone that you don't even care about what you do to yourself?"

"Is that what this is about?" I ask without bothering to look at him and choosing to watch the water I'm sitting in instead.

"Elaborate," he says, or more accurately, he orders before he mutters something about it being a good thing that it's warm out while he shakes his soaking legs out.

"You're trying to drive me away," I say, more than certain that I'm right, "And now you're getting frustrated because I won't go."

"Of course I am," he admits. Then he tells me that, "You're going to wind up ruining my life."

"Why's that?" I ask with a slight cynicism to my voice over the fact that I think he's doing a fine job of that on his own before I lower my head and turn my attention to the woods in the opposite direction of where he's standing when I hear a twig snap, "Are you afraid your mother might find out?"

At that, he hisses some kind of Wutian name at me, an unpleasant one, I'm sure. But I can only speculate because there's no translation for it and I can only imagine the fire that burns in his eyes since I can't be bothered to turn around to see it.

"It would kill her."

"On top of being a Turk, I'm sure it would," I say, distantly and to the wind while I continue to watch the woods and listen to the sounds of it as well. I can't help but feel like there's someone else present and that I need to keep my guard up. But it doesn't stop me from the banter since I'm sure I can deal with both, "Is that why you got married?"

I know my question is spiteful and that I'm probably stepping down to his level by asking it. But from what I gathered from the letter, she'd caught him cheating on her, suggesting to me that he married her as a way to cover up his preferences.

And luckily for me, I anticipate his next action and move out of the way quickly enough that his blade just misses me.

"Hit a nerve?" I cruelly ask as I push him down and jump on him while pulling out my gun and cocking the safety.

He doesn't say a word about it though and just stares emptily at me as if he can't feel my fingers angrily gripping into his jaw as I hear another cautious snap in the woods and aim the gun into the direction and shoot at the first thing that moves.

"How long did you know he was there?" is the only thing that Tseng asks, like he's accusing me of not acting soon enough as the Turk I spotted only moments ago falls lifeless to the ground.

"I would have known sooner if you weren't being so impossible."

Then almost like he forgets about the Turk, he pushes me off of him and starts brushing at the dirt that's soiling into his clothes.

"You don't know me as well as you think you do," he tells me. Then he steps through the shallow parts of the water with bare feet and makes his way over to ensure the man I shot is dead while adding, "You only see what you want to see."

"And what is that?" I ask, not really knowing why I'm asking to be enlightened by his infinite and questionable wisdom as I push myself up and follow him.

"You want to see someone you can save."

He sighs then, and kneels beside the man on his good knee while muttering a respect as he checks his pulse. Then he closes the man's eyes before he rests his hands on his scarred leg and lowers his head while letting out a snort at the irony.

"My first lover was a Turk," he tells me without bothering to look up, "Or I guess you could say my first real lover… if you could call him that…"

With a frown, he turns the man's head away from him and quirks his brow at the fatal and accurate wound in the temple that I'm already feeling guilty about.

"I was sixteen," he mutters, almost too low for a normal person to hear and I'm not really sure if he knows how well I can hear him with the enhancements I was left with as a side-effect from what Lucrecia did to me to try to save my life, "Just some fool who apprenticed under the only person in Wutai that would hire me."

He snickers with an undertone of sarcasm as if he sees irony in what he's saying and winds up disclosing why.

"I worked for a medicine-man that felt all men were equal, which was why he was willing to take me under his wing."

He takes another moment of pause while he stands and slicks his hair back with his palms. I'm assuming it's a habit of his that he does unconsciously since I doubt he would have done it if he was paying attention to how dirty his hands were.

Then he looks back down at the Turk and mutters, "Unlike all the others in town, he even felt the Turks were still men under Leviathan's eyes."

He smiles, almost wryly at his thoughts and looks over at me with that glint passing through his eyes as if he's indulging in a dirty little secret.

"He was the only one that would treat them."

I figure that's how he was introduced to the Turks and I stay silent, more out of a sense of curiosity than respect while I hope that he'll tell me something relevant this time.

"I had difficulty with it at first," he admits, "It was bad enough that everyone knew I had no father to raise me and that I was… different."

He snickers at the fact that he can't even say it for fear of openly admitting to it even though he already knows that I know. Then he shakes his head and looks back down.

"That I had to tend to Turks as well, just so I could earn enough money to get away from that dismal Island… It was the icing on the cake.

"We tended to a Turk who was shot too many times to be healed properly from restores or high potions, and when he was better, he said he wanted to treat me to a dinner… as a way to thank me," he tells me before he quickly explains, "I made the mistake of telling him why I was constantly getting into fights after he kept asking me about the fresh bruises I had every day."

"Every day," I state, almost questioning it. But not making it sound like one while he sneers and slowly shakes his head as if the thought irritates him.

"Yes," he admits before he finally turns his attention back over to me and sighs, "Wutai's a small place, desolate when it comes to entertainment… There's really nothing better to do than beat up bastard sons… or anyone else that doesn't fit in."

