aplistiarct

[aplistiarct]

More than he knows. It's an uncontrollable restlessness that has him antsy though his eyelids are heavy. He can not seem to shut his brain down for the night, he needs an outlet.

@aplistiarct asked: The bed creaks as Rufus eases a leg over Tseng's waist, nudging his laptop to the side to bend down and kiss his chin. No more work for today. He wants attention.

How needy he's been tonight. Not an email answered he hasn't been interrupted by a wandering hand, a longing sigh, the antsy shift. The laptop is closed, bare hands sliding beneath the silk robe leisurely draped over naked frame.

"Something on your mind, sir?"

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Ooh is that a hint of insubordination he hears? Defensive of your little pet, aren't you?

"Bite your tongue or I'll have his bitten off for him."

@ofdeference

"Don't worry, I'm playing nice."

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@ofdeference

"Don't worry, I'm playing nice."

[aplistiarct]

@gcldfanged [If Jae heard this, he'd be hoping it's way more fucked up than stealing panties.]

Rufus will have sat in his high backed chair, leaned back and sipped his coffee with a smirk if Jae had heard. If, that is.

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If only you knew.

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And he will be waiting. Sitting atop his desk, clean as the day it was made. No paperwork, no laptop, no PHS. The silence is deafening as the seconds tick by. Tick. Tick. Tick. You'll pay for making him wait, Tseng. For every. Single. Second.

When the Turk arrives he runs his fingers over a button and lifts his chin. Come closer.

@aplistiarct asked: "My office."

A tone can carry with it the weight of meaning just as well as the words. Tseng has become an avid student of each of his employer's down to the near indiscernible difference. He wonders often if Rufus himself is aware of how easily he can be read.

"On my way, sir."

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Oh how quickly the panic sets in now. Gripping him with iron claws that sink deeper with every passing second. Every strained breath drifting through from the other end. His knuckles go white and he fears he might break his phone.

Rufus turns from the party to stand on the balcony, bent over as if that would help channel his voice clearer.

"You know I can't stand Reno's driving." He curls inward further and as he speaks he's swiping through his messages to send out a mass text.

"They're on their way. How bad is it?"

It's hard to breathe, the booth closes in on all four sides, the light is nauseating, his world is spinning, spinning, spinning. Yet the glass holds when he slumps against it, gasps for a deeper breath and the rain abates just a little. Enough that he can hear the music play in the background. Hear Rufus's silken voice floating fond and feather-soft against his ear.

His name...his-

Tseng.

It is all he has wanted to hear since the moment he left. Finally.

"I'm....sorry sir. You will have to ask Reno to drive you home tonight."

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@ofdeference asked: The rain falls so thick it becomes a wall before him, it's white noise echoes in empty streets and dulls the senses. The metallic stench of the metal city rises like a miasma from the torrential downpour. Nothing can quell the unease in his stomach save for that of the waiting limo beyond. The crack of thunder is loud even in the din. Shoulder aches with the weight of the storm's atmosphere and as he reaches to readjust bone into place he staggers under the agony that tears through him. Warmth spills down non-responsive arm, the silver street beneath him turns red. Fuck. Cover is the first thing he seeks, his gun the second. A flash of a muzzle and a bullet whizzes by his head. Another flash, another bullet whines. He takes aim, fires, a bullet between the brow. Good fucking riddance. He won't go down easy. No one will have that privilege. Another shot hisses feet from him, he fires back. The rain follows a steady stream down angular features into his eyes and he blinks it back, unsuccessful, dripping wet. His umbrella drifts unforgotten in the middle of the street, it's Shinra logo tumbling over and over itself as the top spins. An image of Rufus surfaces, hazy, water logged, glimmering and distant. He takes another shot and- There's a sound to his left, curiosity pulls his attention but the bite of another bullet tearing through his side chastises him for hoping. That's what you get. Veld... You're sloppy, tighten it up. Don't ever let them surround you. Tseng doesn't need to see to know where to shoot, their footsteps are rushed and loud. They're children thinking they know the game. He plays it better. Muzzle raised, the shot echoes out and the sick wet pop of skull separating from brain breaks the dull noise of the rain. He can hear whoever is left standing retreating. Angry hurried splashes in gathering puddles. He fishes in his pockets for his PHS, feels the hole burned through it and curses. Limps to the toll booth illuminated by the first street light to come on this evening. Change...he needs- gil. Other pocket...wallet- fuck. His fingers feel like they're frozen, slow to react they feel...heavy...swollen...they won't bend the way he needs but he's almost there. The coins plop in and ring metallic when they hit their fellow gil, the woman's automated voice is a blur. He can't understand her. His eyes feel heavy everything....everything....feels... The other line picks up.

