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Sparked: Gift Fic for Spopococ!	By : wolfkin59 Category: Final Fantasy VII > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1097 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I own nothing in this fan fic. I do not own Final Fantasy VII. I make nothing by writing this. It is purely a gift for a friend who deserves every word.

Chapter List
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WARNING: swearing, nudity, blood, pervertedness. I'm frickin' mean to these guys. xD
Chapter 2:
Fanning the Flame
...
It was a stormy night in Edge when, to Tseng's surprise, someone knocked on his door. He wasn't exactly pleased to be rousted from the warmth and comfort of his meditation, but being Director of the TURKs meant he had to answer, just in case it was a ShinRa matter.
But instead of a TURK's face, the sight that greeted his eyes as the door swung open contained an ex-TURK. Raven hair was bedraggled, and everything about the man seemed damp except his eyes. A crimson stare burned into the Wutaian man, and Tseng managed to shake himself from his reverie.
"... Vincent? Is there something that Reeve needs dealt with?" Usually there was a phone call to presage personal visits by anyone from the WRO - not that he minded this visitor. Mind? Mm, no, I definitely don't mind... He looks even more delicious soaked to the skin than he does dry...
The sound that escaped the ex-TURK fell somewhere between a hiss and a sigh, and those gorgeous blood red eyes narrowed above the cape. There was something to the air that tasted of danger - but to a TURK, that was a turn-on. "Fairly sure I managed to handle it. Though he'll need something in the way of bodyguards until I can recover; that can be scheduled with Tifa, I think." Underneath the stoic yet faintly amused tone was a low growl, almost more of a vibration.
It caught Tseng's attention. Pain? "Are you injured?" Part of him wanted to know in order to protect himself. Another part of him wanted to use the knowledge to his best advantage - although what advantage, exactly, he himself was not certain.
Lips quirked in a mirthless smile; the words spoken were so sardonic as to be bone dry. "Quite. May I come in?" Somewhere behind his eyes, gold flashed, a sign that his self-control was not as good as it could be.
Tseng found himself abashed...and suddenly, completely smitten with the fact that Vincent Valentine could so enthrall him - could so utterly capture his attention - that he forgot manners long since instilled in him and perfected. He frowned, unsure for a second what to say. "Please accept my apology; my manners appear to have abandoned me."
Those lips twitched with something that was probably somewhat feral humor, and the Wutaian TURK felt his eyes focus sharper yet. But as he allowed his former enemy entry, Tseng knew only one thing: he was suddenly and excruciatingly interested in which of them was the more dangerous predator. And when they figured that out...well, he didn't know what happened then, but his internal Reno was pushing him to find out.
That thought snapped him out of his musing. Reno? Since when does he get a say in my personal life? And in my head, no less! He didn't need the redhead adding fuel to the fire when he had enough problems controlling his libido around the ex-TURK. With a silenced growl stuck in the back of his throat, the raven-haired TURK turned to his guest. "My apologies again," he sighed. "I seem to be distracted this evening. Would you like food or drink to help warm you up, or would you prefer to soak in the tub or take a hot shower first? If you leave your clothes outside the bathroom door I should have them dry by the time you're finished."
"Sustenance would be wonderful," came the response that was as dry as Vincent wished he was. "But I suspect it would be better after a shower, if that's okay with you."
"By all means," said Tseng magnanimously. One arm lifted to point out the bathroom and closet that contained the towels.
Watching Vincent walk down the hallway, sopping wet clothes and hair clinging to his form, was the highlight not just of his day, but also his week.
The only sight that would beat this - is seeing him nude. He shuddered and closed his eyes, savoring the image for a time before gathering the soaked clothing from the bathroom floor. There was a faint scent of blood to them, and he frowned. Not sure if that's new or old blood. Better wash them anyway; blood is hell to get out of clothes and he probably doesn't have a washer or dryer to use. Honestly, it was startling enough that the man had finally bought a phone.
It was harder than it should have been to refrain from memorizing the cut of the ex-TURK's clothes...but if he wasn't getting to play with the man, he was determined his imagination wouldn't be allowed to either. Besides, he wanted to be able to savor what time he had with Vincent, not wallow in dirty mental images.
Clothes in the washer, Tseng strode into his kitchen. He didn't know what to make, although the Wutaian food last time had been a success. Rifling through his ingredients gave him something to focus on other than that sexy - hot - soaking wet body he couldn't see, so he debated and argued with himself until finally he settled on something nourishing. Since Vincent had been injured and wet to the bone, probably he needed more than comfort from his food.
Not once did the thought cross his mind that he was acting as if the ex-TURK was somehow in his care, instead of just a visitor.
...
