Head Over Feet: Wondering
Apr. 6th, 2011 02:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: So a while back, a really awesome fan agreed to make banners for my website in exchange for some fic. I've managed to write two pieces, "Wet" and "Watching" respectively, and decided it was time to add another to the mix. This is my last and lingering fic in the Final Fantasy VII fandom. Please enjoy! Oh, and a warning, this is unbeta'ed, so any mistakes are mine and mine alone.
Title: Wondering
Series: Head Over Feet
Pairings/Characters: Tseng/Sephiroth, Random OMC
Rating: R
Words: 1709
Warning: kiss between men, some language
Description: Sparring with a hard on was a lot harder than Tseng thought it would be.
Tseng huffed and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, flicking it to the ground. It was late, supremely late, and no one else in their right mind would be in the training center, pounding dummies into submission but him. There were perks to being the Turk sub-commander, which included unending access to certain areas of ShinRa headquarters at any time of the night.
They weren't perks that Tseng indulged in often, but after tossing and turning for the last few hours, sleep obviously wasn't coming to him. So he dragged himself out of bed and went for a late run. The streets of Midgar were silent and empty, especially this far above the plate.
The run, however, had done little to exhaust Tseng as he'd hoped. He had less than seven hours before he would have to report to Veld for his next mission, and he'd not gotten a wink of sleep. It wouldn't be the first time he'd gone sleepless, but Tseng preferred not to lose that edge.
To the training center it was, and he spent the next thirty minutes running through a set of various stretching and strength-training exercises. They quickly proved boring, so he'd moved onto to the training dummies, part of him wishing for a sparring partner if only to keep things interesting.
“That doesn't look to be much of a challenge for a Turk sub-commander.”
Tseng whirled at the unexpected voice, hand raised to strike. There was a blur of motion, soundless and quick, as his arm was blocked in an instant. It took only a half-second for him to recognize Sephiroth as his opponent, and then his eyes widened in mortification.
“General Sephiroth,” he said, quickly pulling back and giving the other man a salute appropriate to his station. It was out of respect, really, considering that Sephiroth was army and Tseng was Turk and Tseng wasn't required to do so. “I didn't realize it was you.”
Those cat-like green eyes looked him over, less cold than Tseng would have expected. “I have often been accused of sneaking up on others,” Sephiroth said, the tiniest of smirks curling at his lips. “Some might even call me a Turk-in-training.”
At the joke, Tseng's own lips twitched. “We would be honored to have you, if so,” he said, and then noticed that Sephiroth was not wearing his usual black leather and armor ensemble. Instead, for once, the General was dressed down in comfortable pants and a loose shirt that still clung to his broad shoulders.
Tseng's cock twitched.
Down boy, he silently warned himself. No matter how attractive Sephiroth looked in the clinging, thin clothing, there was nothing to be done about it.
“Do you often come to the training center this late?” Sephiroth asked, and it wasn't until then that Tseng realized the Great General was actually standing here making casual conversation with him. It was so unusual that he had to wonder why.
Tseng dropped out of the defensive stance he hadn't realized he was holding. “No. It is merely that the perfect cure for insomnia is often physical exertion.”
“Ah. Exhaust yourself into sleep then.”
Since he couldn't fuck his way into it, yes. But Tseng couldn't say that aloud. The words crowded on his tongue, and a flash of naked Sephiroth with desire-drenched eyes accompanied his thoughts, but he wisely kept them to himself.
Sephiroth shifted then, a motion that would be mistaken as uncertainty in anyone else. “Would you care for a sparring partner?”
It took all of Tseng's self-control to keep his mouth from dropping. “I do not think I would be much of a challenge for you,” he hedged, his mind conjuring up chances to accidentally touch the Great General.
His cock throbbed in his sweatpants once again and Tseng desperately hoped that Sephiroth didn't look at his groin, see the noticeable bulge behind the grey material.
“You will be a much better challenge than stationary dummies, I assure you,” Sephiroth said. “Unless, of course, I'm inviting myself where I'm unwanted. In which case, allow me to take my leave.”
Tseng reacted before he could think twice about it. “No, nothing like that,” he said, and managed a wobbly, reassuring smile. “I wouldn't want to disappoint the Great General.”
There was a twitch, a tiny flash of annoyance, that flickered across Sephiroth's face. “I'm sure that won't be the case,” he replied, tone tight, and Tseng wondered if he may have misspoken. Obviously something had distressed Sephiroth. “Shall we begin?”
Tseng nodded, sliding into a defensive stance. “We shall.”
Green eyes glittered as Sephiroth's feet slid across the hard-packed dirt, taking up an offensive stance of his own.
