Moonlight on the Water


Tseng is straight-faced, if not dire when he says, "So Rufus finds a red piece of cloth outside that's been there for Leviathan knows how long, and you immediately jump to the conclusion that…" and for a moment he pauses as if he's genuinely confused before asking, "Exactly what are you implying?"

"Ya saying I'm wrong?"

"I'm saying you're dead wrong," Tseng answers before he starts to laugh like the whole idea is ridiculous.

"Explain the toad then."

"Are you serious?" he asks like the answer should be obvious to anyone with half a brain before he offers a condescending enlightenment to the redhead. "We're living on a farm."

Then he grabs me by the back of my cloak when I come to the conclusion that I should probably leave and he roughly yanks me toward him.

"They're everywhere, and they make less intrusive companions than I'm beginning to think any of you are."

After that, he starts to point out that he's seen all sorts of small animals in all of their homes as he pulls me closer and moves his hand over my shoulder to ensure that I don't try to leave again.

"Are you telling me that the rest of you are hiding playmates and that's why you've jumped to the ridiculous conclusion that you and Rufus have jumped to?"

"Whatever, Tseng…" Reno replies, sounding curt and ready to defend himself. "Maybe that's all it is… But it still don't explain the hair."

"Hair?" Tseng asks, sounding surprised again before Reno tells him about the hair that he found in his bathroom and how the feel of it was coarser than his, and Tseng immediately asks him what his fascination is with his hair all the sudden, causing the redhead to fumble.

"My goodness, Reno… I had no idea you'd been touching my hair… Do you do it when I'm unconscious?" Then he outright laughs at him, almost mockingly before accusingly asking, "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"Fuck off, Tseng."

"Well, honestly, Reno…" Tseng starts, toying with him now and quirking his brow while sounding almost sarcastic, "You seem very determined to prove something… Is there a reason?"

"Yer bein an ass."

"No more of one than you, I'm afraid," he coolly answers before Reno gets fed up and tells him that he isn't talking to him anymore because he's an obstinate prick, and that the conversation is over.

But Tseng only takes it as fuel as he gets under Reno's skin while asking in an innocent tone, "Did I hit a nerve?"

Then he quirks his brow again, as if he's insulted, when he hears a click on the other end and then nothing but dead air, and he mutters while he stares at his PHS, almost like he's surprised, "He hung up on me."


After that, Tseng simply stands there and turns his attention to me, like he's regretting trusting me enough to let me in as far as he has and he purses his lips.

"I take it there's something you forgot to tell me," he says, and he pulls me closer with an abrupt jerk before roughly pushing me back while he puts his phone back in his pocket.

"Sorry," Is the best I can come up with, not wanting to risk making me sound like I'm coming up with excuses.

"Sorry?" he mockingly repeats as if the word has no meaning in his vocabulary. Then he lets out a stressful sigh and walks over to the fireplace to stoke it again while muttering, "You have no idea how difficult you're making things for me."

I have a good idea, I think, while resisting the urge to apologize again and I risk stepping closer while he stiffens up and seems lost in his thoughts.

He's closing himself off again, I think. He's regretting bringing me here and regretting ever seeking me out, and he's probably wondering why he ever let me in as I lower my head and give it my best effort to leave. But he says something that catches my attention, as low and not wanting to be heard as it is, and I take note of the heavy agitation that clings to his words.

"I don't want to be alone right now."

Then he turns around and leans against the brick to the side of the fireplace and stares at the floor. All the while, I fight off the urge to tell him that he's got Elena to keep him company, making me wonder more about what either of us is doing to each other as I stand there, unable to find words and I lower my head.

We remain silent after that, making the time that passes too awkward to be comfortable while we both stir in our own thoughts. Though I suspect mine are as focussed on him as his are on Sephiroth at the moment, given the way he's unconsciously running his fingers along the handle of the custom blade beneath his blazer, making me partly wonder if he's considering a failsafe way to get rid of me.

But his actions tell me that it's not what he's thinking before he lets out another sigh, straightens up, and takes a haunted look around as if he's seeing the place for the first time.