Vincent was enjoying the hot shower a lot more than he probably should have. The heat had him luxuriating in the temperature like a cat, his inner demons all but purring. He found the shampoo and conditioner more pleasing than he would have thought, a spliced scent of tea tree and mint that somehow eased the turmoil in his mind. Sandalwood was the scent of the soap, a subtle aroma that reminded him of the forests around his home, and the towels smelled of cedar and pine. Does he miss the mountains around Wutai? ...these scents are natural, and Wutai is as against ShinRa as AVALANCHE. Or am I missing something here?
He turned off the water, dried off with the towel, and wrapped it around his waist before he walked out of the bathroom. Hope my clothes are dry.
...
Perfect timing, Tseng thought when he heard the bathroom door open. Dinner's ready and the dryer just beeped. He felt the other man's presence moving closer and turned around, a plate full of food in either hand. The flabbergasted surprise was strangely similar to sticking one's finger in an electric socket; his jaw was not the only thing that dropped. Vocalization was beyond him.
Leviathan... The word was strangled even in his mind, thought processes vanquished and on the run.
There were no words that could possibly do justice to the sight of the man standing before him clad only in a towel, raven-black hair unbound and shining like silk, skin alabaster pale and utterly enticing. As his mouth shut in order to swallow, Tseng saw the ex-TURK's look of vague confusion, but it didn't quite register. At least, not until he spoke.
"I'm assuming you didn't mean for us to eat off the floor...?" A faint trace of amusement underlined the soft query in his words, and pain whispered breathily.
Tseng blinked. "What-? Damn." He sighed. "I apologize. You're quite a sight, and I should have been better prepared." That infernal, internal version of Reno helpfully added, Not like there's shit you can do to prepare for seeing the guy whose bones you want to jump...wearing a towel and nothing else, dripping and wet. You've got it bad, Boss-man. And just like the real Reno, when he told the voice to shut up, nothing happened. "There's more, but if you want seconds either I'll need to cook more or..." His voice trailed off as his eyes narrowed, focusing on the wounds he could see. "Let me get bandages and ointment, and I'll help you with that," offered the TURK.
Vincent bit back a refusal born of Hojo-esque distrust. He nodded minutely, sitting down as the Wutaian TURK walked down the hall to fetch supplies. Still wary but knowing Tseng had no ill intent at this time, the crimson-eyed ex-TURK began the process of putting himself into a trance so he wouldn't lash out at a memory and hit one who meant no harm.
It started with slow, steady breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth, a calming cycle. The next step was letting the subconscious take control of the information coming in from the body's senses, a process denoted by the curious sensation of mental free fall and the lack of sensory input. Finally there was a state of equilibrium, a feeling of the entire body being in balance, with no excess pressure and room for the mind to roam as it wished. Any malice in his physical vicinity would have pulled him from the self-induced trance, but the TURK Director doctoring his wounds meant no harm, and Vincent was able to stay there until the sound of Tseng calling his name told him it was done. Probably it was the most efficient pain killer in existence, but self-induced trances were tricky to master, and most people wouldn't have gone to such effort. Tseng was impressed by the sheer willpower it had to have taken, since the ex-TURK had four other minds to contend with.
Last bandage secured, ointment spread on every injury he'd found, the raven-haired Wutaian man said, "I think that's all. Unless there are more under the towel that you can't tend to yourself?"
Reluctantly, Vincent conceded that, yes, there was one under the towel that probably needed care - he was certain at least part of it was deep enough to require stitches and it had only been bound previously. He'd been trying to save Reeve from a large group of bandits - and he'd succeeded - but there was only one of him, and one of the bandits had scored a lucky gash that ran from his hip down nearly to the back of his knee on his left side. Likely there was some irony to the wound, since he'd been upside down in the process of doing a back flip over the conglomeration of thugs attempting to surround them. The dagger had caught him only because he'd been in the middle of setting Reeve out of reach so he could concentrate on fighting, and though it had scabbed over on the way to Tseng's home, bound tightly, the hot water had moistened the scab and Vincent had felt blood oozing down his leg again. There would likely be a stain on the towel.
Neither man was entirely comfortable with the situation, but eventually it was decided that the only place where Vincent could lay easily and be treated without difficulties was Tseng's four-post bed. Another towel was laid out to soak up any blood that might stain ebony silk sheets, and the ex-TURK eased down, freeing the towel around his waist before settling his weight on the mattress. Tseng set his first aid supplies within reach and sat next to his patient.
The patient around whom I have no patience, he acknowledged wryly. I only wait to hear him speak because I want to hear his voice and know his thoughts, and he hurries for no one who isn't in danger. Fighting back a snort at the astute truth of that observation, Tseng bent slightly to examine the injury - but removing the towel gave him more distraction than he was ready for: an unobstructed view of Vincent's ass.
He might as well have stuck his face in a lightning bolt; his senses were fried and the afterimage burned itself into his mind's eye.
...
A/N: I've decided that I really, really love this chapter. *grin* Anyhow, now that you've read, please review!
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Sparked: Gift Fic for Spopococ!