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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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- 3
Disclaimer: Still don't own any of this, and this is a gift fic, which means there's no way I'm getting paid for it.
Chapter 3:
Electri-fried
Damn that's a nice ass. For a long moment, that was the only semi-coherent thought in his head. Then movement caught his eye, blood seeping over the edges of the wound and beginning a slow ooze down pale skin. Drooling on an open cut would be undignified, unsanitary, and might well disturb him, Tseng chided himself. Or piss him off. Yeah, that was exactly what he didn't need on top of his other current...problem. That damned afterimage haunted him every time he closed his eyes, and keeping them open didn't seem to be helping much either, but the raven-haired man tried to pull himself together. He didn't know whether he should curse the bandit who'd caused the injury...or thank Leviathan for Vincent allowing himself to be treated by a man who worked for a company he had every reason to distrust. Uncertain, he swept his gaze over the wound again, assessing the damage. This time, he managed not to ogle the other man for more than a second or two.
"From the looks of it, you may have to be inactive for at least a day to let the healing get well underway." His brow furrowed in concern. "And it will probably hurt like hell when I disinfect and treat you." There was an awkward pause as he tried to think of something else to say. "... Sorry." He wasn't sure if he was sorry that he was going to hurt Vincent while trying to heal him or if he was sorry the ex-TURK had been injured in the first place, but he was fairly sure he really was sorry for something.
Peroxide burned like hell in open wounds, Vincent rediscovered yet again. Gaia... Jaw clenched as he bit back curses, the raven-haired recluse exerted his willpower into the effort of keeping his lower, injured side from tensing. Pain made it nearly impossible. The TURK could see how much it cost in the repeating tic that ran through the muscles on his neck and jaw, and his arms had practically solidified into cords of wire. His hands had gone bloodless, curled into claws.
Dark eyes closed briefly, wishing in vain that he didn't have to do this; pain was evident, and something in his chest panged hurtfully each time the ex-TURK hid a flinch from his injured side. Leviathan. I just started getting to know him. Why do I have to do this to him? It was a plaintive, pointless call to a summon that probably didn't give a damn; he only made it because there was nothing else he could think to do in order to alleviate such pain.
He'd read the file on Vincent Valentine, once he'd realized the man was still alive. Hojo's notes had been minimal; probably the scientist had been keeping secrets even then. One thing he'd noticed was a mention of how restorative materia didn't always have lasting effects on the ex-TURK and pain killers didn't work worth a damn. So he had needle and thread ready, even though he had no wish to utilize them. Of course, sewing a wound together often helped it heal quicker in any case, but... Needs must, the Wutaian man growled to himself, and raised the thread. And Hojo's a bastard for making him immune to pain-numbing medicine. But that was nothing new. Now if only I can stop staring at his admittedly delectable ass, thought the Wutaian man. It wouldn't do to be distracted and harm instead, after all.
A deep breath alerted Vincent to the trepidation Tseng felt, although not to why. He didn't have time to say anything even if he wanted to, because the TURK Director sank the needle into skin and started stitching his wound shut. The next several minutes were filled with the sensation of tugging, pulling, stretching, and a sharp needle piercing various depths of the injury. Vincent grimaced into the bed. Gaia damn it! This hurts more than I remember!
Field treatments weren't new to either man, but this felt wrong on more than one level. On the first, it was in a city, in a non-hostile situation, so there ought to be less pain, right? Second, having to use stitches because mako was unreliable was unpleasant in the extreme. And third, it was slightly uncomfortable to realize the depths of trust that could be felt for one who'd never fought side by side...to both raven-haired males. They had reached a time, a place, a...relationship, for want of a better word...where trust was established well before touch had been accomplished.
Tseng remembered the first time he'd seen the ex-TURK in person. Which brought a question to mind...
"Do you remember the first time we met?"
Vincent took advantage of the temporary cessation of sewing to breathe, then answered. "You learned well, better than the other trainees." Underneath the pained tone was a hint of amusement, a gruff you were pretty cute in training that the TURK Director didn't catch.