Then he licks his lips and stares through the bedroom door while quietly stating, "I shouldn't have brought you here."

For a moment, he simply stares into space, still focusing on the room before unwanted images of him and Sephiroth start to fill my head like they're being put there on purpose. But it stops the moment Tseng changes his focus and curls his finger over his mouth in thought.

"I honestly don't know what I was thinking," he says, referring to me again before he shakes his head to clear it out, slips his shoes on, grabs the lantern and starts to walk to the back door with a reluctant hand gesture telling me to follow.

"Where are we going?" I ask, not being able to come up with anything better to say while he opens the door and lets out another agitated sigh, suggesting that the answer to my question should have been obvious.

"Outside."


Somewhat relieved that he was as uncomfortable as I was inside, I follow him, despite the unwelcome feeling I'm getting from him all the sudden. But I also can't help but remind myself that I'm the one responsible for his change of mood, even though I pass the blame over to Reno for being the one to pick the worst time to ruin what seemed like progress.

The thought passes just as quickly the moment he stops where the stone pathway ends and branches off to the left though. The action is in the semblance of him hitting a wall and he stares at the untouched beech ahead of him as if he's reluctant about something. Or maybe he's just thinking of the past—the ghosts that live there, and I grit my teeth and lower my head.

Then I take a step forward, hoping that the sound of the metal against the stone doesn't make my closing presence too intrusive before I finally make a hesitant offer.

"I can take you back to Elena."

He shakes his head as an answer though, and his hand twitches uncommonly this time, like he wants to do something that he's unsure about.

"I used to walk on this beech," he distantly says before kicking at the sand with the toe of his shoe and staring at the ocean with a strange look in his eyes that he contradicts with a chastising sneer, "barefoot."

Then he snickers and shakes his head again, like he thinks he's being ridiculous but can't stop as he nods toward the water.

"Perhaps I should have taken advantage of it when I had the chance, but I haven't even looked at it since…"

"No one's here to see you," I tell him, knowing where the struggle is and knowing that I'm partially lying to him as he points out, "You are."

Deciding that it's not the time to tell him that I won't look, I simply stand beside him before I realize that I can't remember when the last time was that I'd felt the ocean water either, not being one to partake in leisure ever since…

"I think it's been longer for me," I suddenly mutter before wondering if it was the right thing to say, but hoping that the common ground will get him to open up again.

"Hm," he mumbles, still staring at the ocean before he distantly adds, "I guess we both have things we want to hide."

With a silent gesture, I simply nod once before continuing to stare into the same spot as him.


For some reason, I don't feel like I'm the only one that drifts off from time to time. Although his distance seems to keep me focused, maybe even concerned as I take the risk by moving closer and putting my arm around his shoulder. And I'm almost thankful when he responds by moving his arm around my waist. Though we both still stand there, side-by-side, silently and staring into the night like it's hypnotic.

"Do you want to go in?" I finally ask before he pulls back, stiffening a little again and making me regret that I asked.

"No," he answers. Then he shakes his head as if he needs to make it more concrete while he comes up with an excuse that he feels will do him justice, "I don't have any swimwear."

"Neither do I," I answer, even though I highly suspect that he has something in the beach-house. But I'm not going to push him, I tell myself, before I realize I'm only lying when I tell him to, "Take your shoes off."

"What?" he asks, sounding a bit surprised as he tries to pull away and I hold onto him, not willing to let him get away that easily, "What for?"

"You'll get sand in your shoes if you don't," I tell him.

"No, I won't," he answers. Then he motions with the lantern in his hand toward a small stone bench near the other end of the branching pathway, "Because I'm not going on the—What are you doing?"

"Ignoring you," I tell him as he starts to squirm and hits me in the shoulder when I lift him from the ground, and I wind up cradling him.

"Put me down!"

"No."

"This isn't funny, Vince."

"Vincent," I remind him before I comment that, "I didn't say it was."

Then I pull the lantern from his grip and put it on a nearby ledge, despite the awkwardness involved by carrying him. After that, I carry him toward the water while he continues to demand that I put him down, and he simultaneously tries to break himself free.