Pedantic little fucks with their superiority complex, their small dicks and their fat fucking wallets. He tolerates them because he must. This company will be his one day and so will their money. For now he will laugh at terrible jokes, humor what-ifs and promises he never intends to keep.

Just when he's about ready to put his own shotgun in his mouth and pull the trigger, his phone vibrates. A little early, but he'll take it. Tseng's always had this uncanny knack of knowing him, body and soul, despite having only known one another for so little time in comparison.

A smile curls his lips in spite of himself when he answers, bringing the phone to his ear.

"Just in time I was about to die of boredom. Are you waiting for me downstairs?"

There is nothing but what sounds like static on the other end. He frowns and waits for the Turk's confirmation a whole of two seconds.

"Tseng?"

Static. Is that- a breath? Rattling, like he's breathing in water.

"Tseng." It isn't a question this time. It's a demand. Answer, you bastard. Quit playing games with him. Why is his heart pounding? Why is it louder than the fucking band playing twenty feet away in the god damn grand hall?

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Rufus's back arches, pushing off of the desk to press back. A leg rises to latch at the Turk's hip drawing him in closer. His breathing is discordant.

"Wouldn't you love me on my knees." Not a question, a fact. How hard would it make his darling Tseng to watch him drop to his knees, mouth open and waiting? A shudder tears through him at the thought of it himself, to watch that stoic expression melt into feral pleasure, feel him fucking into his mouth the way he's always wanted to. To give over that control he so desperately fights for every day.

Rufus's hand reaches up to brush his knuckles against the man's cheek, curl around to the ebony locks tied back in a ponytail, and bury his fingers in the inky pool.

"Are you done?" He snaps, gut fluttering wildly with need. Belatedly he realizes what Tseng's done and bares his teeth, biting at his throat only hard enough to leave behind red streaks.

"I told you to sit, didn't I?" He purrs, knee bending sharp to his chest to lay flat against Tseng's upper thigh. He shoves his foot forward as hard as he can given the disadvantage of proximity and watches at Tseng stumbles back, the back of his knees hitting the chair's edge.

As soon as his ass its the chair's seat he launches forward, straddling the man. And his lips bend to the shell of Tseng's ear, nipping gently.

"Fuck me like I know you want to. Please." The first slip of his composure is the near begging whine that laces his words, the quiet sound of pleasure that follows when he feels the hard length of his Turk pushing against his ass.

Dark lashes lift to the pallid complexion of his companion, a warning furrows the spread of his brow for but a moment but fascination takes its place in a blink. Thumb brushes over perk bud, circling, tracing through hill and valley of muscle till the tips of his fingers fall upon the first button of the remaining article of clothing hiding away that perfectly mar-able chest. His teeth ache to leave their marks, his tongue remembers the taste of him glistening with sweat, the scent of his body as he rolls his hips into him again and again. The sound of his voice.

A hand grips the opposing edge of the desk bringing him flush between those legs, torso hovering over his employer and a dark want building in his gut. His eyes level with Rufus's and he bares his teeth in a facsimile of a snarl.

"You try to have your way again and I'll make you beg on your knees for it." But there! The hint of what he's searching for, he latches onto it as the fabled hunter of his sea faring prize and he does not let go, hips rising to press against the waking cock housed in pristine white slacks.

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If Tseng is hungry, Rufus is starving. Every glance and every touch leaves him burning and arching in a desperate bid to encourage him. More. Greedily, more! He's waited so patiently reward him! Yet the moment he's ready to receive that prize it's snatched from him without remorse. He nearly huffs his disappointment but the irritation of the tease has a greater hold.

