Reverse

A "Random Final Fantasy 7 Yaoi Pairing Generator" crackfic. Tseng x Sephiroth. Also part of the story arc I'm working on, which can be found at my homepage.

Reverse

Sephiroth wasn’t exactly sure why he was bent over his desk, naked, biting down on the sleeve of Tseng’s uniform jacket to keep quiet while Tseng coaxed a third lubricated finger into his ass. To be fair, he had some idea of why he was letting it happen. It felt damn good, with Tseng’s other hand gripping his cock, slowly stroaking, calloused fingers just rough enough. That it was happening at nine in the morning and keeping him away from paperwork didn’t hurt. What surprised him was that he wasn’t the one with his fingers inside Tseng, preparing him to be thoroughly fucked.

Often he was the one doing his best to fuck Tseng silly. After his mako treatments (after he recovered from his mako treatments) he and Tseng would meet. After hours, in the Turks training facility, Tseng would tie his hair back and Sephiroth would lean the Masamune carefully against a wall. They would bow politely to each other before beginning their match. Sephiroth would project Hojo’s face onto Tseng’s lithe, strong frame, and do his best to rip his throat out. With Sephiroth unarmed, Tseng was more than capable of staying relatively unharmed until Sephiroth had worked off enough of his fury to regain his composure. He and Tseng would part ways to shower and change. They would meet again at a ridiculously expensive restaurant in upper 6, and enjoy a quiet meal with two drinks apiece. Sephiroth always payed. He would take Tseng to his apartment and they would have a leisurely screw. He would (politely) offer Tseng a place in his bed for the night, and Tseng would (politely) refuse. He would, however, accept a cup of tea before leaving. Tseng did not come to him, ever.

But here he was, flushed, breathing hard through his nose, and ruining Tseng’s jacket in his effort to muffle his wanton moaning. He vaguely registered the soft click of a cap as Tseng slicked lube onto his cock. Then Tseng was pressing into him in one long, slow thrust, thick and hard and causing Sephiroth to have serious doubts about his preference for topping. Sephiroth braced himself against the heavy desk with one arm and curled his other hand around his erection. He trust back into Tseng as much as possible, encouraging him to move. With a hiss of breath through his teeth, Tseng obliged, setting an unforgiving pace. Sephiroth shifted so the thrusts would hit his prostate, and mimicked the rhythm with his hand. Tseng wasn’t in a very generous mood, it seemed, but even so Sephiroth could feel that the tension coiling in his gut was close to snapping. Tseng had been more than thorough in his preparation, and Sephiroth couldn’t deny that he liked being fucked by Tseng as much as he liked fucking him.

With a strangled, stillborn grunt Tseng came. It was seeing Tseng lose his cool poise that did it for Sephiroth. A half dozen more strokes and he finished.

Tseng carefully extracted the jacket from Sephiroth’s mouth, and used it to meticulously clean him. Tseng pulled up his pants and straightened his shirt. Sephiroth dressed quickly and turned to face him. Tseng nodded politely, face schooled into an expressionless mask. He slung the soiled jacket over his arm and walked gracefully out of the office.

Sephiroth sat down gingerly in his black leather chair, wondering ruefully if Tseng was trying to tell him that he’d like to top once in a while, or if it had been a one time thing.

He got his answer an hour later when he received notice from Heidegger that the Turks had lost a member recently, and that his presence was requested at the funeral at 4pm.