
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1318219.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Final_Fantasy_VII
  Relationship:
      Rufus_Shinra/Tseng
  Character:
      Tseng_(Compilation_of_FFVII), Rufus_Shinra
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-03-15 Words: 1330
****** you can be king ******
by Rethira
Summary
     Well? What are you waiting for?
Notes
     for areyougame on dw
At first, it’s just another part of his job.
To quote President Shinra, they don’t need any more bastard children running
around. The closest to an acknowledgement Lazard Deusericus will ever get;
Tseng takes care not to let it get back to him, despite the active rumour mill
and the President’s loud voice.
But to wit; it’s just another part of his job. At first, it’s simply running
interference. He makes sure that Rufus is never given time alone with a woman,
no matter how he begs, pleads or makes subtle irritated gestures to the point.
There can be no accidents if Rufus is never given the chance for accidents. And
perhaps it would have stayed that way, but Tseng is not on duty all the time
and Rufus is capable in and of himself.
And so, on one of Tseng’s rare days off, Rufus engineers a daring escape and
disappears down into the slums.
When Tseng finds him, he’s purchasing the services of a desperate young woman,
who looks incredibly thankful when Tseng tells her to leave with the money.
Rufus just looks irritated.
He stays that way for about six and a half seconds, which is the amount of time
it takes for Tseng to kneel in front of him and begin to undo his slacks.
Rufus yelps and bats Tseng’s hands away, hissing, “What are you doing?”
Tseng stares up at him, expression carefully neutral. “I am to see to all your
needs, Rufus,” he says.
To his credit, Rufus looks somewhat appalled. “I’d never-” He chokes back the
words. You’re like myfather, he doesn’t say. “Just take me back.”
Tseng rises, brushes the dirt from his knees, and takes Rufus home.
They don’t speak of it. But that means hardly a thing – Rufus thinks of it,
that much is evident. He watches Tseng, and sometimes his face turns bright red
and he stammers until he can run to his room.
He wants.
His next runaway is staged, and so obviously that it almost makes Tseng
disappointed. The Turks assigned to guard Rufus shrug – it’s Tseng’s problem
now. As if their losing the President’s heir is something to be unconcerned
about.
Tseng finds Rufus in much the same place as before, although this time he’s
alone. He looks up when Tseng approaches, and licks his lips nervously.
“Well?” he asks.
Tseng kneels to a sharp intake of breath, and undoes Rufus’ slacks to a groan.
His fingers slide across Rufus’ warm skin, carefully pushing aside all the
layers of clothes until he can finally set eyes on Rufus’ cock. Half-hard
already, and Tseng’s barely done a thing.
“Are you sure, Rufus?” Tseng asks, meeting Rufus’ eyes. They’re blown wide, and
Rufus is already biting his lips red. He doesn’t speak, simply nods
convulsively. Tseng lowers his gaze and leans forward, first licking a stripe
along Rufus’ cock and then sucking the head into his mouth.
Above him, Rufus shudders and bites back moans. His hips jerk, roughly forcing
more of his dick into Tseng’s mouth. Tseng pulls back disapprovingly. “Please
hold still,” he says, and pretends not to hear Rufus’ moan. He holds Rufus
still, takes him deeper into his mouth and applies gentle suction.
It doesn’t take long.
Rufus stares, wide eyed, when Tseng swallows and wipes his mouth. He blushes
bright red when Tseng tells him, softly, to fix his clothes. His fingers fumble
at the fastenings, and even when he’s done, he looks nothing so much as if he’s
just received an impromptu fellating.
The people in the slums don’t stare, but that is probably more to do Tseng’s
attire than anything else. They’ve learnt to fear the Turks.
Rufus doesn’t attempt a similar stunt again. He makes his desires clear in
other ways; it becomes common place for Tseng to end his shift on his knees,
servicing Rufus with lips and tongue. The other Turks keep their opinions
wisely to themselves. Even Veld, although his expression tends towards the
somewhat perturbed.
Rufus doesn’t seem to see anything wrong at all.
It seems set to continue that way, except that boredom sets in around Rufus’
birthday and he demands more.
Tseng’s hands, first; he cradles Rufus in his arms, chest against Rufus’ back,
and moves his hands firm and sure over Rufus’ cock. Rufus asks for his voice as
well, so Tseng murmurs filth in his ears, and the words come so easily. Rufus
shudders and shakes, and he moans, “Tseng,” with such fervour that for a
moment, Tseng finds himself short of breath.
That too keeps Rufus satisfied – he cycles through hands and mouth for a time
and then he says, “Touch me more,” and Tseng finds himself leaning, still fully
clothed, over his mostly naked charge, teeth worrying Rufus’ nipples while his
hand drives Rufus to completion.
It’s not the route he would have chosen for his profession, and one he would
abandon without thought, if not for the meetings Veld sends him to with thinly
veiled distaste. President Shinra might not be privy to the finer details of
Tseng’s relationship with his son, but it’s doubtful that he’d care even if he
did. Sometimes, he congratulates Tseng on a job well done.
Tseng would prefer blood on his hands, if he were honest.
It’s just another job, he tells himself.
He sucks Rufus off and watches his face when he comes and thinks, no, it really
isn’t.
There’s a change, a shift. Rufus settles, and begins to focus more on the
company. He begins to oppose his father’s views, though he’s careful to keep
quiet about the fact. Tseng knows, but then, Tseng knows everything there is to
know about Rufus.
Nevertheless, it comes as some surprise one evening, when instead of doing
anything objectionable, all Rufus wants to do is watch a movie. He makes Tseng
sit beside him, and slowly stretches out, until his head is pillowed in Tseng’s
lap.
Those nights begin to happen more often. Tseng leaves them out of sorts and
irritated; Reno takes delight in needling him, but then he’d hardly be Reno
otherwise.
It’s been near two years since this began.
One day, Rufus says, unusually quietly, “You’ve never kissed me.”
“No,” Tseng agrees.
“Why?” Rufus asks.
Tseng finds he doesn’t have an answer; Rufus kisses him, soft and sweet.
“I know,” he says, “I know my father sent you. It took me a while, but I know
now.”
Something like dread settles in Tseng’s stomach. “Do you want me to leave?” he
asks.
“Yes,” Rufus says, simply.
At first, it was just another part of the job.
But not anymore.
Rufus is made Vice President.
In the slums, the flower girl falls in love with a SOLDIER.
Rufus returns and he is cordial and cold and carries a shotgun with purpose and
intent. A hound, one of Hojo’s creatures, trails loyally behind him, as good a
deterrent as any Turk.
They do not speak.
And then Rufus slips his guards. Even his hound is left behind. And Veld says,
in a voice that brooks no argument, “Find him.”
It’s pathetically easy. The alley might even be the same one, although in even
greater a state of disrepair. Rufus is smoking this time; he stubs it out as
Tseng approaches, and a smirk plays on his lips.
“Will you kneel for me again?” he asks.
Tseng’s kneeling before Rufus even finishes. “Of course,” he murmurs.
For a moment, there is silence. And then Rufus gestures to himself as if to say
well? What are you waiting for?
Tseng undoes Rufus’ slacks with his teeth. This time, there’s no forced calm,
no clinical observations. Tseng closes his eyes and takes Rufus’ cock, holds
his hips but doesn’t force stillness. Rufus’ hands clutch at Tseng’s hair and
he fucks Tseng’s mouth like Tseng never let him before.
He kisses Tseng after, chases after the taste of himself on Tseng’s lips, and
says, “Take me back.”
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