Ruthless Gravity

Notes: This fic started out over a year ago inspired by some cracked out idea that kept nagging at me. Unfortunately, it became my 'Orpheus' and nearly killed me in the process ... however after refusing to touch this piece of work for almost a year, I decided to post what I have thus far in chapters at intervals -- it was originally intended to be one ongoing one-shot, alas as I haven't finished it, I'm forced to make some feeble attempt at breaking it up into chapters -- and hopefully finish this piece. Thanks for reading.


Ruthless Gravity


Movements swift and cat-like as he crept toward his prey, a darkened silhouette delicately etched against the city skyline outside the window. It would be a clean shot, quick. The victim would never have time to detect his movements, nor act upon them. And though this sort of behaviour was considered ruthless by even Turk standards, there was no room for mistakes in this matter. The job had to be done quickly before anyone could be alerted.

He moved closer toward the silhouette, gingerly pulling his Peacemaker from its holster beneath his left arm. The silhouette shifted slightly, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to tingle in anticipation of the kill. He crossed the few short feet between them before pressing the muzzle of his gun behind the victim’s ear, drawing the slightest intake of breath from the man he had been sent to assassinate.

His finger curled around the trigger and squeezed, shattering the stillness with a sharp hiss. The victim drew in a harsh gasp before crumpling against the assassin, who instinctively caught him, looking for the first time upon the face of the man he had been sent to kill. A pair of startling blue eyes stared back at him, crimson trickling from paling lips, as soft, damning words slipped past them. ‘I trusted you.’

Dark eyes flashed open, as Tseng started awake. He trembled at the thought of the Vice President’s accusatory words, those piercing eyes, and the blood. His hands ... blood, he had to wash it off. He stared at them, searching for the stains. He had to wash off Rufus’s blood. He moved to stand, but found that something was keeping him pinned to the bed. Something warm, and soft and half curled around his body. He blinked twice in an effort to clear his dream hazed thoughts. Beside him lay the sleeping form of the man from his nightmare, the man he had dreamt he had killed. ‘Rufus.’ He murmured to himself the name he would never use directly toward the Vice President regardless of how informal their encounters became.

Brow furrowed, he stared at the golden haired man, lingering a moment in contemplation. And as he stared, the words came flooding back to him. There was a grand scheme to assassinate the Vice President, one such scheme rumoured to have been his own father’s orders. They counted Rufus Shinra as dangerous, a threat to the President and the stability of ShinRa Incorporated. A threat soon to be removed, and Tseng, well let it be noted that he had been told not to interfere with personal matters. He was neither to protect nor alert the Vice President of this conspiracy. Duty and loyalty to the President first.

He disentangled the sleeping body from his own, suddenly feeling more bloodless than usual. Rufus trusted him, though he had told the Vice President to trust no one, including those assigned to protect him. Nor the one you sleep with, he added as he slid from Rufus’s embrace into the cool darkness. He didn’t spare a glance back toward him as he silently dressed, sliding back into the suit that bound him to duty. Best to leave now before Rufus awakened and he drowned in those eyes of blue.

He moved across the room toward the slightly convex window, staring at the illuminated skyline. He didn’t notice as the form behind him roused from sleep and groggily searched for his robe, slipping it on and haphazardly knotting the tie, until slender silk encased arms wrapped around his waist from behind, pulling him close. ‘Come back to bed.’ The soft voice of a spoiled child insisted, as he rested his chin against Tseng’s shoulder. ‘Please.’ He added, before pressing a soft kiss to Tseng’s throat.

He wanted to pull away, and shake Rufus and tell him that he was a fool for trusting him. And then he wanted to tell him everything, the conspiracy, the nightmare, his own utter helplessness. Instead he remained silent, stoic. He only hoped when the shot met its mark, the end would be swift.

His thoughts were broken by Rufus curling around him. ‘You’re unusually quiet.’ He narrowed his eyes, ‘Has my old man been talking to you?’

‘Sir?’ His voice was tight.

‘That’s it, isn’t it? That bastard been telling your things again, hasn’t he?’ Rufus pulled away from Tseng, before stalking a few feet away, folding his arms across his chest, half sulking. ‘You were frigid tonight.’ The words were bitter. Tseng didn’t say anything to Rufus’s accusations, only listened. He knew better than to interrupt. Rufus turned to face him, flipping his mussed hair, ‘Have his lies finally made you a believer?’

Bowing respectfully, ‘Sir, it’s best I leave.’ He moved across the plush carpeting toward the exit, causing Rufus to yell a childish, ‘You’re not allowed to leave until I have dismissed you!’