There was a moment, a breath, the second of measuring an opponent that came before any duel. Tseng wondered who would make the first move. His answer came when Sephiroth attacked, faster than Tseng could have even imagined. A swing of long legs that Tseng whirled to avoid, and ducked under in hopes to slide in a blow of his own.
The dance began. Light taps at first. Tseng glanced a blow against Sephiroth's thigh. A fist clipped Tseng's cheek, enough to sting, maybe bruise, but not draw blood. Sephiroth's hand-to-hand was all rigid and power, the stuff they teach in Soldier. But there was still a sense of grace to his motions.
Sparring with a hard on was a lot harder than Tseng thought it would be.
The sound of their harsh breathing, their footsteps and traded blows echoed around the training arena. Shoes scraped against dirt, and Tseng huffed as he ducked under another fast punch and attempted to aim a kick at Sephiroth's side. No holding back. He'd quickly learned that it was pointless. Sephiroth could take everything he dished out and more.
The kick went high, timed perfectly, but suddenly, Sephiroth wasn't there. He'd just vanished, and without a target, the kick put Tseng off balance. He cursed, tried to regain his footing, and then Sephiroth was there. Beside him, knocking his feet out from under him and sending Tseng to the ground. He hit with his back, breath momentarily leaving him in a whoosh, stars dancing in his eyes.
Before he could think of getting up, of fighting back, Sephiroth was standing over him, face bright with exertion, sweat damping his forehead. Green eyes were dark and he lifted a foot, casually placing it over Tseng's chest. With the slightest bit of pressure, it was obvious this spar was over.
“Yield?”
This was a terrible position. Tseng just knew that his arousal had to be obvious. “Yield,” he said, maybe too quickly. He needed distance. He wanted to escape to the showers and the locker room, rub one out before he came in his pants like an idiot.
Sephiroth inclined his head and then offered a hand to Tseng, even as he removed his shoe. “I'm impressed,” he said, and it sounded like he actually meant it. “You kept up longer than anyone else.”
Tseng took his hand. “I still lost.”
“But you lasted longer,” Sephiroth replied, and hauled Tseng to his feet.
A bit dizzy in the switch from laying to standing, Tseng stumbled forward, nearly crashing into Sephiroth. Their hands were locked together and suddenly, they were close. Close enough that Tseng could smell the sharp odor of Sephiroth's scent, could hear the in-out-in-out rhythm of Sephiroth's breathing. Could sense the vibrations of physical exertion that Sephiroth was giving out.
Tseng's mind stuttered, going white. His cock throbbed in his pants, and when he looked up the few inches of height difference between them, Sephiroth was looking at him. Eyes dark and bright green and close.
Sephiroth kissed him and Tseng's thought processes completely halted. There was no hesitation in Sephiroth's mouth, no uncertainty. He kissed like he knew what he was doing, tongue sliding over Tseng's lips, mouth claiming. Tseng heard himself groan as he pressed forward, wanting to deepen the kiss, make it last. His hand tightened in Sephiroth's grip, blood rushing through his veins.
Holy shit.
It was every fantasy sprung to life, except it was better because it was reality.
Somewhere, in the distance, a door slammed shut and Tseng and Sephiroth separated as though someone had lit them on fire. Tseng whipped his head around, caught sight of the night janitor coming into the training arena. He hadn't noticed them yet, puttering around as he did his duty, but it wouldn't take long before he saw the two men in the middle of the arena.
Tseng's entire body was vibrating with need, but there was nothing to be done for it now. Adrenaline, right? Had to be.
“Thanks for the spar,” he said, feeling himself draw away. First one step and then another. He felt awkward, but more than that, he felt keyed up. What Tseng wanted was privacy. Somewhere to curl fingers around his cock and with a few strokes, come harder than he could probably ever remember.
He could feel Sephiroth's eyes on him. “We should do it again sometime,” the Great General said, and once again, he sounded like he meant it.
Tseng could hardly believe his ears. “Yes,” he agreed, and turned, clasping Sephiroth's hands as though they were mere acquaintances, painfully aware of the janitor poking around the arena. It took only one set of eyes, one pair of loose lips to get a rumor going. Sephiroth didn't need that. “I agree.”
There was nothing more to say. Tseng looked at Sephiroth, felt a tug of want and need deep inside himself, and then turned and forced his body to move. And quickly it did, as fast as he could toward the showers where he could finally find some relief. His body was keyed, vibrating with energy, and words bounced around in his skull.
He felt Sephiroth watching him the whole time and had to fight back a shiver. It was impossible, but a man could dream. A man could imagine whatever he wanted. A man could wonder, and wonder Tseng did.
