Change Itself

Notes: Written for xandrabelle because she was complaining about the lack of TsengxRufus smut so I indulged her. She wanted it slightly kinky. Dunno how well I did. It’s tripe. Pure, unadulterated tripe. I tried to give it meaning and substance and failed. Probably subject to rewrite in the future. Not mine, as always. Part of my FFVII arc of stories that ... cannot be found here, aside from Discourse.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Change Itself


‘Kiss me,’ the words soft, yet demanding, and Tseng finds he cannot choose but to meet the request. Their lips touch, gingerly at first, causing Rufus to make a small sound in the back of throat. Relief perhaps that they no longer must practice caution for it has been too long. Too many nights have been spent in solitude, Tseng exiled to the bedroom divan of his own accord, sitting up many nights to keep silent vigil at his lover’s bedside. Rufus had been beautiful despite his illness, but each bandage had placed a mile of distance between them until the fallen president was beyond his reach. And the night Rufus had first denied him, Tseng thought to have seen tears in those blue eyes.

Death. It had hung in the air around them and Rufus too fearful of spreading his disease turned Tseng away.

‘I do not care, Rufus,’ he had said, ever willing to share in his lover’s suffering. But Rufus did. He finds he still does, even now. Too much has changed, for he has shown dimensions of his being that he forever sought to hide. Weakness, something that even after all these years, and all the intimacy they have shared, he still has difficulty admitting to. Tseng knows it, likely can feel it as he deepens the kiss, tongue delving into his lover’s mouth, as half-gloved hands find their way into strands of soft gold. Rufus is shattering beneath him.

They kiss until breathless; Rufus pulling away first for it is too fast, and rests his head against Tseng’s shoulder. He has missed this more than he is willing to admit, and wonders for a moment when he became so clingy. Likely the long nights spent itching to touch his Turk, hold his hand, anything to make some form of connection to remind him that he was human, and real, and still alive.

*‘You must think me repulsive.’*

*‘No, sir.’*

His lips find the underside of Tseng’s jaw, pushing away the memories, focusing on the fact that he is healed, and desirable, and slipping so sweetly into ecstasy. His hands work at the Turk’s tie, twining the strip of black silk around his hands once it is freed. ‘Do you want me?’ he breathes, tongue sweeping out to curl around the shell of his lover’s ear.

Tseng shudders at the sensation. ‘Yes, sir.’ His lips touch Rufus’ unseeing eye, hands trailing downward as deft fingers work at the buttons of his young lover’s shirt revealing smooth, pale skin, which he quickly lavishes with tiny kisses. Rufus sighs huskily beneath the attention, his own hands working at divesting the Turk of his jacket and shirt. They part for a moment, both tossing off the confinements.

Rufus pauses for the barest of moments, fingertips trailing along the scar running across Tseng’s torso. It was a painful reminder of what he had almost lost; something that both fascinated and terrified him. The Turk catches his hand in his own, and Rufus gazes up to meet dark eyes. His breath quickens. ‘Take me.’ Tseng almost smiles. It is a simple request, one his lover makes when he wishes complete loss of control. The bedroom has been the site of many power struggles, Rufus very rarely gaining the upper hand, but there are times when he simply wishes to be completely consumed by his lover.

Tseng’s tie uncurls in Rufus’ hand, as the Turk sweeps him into his arms before pinning him to the bed. His lips claim Rufus’ once more, hungrily pulling across them as his hands reach for Rufus’ wrists, looping the tie securely around them and the bedpost. Rufus pulls briefly at his bonds, light eyes sparkling with need beneath the fringe of blonde hair.

There is a rustle of movement as Tseng retrieves a small vial from his coat pocket. He leans over the prone form of his lover; lips finding the stud in Rufus’ earlobe and rolling it around his tongue before he trails lower to nip at his jawline, biting down fiercely to ensure he leaves a mark against that pale throat. His hands slide along Rufus’ hips, the last of their barriers removed, and he takes a moment to bask in the unclothed form of his lover. ‘You’re perfect.’

Rufus shudders. ‘Tseng,’ he half pleads, unconcerned with the Turk’s flattery.

Their lips touch once more as Tseng enters him in one fluid movement. Rufus cries out at the initial pain, which burns a bit deeper from their forced abstinence. They linger for a moment to allow the sensations to settle, Tseng gently stroking fingertips along Rufus’ neck and collar. And then Rufus shifts, legs coming up to wrap firmly around Tseng’s narrow hips to draw him in deeper. Tseng complies without hesitation, gently moving within the tight heat of his lover as they find their rhythm. Slow at first, with building intensity.

Legs tighten around Tseng, as Rufus cries out once more wanting to regain the reckless abandon of their passion. There is no need for gentleness now as Tseng shifts his hips and drives himself harder. Tseng hits something deep within Rufus that makes the young man’s vision go white, and he pulls futilely at his bonds needing something to grasp on to because the pleasure is too great. Deft fingers wrap around him, as the pleasure tightens and coils within him before snapping, and he cries out Tseng’s name with his release. Tseng’s lips find Rufus’, swallowing the cries and after a few erratic movements joins his lover in orgasm.

They lay together pleasantly sated in the afterglow, Tseng pressing languid kisses along Rufus’ bow, and temple, and eyes before loosening the knot of the tie and pulling Rufus against him. Rufus shudders slightly, and returns Tseng’s kiss before the Turks slips from the bed.

‘Glad you’re feeling better,’ the Turk remarks dully, as he slides on his trousers and moves to tidy up the disarray of clothing scattered across the floor.

Rufus lounges across the bed like a cat, and props himself against a pillow. ‘It’s not the same is it?’

‘Hn?’

‘Us … this,’ Rufus sighs, his fingers idly pulling at the satin bedsheets. So much has changed since their days in Midgar. The towering buildings, and twinkling lights, the constant threat of discovery that heightened each illicit encounter. And yet he wonders if perhaps it was not this very Turk who had made it all matter so much to him.

‘Many changes have happened in my lifetime, Rufus.’ He had come from a different culture, a different way of life and yet Midgar had been his home. ‘Nothing is ever constant but change itself.’

‘Waxing philosophical are we, Tseng?’ there is the barest hint of amusement in his voice.

‘I suppose my outlook has changed since Meteor,’ he pauses for the briefest of moments, he eyes meeting Rufus’, ‘I only hope you will never change.’

Rufus finds himself almost touched by the sentiment. ‘But, I have.’


fin