He waited, but the ex-TURK didn't volunteer anything else. Though judging by the tone of his voice, he had been impressed. That was a good thing. Tseng bit back a smile, pleased that he'd made a favorable impression on Vincent. Falling into the fields of memory didn't impede his stitching in the slightest, because the image of that glorious ass - and those long legs - was still imprinted deep, and his subconscious used it as a template to finish the job.
[Flashback]
He'd been a trainee TURK, and one Vincent Valentine was stepping inside the Director's office to give his report. The full-fledged TURK had impressed Tseng as being stoic, lethal, and alert. Dark eyes had flicked over him, assessing, and Tseng had somehow felt naked under such intense scrutiny, stripped bare of all pretenses. This man would not underestimate him, he knew. Some few hours later, the older man had joined the trainee class and their TURK teacher.
"The Director said there were trainees you felt could use my advice with guns?" he'd said to the instructor. Raven-black hair had been slightly dull, evidence of his recent mission and lack of time for anything but work. His clothes smelled of gunpowder, and his shoes had darker spots that could be shoe polish...or bloodstains.
Still learning at the time, Tseng had realized that if the missions could be that difficult even for someone so skilled, most of his fellow trainees would never survive...and he had a sudden, burning desire to be someone his fellow raven-haired man could count on. Probably this was a futile hope, part of him knew, but if it was possible, he'd do his damnedest to make it happen, and to hell with anyone and anything but the TURKs who would have his back in return. It had been the first time Tseng had ever been so inspired by any one person, and it was a moment that stayed forever fresh in his mind.
"Yes, a few that are so poor I'm not sure they'll ever be capable with a gun at all, and then there are a few who are good enough I don't have anything left to teach them about guns." Unspoken was the knowledge that teaching more would be up to the TURK who had yet to come down from the loved-and-hated mission high.
"I see."
Vincent had taken the ones who were doing poorly first, and Tseng never heard the verdict on that, but two of them soon disappeared and were presumed dead by the other trainees. Then the TURK had taken the trainees who were doing well, and he'd had them demonstrate their skills to him so he could give pointers to each.
Tseng still remembered how, once the young Wutaian trainee had finished his demonstration, the man had told him that the weapon was an extension of the person wielding it. He'd said that only sniper shots should ever have anything resembling thought to them, because the ammo used for pistols could be changed to fit the situation and therefore no thought was needed once the ammunition was chosen. There should be no pause between sighting and shooting.
That had made sense, although putting it into practice took effort until it started to feel natural.
[End Flashback]
It was the best memory Tseng had of his TURK training, and he'd never seen or heard of the man again until the former trainee was the Director of the TURKs and had run into AVALANCHE and friends on the pass over Mount Nibel.
He'd been hard pressed to hide his shock. Vincent Valentine should have been dead long since, had been listed as KIA in ShinRa files that were so vague he'd known there'd been some sort of cover-up; the whole thing smacked of Hojo, and Tseng didn't like it. But there was nothing to be done about the past, and Tseng had never been able to find out more until Rufus assumed the presidency. All that was left...was to try and make amends.
That had been where the feeling had started really making itself known. It had taken rather longer for him to realize he'd fallen for the raven-haired gunman, the ex-TURK who'd been turned into a different kind of monster, and Tseng hadn't known what to do. He liked the enemy. Only, Vincent wasn't the enemy. Was he? He was a TURK, a TURK operating outside the bounds of ShinRa, but then Veld had done that too, so... All he knew was that he was starting to confuse himself.
Reno had been the first to find a way to say that they weren't enemies; that had been in Wutai, a place Tseng could no longer go. The redhead had ordered Elena to stand down, because Cloud and his friends were out to save the world, and they ought to be wishing them luck instead of fighting.
Tseng had been jealous that his TURKs had gotten to see the man he wanted to, and that was petty of him, so he hadn't voiced it. But somehow Reno had known. He'd been a pest, never ceasing his inane chatter about how -
[Flashback]
"Vincent was awesome!"