However, when I finally do as he says, he makes it clear that it wasn't exactly where he meant as a broad splash soaks us both before he winds up soaking me even more by retaliating with a rough splash. Then he pushes me backward and causes me to lose my footing, and he stares down at me with a look that turns from anger to amusement.

"I take it you find it funny now?" I retort while brushing my soaked hair from my eyes before I pull him unsuspectingly toward me and I ignore the surprised yelp from him that comes out more playful than surprised.

Though I admit, I'm probably just as surprised at the fact that he's not as upset as I thought he would be.

It appears that he's giving in as he moves closer and undoes my cloak to throw it toward the beach, explaining that it will weigh me down—not that it would matter. But I shrug off the ill comment and take note of the strange feeling that builds in my chest, like something I'd lost and forgotten had been found again, and I wind up pushing the wet strands of hair from his face with a soaked glove, almost thankful.

For what though, I don't know, and I watch him as he finally gives in, removing his shoes, socks and blazer, and tosses them onto the same spot as my cloak. Then I follow suit with my armour, gloves, and soaked boots while I take note that he leaves his pants and shirt on, and I decide that I'm not going to say anything as I take a bold enough step to remove my own shirt, somewhat hoping it will encourage him to follow suit.

But it doesn't seem to be the most prominent thought on my mind at the moment, and I pull him farther into the depth while musing over the irony of us both. He said he used to be vain, and I know I never told him my own story. But I used to be the opposite, and here we are, reversing the roles while I silently hope I can pull him out of his shell, never realizing that he's unknowingly pulling me out of mine.

Or maybe he does know, I wonder, before he lifts his soaked arm from the water, white cotton clinging to his arm as heavy drops fall from the fabric and he looks back at the beach-house while fiddling with the wet cuffs.

"I might have to explain this," he says, even though I'm sure he doesn't think he needs to, "Perhaps I'll tell her the truth this time."

"What would that be?"

"That I was nearly drowned by a monster."

Ignoring the brash comment, I remind him that, "You started a fire." Then I move closer and place my hands on his hips before leaning toward him and adding, "We can hang your clothes to dry before you return."

He smiles at me then, and shakes his head before placing the palm of his hand on my chest and lightly pushing me back as he moves forward, deeper into the water and playfully asks, "Why would you assume that I don't have a more modern means of accomplishing the same task?"

"For the same reason that you don't have any power connected," I answer, before he nods and stops pushing me.

"Hm." With a passing glint, he smirks at me, and then he quietly asks, "Aren't you surprised?"

"I'm finding a lot of things surprising about you," I admit, following his suit and moving closer while he nods and sucks in his bottom lip.

"I wonder if you'd find the reason surprising," he muses, almost like he's playing before he splashes the water into my face and swims into the deeper water when I think its okay to place my hands on him. Flirtatiously playing, I think. Or maybe I just hope, and I decide to take it as bait and go after him to catch him, making me think my first assumption was correct when he doesn't struggle away.

"What's the reason?" I ask while he turns so his back is to me, and the house is in his view. Then he snakes his hand behind him, up the back of my neck and twists his palm so it's resting against it.

"Maybe it's strange," he tells me, "considering where I grew up and what I strived to get away from."

After that, he turns and places both his hands behind my neck while I place mine on his hips and chance moving closer, "But we were never left wanting."

Then he tilts his head and flicks his thumb near the base of my hair.

"And I suppose a part of me believes in some of the same things as those of Wutai, despite that I never regretted leaving."

"Things like what?" I ask, before I lean closer and note that there are no electrical connections at all.

"Romantic notions…" he quietly answers before he pushes himself up on his toes and runs his eyes over me like he's looking for something.

I only study him back though, thinking that he's only becoming more alluring. But he moves away before I get the chance to act on anything and he swims through the shallow water toward the beech, telling me, "I need to get these clothes dry."

I only nod, wondering why he leads me on and then runs the moment he has an effect on me, and I catch myself reflecting on how Lucrecia used to do the same thing.