"No, I suppose it is not. Neither is patience it seems." His voice trails off as he watches those hands rise to begin undressing him. Little by little and such a long way to go. Despite his impatience he doesn't rush him, contorts to allow access, shrugs off layers as they're undone and still he is barely exposed. Dark grey dress shirt mussed and untucked but intact. A smirk plays on his lips long enough for him to grasp Tseng's hand and guide it over a hard nipple. Another shudder tears through him and he exhales through his nose.

"Quit fucking with me." The desperation thickens his tone and it builds the longer those hands aren't on him, a quiet pleading in the depths of his eyes.

Honeyed pools drift from demanding grin to the veritable throne he's offered, slipping from the perch he's chosen to stand before his employer. Gloved hands lift to cradle the delicate curve of his jaw, the pads of his fingers pressed tight to leather. No escaping him now. Rufus has made his choice.

Gaze drops to those lips, hunger rising at their vulnerability. Centimeter by centimeter the distance dwindles, a shiver rippling through taut limbs in anticipation. Rufus's short breaths ghost feather light against his mouth and he smiles in return. Not near as frantic as they could be, as they have been. he does not want the way Tseng needs him to. So he withdraws. Far enough that his warmth does not touch.

"Moderation was never your style." Not good enough. There is still dignity in those eyes, superiority in the lift of that chin. He must have it wiped out. His hands fall to the bend of Rufus's knee, pressure applied in the dig of his fingers. Up they travel. Up into the folds of his jacket to find buttons, zippers, each one disarmed at a snail's pace. His eyes never leave the heir's.

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DAY 1: GHOSTS | DAY 2: BODY HORROR

DAY 3: COSMIC HORROR | DAY 4: MURDER MYSTERY

DAY 5: EXPERIMENTS | DAY 6: DECAY

DAY 7: CULT | DAY 8: FREE DAY

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Cropped last entry for my "unofficial tsengru lewd week"🔥🤠🔥🤠

#FF7R #tsengru #Rufusshinra #tseng #NSFWish

[aplistiarct]

Tseng x Rufus quickie~

Artwork i promised my friend sherribon to accompany her fic: archiveofourown.org/works/31065308

I made Tseng much softer than i planned to be🥺

#finalfantasy7 #FF7R #tsengru

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"Talkative." He purrs but it is not a compliment. Neither is it an insult. In fact, he sounds rather...bored. A hand delves into his pocket to search for his PHS, flipping it open to thumb through his contacts. A quick text sent out and he leans back in his seat. A second later his phone chimes and he smiles down at the screen, a fondness hidden away somewhere in the callous lines etched into the furrow of his brows.

[Tseng] : Don't break him.

A glance in...Whip's direction and he snorts.

[Rufus] : Maybe he needs a little breaking in. You seem to have done a poor job of it.

He tucks his phone away as it chimes manically, pulling a softer smile from him. The lights flare by at speeds the beat cops would consider illegal and he half pays attention to the huffing of his beast beside him.

When they arrive it's outside of a facility to a small gathering of dingy workers milling about until they spot his vehicle. A line of infantrymen stand in their way as a human barricade and the car pulls to a stop before the meager stairs leading into the building.

"Showtime." He aims at Whip, waiting for the servant to open his door and allow him to step out. The few reporters admitted get their pictures in a short burst of blinding flashes and he takes his place while the car drives off.

"Remember, you're here to protect me. Not a scratch." Rufus hisses at the Turk, not entirely confident the man wouldn't allow at least one slight against him to slip through. Dark Nation's massive weight leans against his leg briefly and he reaches down to pat the leathery head.

"Whip, or Jae, is fine," he replies evenly, not really caring either way. He couldn't even remember what the characters meant anymore. It was funny how much it had meant to him in the past, like being given the option to pick his own clothing- Little crumbs of freedom that he'd never experienced before, so almost every choice had some meaning behind it.

He crosses his right leg over his knee, stretching out against the car seat as he eyes Dark Nation. Yoon was surprised the axles hadn't groaned in protest when the beast clambered into the car.

The agent silently mulled over Shinra's words. He'd already gotten on Rufus' bad side and vice-versa, but all he could do now was try not to embarrass Tseng further. The last thing he wanted was to seem like he needed preferential treatment.