If only.
a/n: I plan to every once in a while add more to this drabble-like series. It doesn't have a definite ending or anything like that. Consider each new chapter a bonus, if you will.
I hope that you enjoyed. Feedback is welcome and appreciated.
Title: Wondering
Series: Head Over Feet
Pairings/Characters: Tseng/Sephiroth, Random OMC
Rating: R
Words: 1709
Warning: kiss between men, some language
Description: Sparring with a hard on was a lot harder than Tseng thought it would be.
Tseng huffed and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, flicking it to the ground. It was late, supremely late, and no one else in their right mind would be in the training center, pounding dummies into submission but him. There were perks to being the Turk sub-commander, which included unending access to certain areas of ShinRa headquarters at any time of the night.
They weren't perks that Tseng indulged in often, but after tossing and turning for the last few hours, sleep obviously wasn't coming to him. So he dragged himself out of bed and went for a late run. The streets of Midgar were silent and empty, especially this far above the plate.
The run, however, had done little to exhaust Tseng as he'd hoped. He had less than seven hours before he would have to report to Veld for his next mission, and he'd not gotten a wink of sleep. It wouldn't be the first time he'd gone sleepless, but Tseng preferred not to lose that edge.
To the training center it was, and he spent the next thirty minutes running through a set of various stretching and strength-training exercises. They quickly proved boring, so he'd moved onto to the training dummies, part of him wishing for a sparring partner if only to keep things interesting.
“That doesn't look to be much of a challenge for a Turk sub-commander.”
Tseng whirled at the unexpected voice, hand raised to strike. There was a blur of motion, soundless and quick, as his arm was blocked in an instant. It took only a half-second for him to recognize Sephiroth as his opponent, and then his eyes widened in mortification.
“General Sephiroth,” he said, quickly pulling back and giving the other man a salute appropriate to his station. It was out of respect, really, considering that Sephiroth was army and Tseng was Turk and Tseng wasn't required to do so. “I didn't realize it was you.”
Those cat-like green eyes looked him over, less cold than Tseng would have expected. “I have often been accused of sneaking up on others,” Sephiroth said, the tiniest of smirks curling at his lips. “Some might even call me a Turk-in-training.”
At the joke, Tseng's own lips twitched. “We would be honored to have you, if so,” he said, and then noticed that Sephiroth was not wearing his usual black leather and armor ensemble. Instead, for once, the General was dressed down in comfortable pants and a loose shirt that still clung to his broad shoulders.
Tseng's cock twitched.
Down boy, he silently warned himself. No matter how attractive Sephiroth looked in the clinging, thin clothing, there was nothing to be done about it.
“Do you often come to the training center this late?” Sephiroth asked, and it wasn't until then that Tseng realized the Great General was actually standing here making casual conversation with him. It was so unusual that he had to wonder why.
Tseng dropped out of the defensive stance he hadn't realized he was holding. “No. It is merely that the perfect cure for insomnia is often physical exertion.”
“Ah. Exhaust yourself into sleep then.”
Since he couldn't fuck his way into it, yes. But Tseng couldn't say that aloud. The words crowded on his tongue, and a flash of naked Sephiroth with desire-drenched eyes accompanied his thoughts, but he wisely kept them to himself.
Sephiroth shifted then, a motion that would be mistaken as uncertainty in anyone else. “Would you care for a sparring partner?”
It took all of Tseng's self-control to keep his mouth from dropping. “I do not think I would be much of a challenge for you,” he hedged, his mind conjuring up chances to accidentally touch the Great General.
His cock throbbed in his sweatpants once again and Tseng desperately hoped that Sephiroth didn't look at his groin, see the noticeable bulge behind the grey material.
“You will be a much better challenge than stationary dummies, I assure you,” Sephiroth said. “Unless, of course, I'm inviting myself where I'm unwanted. In which case, allow me to take my leave.”
Tseng reacted before he could think twice about it. “No, nothing like that,” he said, and managed a wobbly, reassuring smile. “I wouldn't want to disappoint the Great General.”
There was a twitch, a tiny flash of annoyance, that flickered across Sephiroth's face. “I'm sure that won't be the case,” he replied, tone tight, and Tseng wondered if he may have misspoken. Obviously something had distressed Sephiroth. “Shall we begin?”
Tseng nodded, sliding into a defensive stance. “We shall.”
Green eyes glittered as Sephiroth's feet slid across the hard-packed dirt, taking up an offensive stance of his own.
There was a moment, a breath, the second of measuring an opponent that came before any duel. Tseng wondered who would make the first move. His answer came when Sephiroth attacked, faster than Tseng could have even imagined. A swing of long legs that Tseng whirled to avoid, and ducked under in hopes to slide in a blow of his own.