The sudden swing in my mood makes me want to stay where I'm standing like a fool in the waves, exposed and empty at the same time before he turns to look at me and asks, "Aren't you coming?"

"Sure," I mutter, before I lower my head and remind myself that at least he's acknowledging me.


When we go back inside, he drops the clothes he carried in and takes the lantern with him down the short hall before returning with a line that he tries to put up between two hooks on the opposite walls.

"We set this up for convenience," he tells me as I start to help him, since they're slightly higher than him. Then he lowers his head when I reach over him and hesitantly confesses, "Seph… Put these up."

"I'm sure you let him know it was too high," I say, trying to keep us both light before I finish fastening the line and look down to see that he's turned around and is looking up at me.

"I did," he tells me before he pushes me back and starts hanging our clothes, "but he never listened."

Or he just liked to get him worked up, I think, wondering if it's more accurate as we hang the last of the clothes and he turns to face me again, hesitantly stepping closer.

"We…" he starts, and hesitates for an awkward moment before he motions toward my headscarf and nods when I nod to let him know he can take it off, "We need to get out of these clothes."

With another nod, I step closer and shake my hair when he finishes pulling it off.

"Don't," he warns, as I ignore him and step even closer, finding it easy over the fact that he doesn't look upset over it.

Then he steps away and mentions that there are dry clothes in the room.

"I believe your more Seph's size than mine," he mutters, and attempts to walk away before I grab him by the arm.

"I don't want to wear Sephiroth's clothes," I tell him, mildly regretting the way that it comes out, but all he does is nod.

"Would you prefer mine?" he asks before I slowly shake my head, suddenly wanting to establish my territory to him, and the next thing I know, I'm chancing my boundaries again, pushing them for some unknown reason.

But he doesn't try to push me away as hard as I expect him to, despite where we are when my lips seal against his.

He presses his hands against my chest though, attempting to hold me back before palms smooth over it, feeling, searching, and moving toward my ribs and my back before he pulls back to breathe out, "We shouldn't be doing this."

I ignore him though, taking advantage of his arched neck, breathing in the scent and tasting the flesh while his hands smooth over the muscles of my back and toward my shoulders where his fingers toy with a massaging pressure, telling me that he's not paying much mind to what he just said—falling as weak as I am.

Daring to take it as permission, I start to undo the top buttons of his soaked shirt, where marred skin shows through the contacting folds of cotton, and I wrap my other arm below his waist, pulling him closer and sealing his mouth before he gets the chance to protest. Maybe it's the modesty that attracts me to him, despite how much it contrasts with his righteous nature—the chase—and the game that appeals to a hunter's instinct, mirroring what I don't want to believe about myself.

He makes it all easy to bury though, despite the ghost that haunts him here, and although he touches me in no perverse way as if he's still afraid to give in. But he almost melts into me as the pads of strong fingers trail up my neck and down my spine, exploring and learning, and the mild taste of lingering sugar invites me to go further, making me feel like I can inhale his essence, whether it's what I really want or not, and ignoring the question just the same.

And the thought about why he makes me want this, or how, washes away, along with the thought as to why it's him that I find desirable and tempting—like a fly finds a trap.

"Mm-no," he mutters before his shirt has a chance to fall to the floor and he quickly grabs it before trying to pull away so he can hang it up. I only stand there for a moment, wondering if that's his way of getting away from whatever he's afraid of while he disdainfully explains, "It's not going to dry properly if it's on the floor."

Of course not, I sarcastically think, before the doubt starts again and I wonder why I'm torturing myself with him. It's almost like I'm with Lucrecia again, and I almost start to wonder if he's right about me trying to replace her with him. But he breaks the thought by returning to me after anally fiddling with the shirt to get it in the most beneficial position for drying the fastest, and he seals the air between us with a continuation of a wanting kiss, reviving everything that's dead in me.

The doubt still lingers though, and he senses it before his own set of concerns kick in and he almost pulls away with a sense of defeat. But I find myself pulling him back as if it's his own inner demon that I've been looking for, like I'm feeding from his own devastation as I guide us both to the blankets with a new set of silent questions over my own agenda.