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Oh he will most certainly wait patiently for the fetch to be completed no matter how furious the boy may look and, upon being given the directed item, pull it taut between his grip.

"Good boy." Never let it be said that Rufus Shinra does not give praise where praise is due.

"Dark Nation, come." The massive furless beast growls in protest at having to abandon its nap, slinking from the shadows of the foyer's furthest corner to bow and stretch before its master. To whom Rufus stoops and scratches the rippling muscle happily, strapping the hound into the conductive harness.

It walks step in step with him as he heads for the front door, glancing behind him to make sure the other dog followed along.

"Yes, don't forget your job tonight. You came with a high appraisal and I expect you to perform perfectly." The car pulls around and he pushes open the heavy front doors to descend the steps and slide into the back seat, Dark Nation taking the spot next to him normally reserved for the Director of the Turks and the fact that he's not here still stings bitterly in the back of his throat.

When his replacement slides in and sits opposite him he waits until the door is closed before speaking.

"You never answered me. What's your name. Or rather, what would you prefer I call you. You seem too sensitive to give your real name, something about it meaning something to you." His hand gestures wide, wrist rolling as if to say 'and so on and so forth'.

"So?"

His angular brows knit together in disgust having the blonde's face that close to him, using the length of his sleeve to scrub at where Shinra's little weasel fingers had touched him as he jerks away.

Maybe he should just let Rufus shoot him, at this rate he was going to burst a blood vessel or have a rage-induced stroke.

Pouting about it just made him seem like a kid, which makes him even more pissed off (if that was even humanly possible at this point), brushing past the other man to grab the frankly bear-sized harness. He'd seen the things the blonde kept around as pets, but not that close before.

Jae briefly entertains the mental image of looping the leather around Shinra Junior's neck and choking him to death, dropping the accessory at the heir's feet.

"Anything else, Your Royal Highness?" he asks sweetly, tossing the lead into his hand.

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"What use is a bath if you're just going to get dirty again?" Rufus quips back, nails digging in to the soft white dress shirt and the sight of him so unkempt in comparison sets his skin tingling.

"Honestly Tseng, haven't you ever heard of conserving water?" Though now the mention of it tugs at the want of it. Wash away the grime of the city having passed by the whole of it? Does the stench of the commoners cling to him? He breathes in deep and exhales, rising from his seat to brush the tips of his fingers along Tseng's cheek.

"Sit. I changed my mind." The tap of his foot is soft but prominent in the silence stretching on and he offers an oozing smile. "I've warmed it just for you."

In spite of himself he laughs. The bite of a retort dying on a tongue all too eager to deliver the lashing. Something else rises in its stead. Throat bobs around a hard swallow, the liquor burning as it claws down his neck and into the blooming warmth of his chest.

There is no hesitation, no thought given to the command and the humming in his head is to blame. So he tells himself. Tie loosens but is not removed, blazer unbuttoned and shed with a shrug of his shoulders, eyes forever locked with Rufus Shinra's.

"No pretense of a bath this time?"

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"Why should I care about what he built? I'll tear it all down and make my own." Yes yes, he's well aware that it's a petulant child who wants to break daddy's things simply because he didn't get enough hugs. Unfortunately the old man won't be around long enough to witness the crumbling of his dynasty and the rise of something better.

"Enough about my fucking father. The media has hounded me plenty." Rufus's heels slide from their place on the desk, chair gliding forward to place him happily at the bend of the Turk's knee. His fingers trail from knee to thigh and up to the button of his blazer.

"Get undressed." Not a question but the inflection of his voice gives the illusion of choice.

"We both know how well that would have turned out for you in the public eye." As great and massive as the desk may be it is a poor barrier between the two but a fantastic place on which to perch. Tseng seats himself half on, impetuous and improper, to lean in. Glass taps glass as if to celebrate some small victory held captive a secret between them.

"Trust me. As eager as you are, the empire is not as easily won with brute force. Whatever you inherit must be sustainable or the battle's lost." Slow and savor or drink until the walls are no longer still? He can not decide which it is tonight and his indecision may make it for him. He sips the golden nectar at a hummingbird's pace, studying the boyish charm which carried Rufus through life a desired thing.

"You have patience enough for the things you want to keep long term, have patience for this."