"Valentine's a pro, man!"
"Tall, dark and eerie sure knows what he's doing, yo!"
Really, it was getting on Tseng's nerves, so he'd confronted the redhead about it.
"Why won't you shut up about Valentine? You realize if you try to hit on him, he'll probably shoot you, right?"
"'cause YOU like him, yo. Think of it like this, boss-man: I'm lookin' out for ya. You like him, Dot-man. Man up, and I'll even help ya figure out a way t' catch him, yo!"
Dark eyes had graced him with a scathing glance before Tseng steepled his fingers and said, "Should I pursue a relationship with Vincent Valentine, Reno, I will do it my own way. He probably wouldn't like your methods."
Reno had laughed. "Ouch, boss-man, that hurts! 's like ya don't trust me, yo!" And he'd winked before he sauntered out the door.
[End Flashback]
Tseng still couldn't help but think him an ass. It was practically an obligation. Reno got that reaction a lot. But the redhead was an ace when it came to finding weak points in anyone and anything, even when he didn't mean to. The TURK Director had been disgruntled for some time after, and then there had been that gathering at the Seventh Heaven, and he'd had the ex-TURK over for dinner, and...he didn't know what was going on between them - the crimson-eyed man was ridiculously inscrutable - but Tseng knew what he wanted. He wanted to wake up every morning to the sight of pale skin and eyes that crackled with flames every time they landed on him. He wanted to fall asleep buried in the scent of wind in the trees, feeling warm skin and silken hair tangled with his own. He wanted...
He wanted Vincent. And he wasn't sure he could have him.
So the Wutaian TURK let his free hand wander down and cop a feel of the uninjured cheek while his other hand replaced the unused items in the first aid kit.
Aware that the medical treatment - torture - was done, the ex-TURK rolled over. It wasn't an intentional move, but Vincent found he couldn't regret it, because the look on Tseng's face was every bit as priceless as the hand suddenly close to his groin through no effort on the TURK's part.
Startled, the Wutaian man jerked his head back minutely, mind so surprised he couldn't even wonder if his erstwhile patient had meant to lead him on. It felt like he'd just been electrocuted. The smile that dawned so excruciatingly, so exquisitely slowly on that pale face, oh, it was worth every bit of mental anguish he'd put himself through since the first time he'd realized he was attracted to the raven-haired, red-caped man. I would kill to see that again. Even though it was no longer his job to kill save as a bodyguard, he would become an assassin again if it meant just one more smile like that from this man.
Vincent rumbled, ever so softly, "If you want to ever get the upper hand with the other four, I suggest you use the time before my wounds heal. Injuries don't hold them back for long."
Maybe it was the way the light hit those gorgeous red eyes, but the TURK could swear he saw amusement in them. "Oh yeah?" His lips twisted in a slight, dark, pleased smile, and internally he unfurled just a little bit of that dangerous aura that real TURKs always had. Let's play, then.
Feeling long, silky hair whisper over his skin as the other man bent down, Vincent noted a happy, churring growl rumble from the other four inside him. Good; they like him too.
Then Tseng's mind caught up to him. Wait - fuck. He sighed. "I suspect I'm going to regret opening my mouth in a few minutes, but I don't want you to regret this, so... Let's have dinner and sleep, and if you still want to in the morning, then we'll...play."
Something dark flitted across the TURK's face, and Vincent choked back a groan. Fuck, I hate it when TURKs get the urge to be good guys! Always the worst Gaia-damned moments! ...but he might have a point; I won't heal as well without food and rest. "... Fine," he growled. If I have to, I'll just pounce on him in the morning. And if he runs, we'll all hunt him down... Four others made various noises of darkly amused agreement from deep inside the ex-TURK, and crimson eyes flashed gold for just a split second.
...
A/N: So now that you've hopefully enjoyed the chapter, please review!
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Sparked: Gift Fic for Spopococ!