Maybe it's strange that I'm not even asking what his motives are anymore as I start to explore him, and he does the same with me, seeming bashful whenever I take a moment to watch him for signs of a possible mistake I might be making, and reminding me of how opposite and confident he appeared when I first got to know him.

He shrugs inward now, uncomfortable at being looked at and uncomfortable at not being covered while I find a morbid sense of attraction to it, and I run my fingers down his damaged chest, along his ribs, and over his abdomen, tracing the imperfections and not questioning why I'm attracted to them or the fact that I blame myself for them. All the while, he traces over my own skin, unmarked and preserved, and allows me to climb over him to seek out his neck again, tasting and closing my eyes at the sound of a soft moan that was probably unintentional.

Whether it's him or the feeling that's intoxicating is no longer important, and I find my way to fumble with his belt while he nimbly undoes the buckles on my pants as if he'd been practicing.

"Kjata," I moan, barely moving my lips from him and as if the words are only air when he slips his hand through the opening and touches me in a way that breathes life. All the while, I'm still fumbling with his belt, and he responds by saying that our pants need to be hung to dry as if he's only exhaling the words instead of saying them before pushing me up and undoing his own belt since I can't seem to figure out how in the hell he has it fastened.

With an attempt to hold back my frustration with him, I tell him I'll do it, knowing that he probably won't be able to relax if it never gets done. Then after I carelessly toss them over the line in front of the fireplace, I turn to see that he's already managed to cover himself with the blanket.

I only shake my head at him, biting back on what I'd really like to say, despite the fact that he can read my thoughts like a book.

"Humour me," he answers, breathily and almost like I said something while I lean down to kiss him again, ignoring him and gently pulling the blanket from his relaxing grip before running my hand toward the middle of his legs.

He closes his eyes when I touch him, and he mirrors the action onto me while I watch him run his tongue along his bottom lip, features dancing amidst the flickering flames while I remind myself to be gentle with him. All the while, I wonder if there's a way to make things more comfortable for him, or even if there's a need to.

But he doesn't bother to let me know and he raises his legs around my waist to accommodate me better, already knowing what I prefer. Then he lifts his head to kiss my neck and hangs onto me firmly, but careful not to hurt before his breath turns shaky and he lightly bites on his bottom lip, fingers tensing over the muscles of my shoulders, but being mindful of their pressure as he reminds me, "Slow."

"Sorry," I mutter, before easing in more thoughtfully and fighting the urge to take him with force as I kiss him on the temple and wait for him to let me know what I can do next.


I would almost say that everything is perfect, feeling like we've both taken steps forward, despite the threat that existed earlier. He even surprises me by climaxing without being touched, aided by nothing but friction and fascinating me even more and making me more curious about what he feels.

I'm not going to ask him though, nor am I willing enough to want to find out. Instead, I close my eyes when he asks me to release inside of him, encouraging me to hurry. Then I kiss him on the neck when he turns his head away with an expression that I still don't know how to read as his hand falls to the blankets beneath us and grips in.

"Am I hurting you?" I finally ask, not as scared to find out as I was at first while I ease up a little, willing to stop if he says yes.

But all he says is, "Don't stop."

Knowing that it's not an answer to my question, I try to brush it off by speeding up again, minding what he said and minding what he didn't say. All the while, he continues to ask me to cum inside of him, and the moment that I'm almost there, I see Lucrecia as if from air.

It's involuntary and almost seeming forced, as she falls to her knees and Sephiroth stands behind her, sword readied before it coldly plunges into her back, reminding me of Aerith's fate. But that's not the worst thing that could happen at this point.

It pales in comparison to what I wind up growling into Tseng's ear right at the moment of climax.

"Lucrecia!"

"What?"

Then a cold chuckle follows Tseng's offended question, like the resonance from a dream that's slowly fading, and I keep my eyes shut tight, hoping that I didn't just yell out what I think I yelled out, making everything seem more wrong than it possibly could be.