The dance began. Light taps at first. Tseng glanced a blow against Sephiroth's thigh. A fist clipped Tseng's cheek, enough to sting, maybe bruise, but not draw blood. Sephiroth's hand-to-hand was all rigid and power, the stuff they teach in Soldier. But there was still a sense of grace to his motions.
Sparring with a hard on was a lot harder than Tseng thought it would be.
The sound of their harsh breathing, their footsteps and traded blows echoed around the training arena. Shoes scraped against dirt, and Tseng huffed as he ducked under another fast punch and attempted to aim a kick at Sephiroth's side. No holding back. He'd quickly learned that it was pointless. Sephiroth could take everything he dished out and more.
The kick went high, timed perfectly, but suddenly, Sephiroth wasn't there. He'd just vanished, and without a target, the kick put Tseng off balance. He cursed, tried to regain his footing, and then Sephiroth was there. Beside him, knocking his feet out from under him and sending Tseng to the ground. He hit with his back, breath momentarily leaving him in a whoosh, stars dancing in his eyes.
Before he could think of getting up, of fighting back, Sephiroth was standing over him, face bright with exertion, sweat damping his forehead. Green eyes were dark and he lifted a foot, casually placing it over Tseng's chest. With the slightest bit of pressure, it was obvious this spar was over.
“Yield?”
This was a terrible position. Tseng just knew that his arousal had to be obvious. “Yield,” he said, maybe too quickly. He needed distance. He wanted to escape to the showers and the locker room, rub one out before he came in his pants like an idiot.
Sephiroth inclined his head and then offered a hand to Tseng, even as he removed his shoe. “I'm impressed,” he said, and it sounded like he actually meant it. “You kept up longer than anyone else.”
Tseng took his hand. “I still lost.”
“But you lasted longer,” Sephiroth replied, and hauled Tseng to his feet.
A bit dizzy in the switch from laying to standing, Tseng stumbled forward, nearly crashing into Sephiroth. Their hands were locked together and suddenly, they were close. Close enough that Tseng could smell the sharp odor of Sephiroth's scent, could hear the in-out-in-out rhythm of Sephiroth's breathing. Could sense the vibrations of physical exertion that Sephiroth was giving out.
Tseng's mind stuttered, going white. His cock throbbed in his pants, and when he looked up the few inches of height difference between them, Sephiroth was looking at him. Eyes dark and bright green and close.
Sephiroth kissed him and Tseng's thought processes completely halted. There was no hesitation in Sephiroth's mouth, no uncertainty. He kissed like he knew what he was doing, tongue sliding over Tseng's lips, mouth claiming. Tseng heard himself groan as he pressed forward, wanting to deepen the kiss, make it last. His hand tightened in Sephiroth's grip, blood rushing through his veins.
Holy shit.
It was every fantasy sprung to life, except it was better because it was reality.
Somewhere, in the distance, a door slammed shut and Tseng and Sephiroth separated as though someone had lit them on fire. Tseng whipped his head around, caught sight of the night janitor coming into the training arena. He hadn't noticed them yet, puttering around as he did his duty, but it wouldn't take long before he saw the two men in the middle of the arena.
Tseng's entire body was vibrating with need, but there was nothing to be done for it now. Adrenaline, right? Had to be.
“Thanks for the spar,” he said, feeling himself draw away. First one step and then another. He felt awkward, but more than that, he felt keyed up. What Tseng wanted was privacy. Somewhere to curl fingers around his cock and with a few strokes, come harder than he could probably ever remember.
He could feel Sephiroth's eyes on him. “We should do it again sometime,” the Great General said, and once again, he sounded like he meant it.
Tseng could hardly believe his ears. “Yes,” he agreed, and turned, clasping Sephiroth's hands as though they were mere acquaintances, painfully aware of the janitor poking around the arena. It took only one set of eyes, one pair of loose lips to get a rumor going. Sephiroth didn't need that. “I agree.”
There was nothing more to say. Tseng looked at Sephiroth, felt a tug of want and need deep inside himself, and then turned and forced his body to move. And quickly it did, as fast as he could toward the showers where he could finally find some relief. His body was keyed, vibrating with energy, and words bounced around in his skull.
He felt Sephiroth watching him the whole time and had to fight back a shiver. It was impossible, but a man could dream. A man could imagine whatever he wanted. A man could wonder, and wonder Tseng did.
If only.
* * * *
a/n: I plan to every once in a while add more to this drabble-like series. It doesn't have a definite ending or anything like that. Consider each new chapter a bonus, if you will.
I hope that you enjoyed. Feedback is welcome and appreciated.