But Tseng wasn’t going to listen to Rufus tonight. ‘Goodnight, sir.’ He stopped just short of the door, telling himself he was only following orders no matter how grim they might be. He tried to console himself with the knowledge that he had been sent as a spy, and that he was never supposed to become attached to the Vice President. But Rufus had seduced him so sweetly.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he rested his head against the cool door. Rufus had been right, he had been frigid, unable to justify his actions ... not with the dark knowledge he harboured. He had been distracted, plagued by those words, but he played his part well, like a traditional Wutaian actor, his painted mask in place. Rufus would have suspected something had Tseng outright denied him, and selfishly Tseng desired to spend these prospective final nights with Rufus, giving pleasure and etching him into memory. But that didn’t change his opinion of himself through all this. He was a cruel, soulless murderer. It would be selfish of him to go back to the young man whose death warrant he had all but signed, and yet it would be crueller to leave Rufus alone and angered. Turning, he moved back toward the bedroom.

Rufus was where he had left him, silently staring out across the city skyline ... like the dream. And for a moment he felt a chill course through his veins, reminding him of his own heartlessness. ‘Sir?’ Though he knew Rufus was already aware of his presence, he wanted him to turn, needed to see his face. The image of him standing there back turned against the light was haunting.

‘I thought you had gone.’ Rufus finally answered spitefully, his gaze still firmly set on the twinkling lights.

Tseng bowed despite the fact that Rufus would not see the gesture. ‘If that is your wish ...’

‘No.’ The word was firm, final.

And then Rufus turned to him, suddenly looking less imposing with his tear hazed eyes. Tseng felt his heart twist. Rufus Shinra was certainly not his father, and while he was spoiled and cold, he was no threat to ShinRa. Truthfully, Tseng had never once heard Rufus speak of it as his own, sure that his father would rather the corporation fall to the dogs beneath him than his own son. Everyone knew Rufus was heir for namesake, and while it would all eventually become his own—provided he lived long enough—he had no interest in raising conspiracy against the President. Nevertheless, threat or no threat, there was a price on his head.

Tseng firmly knew that the President would weep crocodile tears at his son’s funeral, secretly making a toast to those responsible for his ‘dear, treasured son’s abhorrent murder.’ Tseng would see to it that only the purest white roses adorned the casket, Rufus would insist upon it. He shuddered inwardly as the image of the Vice President cold and pale, and so very still resting upon fine satin burned itself into his thoughts.

‘Something’s troubling you.’ Rufus stated, eyes narrowing as he studied Tseng’s shadowed form. ‘And you refuse to tell me.’

‘Sir.’

‘What is it?’ He moved closer to Tseng, before demanding in a threatening tone, ‘What has he told you?’ When Tseng didn’t answer, he continued his accusations. ‘I know you report to him. I see you. What has he told you to make you treat me so coldly?’ His voice faltered.

A moment later, Tseng was gripping Rufus’s shoulders, forcing him to meet his gaze. ‘Know this; I would never intentionally do anything to hurt you.’ Dark eyes flashed coldly, ‘It’s what I wouldn’t do that could.’ He tightened his grip, drawing a soft yelp from Rufus, but all protest died on his lips as Tseng pulled him close, crushing him against the window, and seizing his lips with his own. Threading his hands through soft, golden hair, he deepened the kiss, intensified by the frustration he harboured. Rufus was clinging to him now, one arm curled around his waist, the other gripping his lapel. Rufus felt like he was falling, or flying.

Tseng worked his knee between Rufus’s thighs, spreading them slightly before trailing one hand down to work at the knotted belt, pushing the silk open before pulling him impossibly closer. Rufus made a high keening noise in his throat, clinging to Tseng as he unzipped his jacket and pushed it off his shoulders before coiling his hand around the silk necktie and dragging them back into another kiss. Tongues exploring, and caressing, as hands fumbled, both drowned in their frustration, giving into the heady sensations of desire and need. Tseng pulled away just long enough to unfasten his belt and open his pants. He lifted Rufus against him as slender legs hooked around his waist, before pinning him against the window. Rufus clung fast as Tseng pressed into him, drawing out a sharp cry.

They rocked against each other, Tseng’s hands holding Rufus against him, whilst slender fingertips held their grip on the necktie, tugging slightly. They were both too tense and too reckless to last long, and so they gave and took whatever pleasure was there, moaning, and gasping, riding out the too quick sensations until they both cried out their release and shakily fell together.