Then he turns his attention away and mutters, almost as if he's rubbing it in to the Gods instead of talking to me, "It got worse after I kissed that boy… just one more reason for them."

"And you never told your mother?" I ask, monotone and quiet as always and sensing that his darkening mood needs to be broken. Though I don't want him to stop because I can't help but want to know.

"No," he tells me, "It's bad enough that she was…"

For a moment, he trails off and stares at the ground, suddenly looking like he's bothered by something even more disturbing to him before he shakes his head and finishes his sentence with what sounds like a different thought than what he started out with, "Wanted grandchildren…"

"So you snuck around," I muse as he suddenly walks passed me like it's a knee-jerk reaction and I wonder how he's managed to keep everything hidden from her while he continues carefully across the river again.

"Not really," he mutters with his back to me as I follow. Then he adds as if he regrets it, "Not at first."

And when we make it back to the tent, he immediately goes inside as if he's looking for something and admits, "I didn't even sneak around with the Turk. Everybody already hated me. So there was no point… But then he…"

He stops for a moment and at first I think it's because he's thinking twice about everything he's saying. But then he emerges with his gloves in his hand and focuses on them while putting them on.

"Nothing was going on anyway," he mutters as he flexes his fingers to ensure they're on right, "At least, not until he decided he wanted to experiment… try something new."

He walks passed me as he says the last part and makes his way back to the river while still in his bare feet and I follow him again while attempting to piece things together.

Though I'm not exactly sure where it will go while I mutter with my head down, "He wasn't gay."

"No," Tseng answers before he sarcastically snorts when he stops near the body of the Turk, "But he was willing and I would have done anything for him."

With his head down, he stops long enough to mutter out, "Beta," over the body to dispose of it before he turns around and acts like disintegrating bodies on a regular basis is so normal for him that he doesn't even pay it any mind while he continues to explain and makes his way back to the tent.

"So much… that I did," he says as he stops near the small fire and picks up a stick to stoke it with, "If I'd known it was only to satisfy his midlife crisis, I might not have chosen to let him be my first, or even went so far as to follow him to Midgar when he asked me to go with him."

"That's why you joined the Turks," I muse before he confuses matters more by shaking his head in disagreement and I suddenly focus on the fact that he said, "Midlife crisis," while angrily stoking the fire. I don't know exactly how much of what he's focusing on is brought out by my presence, but I can't help but ask, "How old was he?"

"Thirty-eight," he tells me before he takes a deep breath and snickers while wryly commenting, "Maybe you knew him… He would have only been five years older than you."

I figure it's best not to go that route by asking his name on the off chance that maybe I did, and I decide to focus more on the fact that he was just a kid who was taken advantage of by a man who would be older than me if he's still around. I can't help but stare at him with a sickened and compassionate feeling through my bangs as he does his best to act like everything he's saying doesn't bother him.

"You were only sixteen."

He only nods as he reflects on it. Then he tosses the stick into the fire and turns to look at me with a sly and teasing look in his eyes as he quickly looks me over and admits, "I guess I like older men."

Unless they're Reno, I suddenly think to myself before I quickly shake the thought while realizing that even thinking it is inappropriate and I'm somewhat thankful that he doesn't pick up on it even though he looks at me suspiciously for a moment.

Then he adds, almost like he did know what I was thinking, "Under normal circumstances, they're more sophisticated."

And at that, he narrows his eyes at me and mutters as he turns back around to face the fire so he can try and dry his clothes out a little faster.

"Or at least that's what I would have myself believe."

Ignoring the insult since I'm starting to believe that it's more of a self-defence mechanism than anything else, I take a step closer and ask him, "What happened?"

"It turned out that it was only a phase for him," he tells me before he snickers at himself for being the fool that he was and turns around to heat up his backside.

"He decided he'd go back to his wife and then tell everyone that I was some demented, confused, and psychotic gay maniac that was stalking him."

"Stalking," I state as I come closer and lower my head while trying to fight off the strangely submissive feeling that he brings out in me at times, and he answers in a lowered voice like he doesn't really want to say what he says as he turns back around, suggesting that he doesn't want to face me all the sudden.

Then he admits as if it's meant to explain more than he wants to, "I was only sixteen."

Supposing it's my turn to see the irony in his behaviour, I wind up fighting the urge to rub it in and I suppress it. Knowing full-well what it's like to be young and have no control over your emotions. And I find myself suddenly feeling like I need to defend myself and my actions, and I believe it to be true.

"I'm not like that."

"Of course not," he distantly says, a little on the cold side. Then he turns back around and grabs Lucrecia's chain to pull it toward him tugging me forward with it as he tangles his hand into it to stress the irony while I stare at the reddening mark at the corner of his mouth from when I pushed him away and inadvertently hit him.

Then he arrogantly states in his usual tone, though there's a sharp hint of sarcasm to his words while he focuses on the small orb hanging from it that, "You would never humiliate me like the others. You're just too good of a man."

"Others…" I wonder before the thought of 'how many?' crosses my mind.