Fly to Others That We Know Not of

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Branch

Stories spinning off the Lullabye for a New World Order AU. Unabashed Rufus/Tseng loyalty porn.

Ink Burns

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

This is a work of fanfiction, produced according to the principles of transformative fair use as put forward in US copyright law, and abiding by the custom and practice of fan-produced work in Japan, where the source texts were created. No author is in any way affiliated with any of the creators of the source texts, nor with the companies who distribute their products, nor any other rights holder, and these stories were not authorized by either the creators or the producers. Ink Burns is a fan site and the material here is freely provided for the enjoyment of fellow fan-community members; there is no commercial infringement.

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 US license at the Ink Burns fanfiction archive (http://www.branchandroot.net/archive/).

"True as Gold and Iron" published on 2011-11-27 13:01:09.

"A Kiss Upon A Tide" published on 2011-12-11 12:44:27.

"Heavier Than A Mountain" published on 2011-11-21 15:55:29.

Attributions can be made by author's name and a link to the archive.

This ebook edition was published on September 6, 2019 by the Ink Burns fanfiction archive.

Cover illustration is "Harriot at Syon Park" by Rita Greer, Free Art License (http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Harriot_at_Syon_Park.JPG).

Cover design by Branch.

True as Gold and Iron

Tseng rather abruptly sees Rufus in a new light and is struck by all the things Rufus has become that he's been trying not to hope for. Baroque and self-indulgent loyalty porn! Clothing porn! Even some porn porn! Assumes some Lullabye for the New World Order history. Drama, Porn, D/s, I-4

It was one week before Shinra Corporation's Yule ball, the offices were gaudy with decorations, the backstabbing over seating arrangements had reached its annual fever pitch, and Tseng was airing out his formal robes.

Indications of the season indeed.

He lifted each layer carefully out of its drawer and unfolded delicate, crackling paper, spreading his armfuls of silk and shining embroidery out on the floor mats so he could inspect the seams before hanging them to air.

"I never realized just how much fabric that is," Rufus said thoughtfully from where he was curled up on the end of Tseng's couch. "What's it like to wear?"

"Heavy," Tseng told him dryly as he pulled out the last layer, that being the most pertinent part of the answer for Rufus. Before Tseng had gotten his shoes and jacket all the way off or undone his cuffs to roll them up, this evening, Rufus had already shed his linen suit in favor of an ancient T-shirt and sweat pants that had migrated to Tseng's apartment in the city. He could, he supposed, imagine Rufus putting up with formal court garments if there was some overriding reason to do so, but he had no doubt whatsoever the complaints before and after would be epic. Rufus didn't even like the mere two or three layers of Midgar suits.

So he was a bit surprised when Rufus made an interested sound. "They look easy to move in, though." He rested his chin on folded arms across the arm of the couch. "Do you have any others I could try on, just to see?" Tseng raised his brows, and Rufus smiled. "You always look... different in them, at the Yule ball. I've been curious."

"Hm." Tseng sat back on his heels, considering the silk spread out around him. He did have casual cotton robes in this apartment, but that wouldn't answer Rufus' question, not really. And while a lingering part of him was shocked by the idea of dressing Rufus in these, another part of him was very entertained by the suggestion. It was the same part of him that kept thinking about taking Tifa on a tour of Wutai's temples just so he could watch her wipe the floor with every master of their arts that she met.

And after all, weren't Imperial robes appropriate to Rufus Shinra? Tseng knew he was smirking a little, and Rufus grinned back at him, straightening up. "We can use these," Tseng said, picking up the short innermost robe and shaking it out gently. "You'll need to undress again, though. Believe me, you don't want to be wearing any extra layers under all this."

Rufus shrugged and promptly stripped out of his shirt and sweats, tossing them over the back of the couch. He didn't have anything under them, and Tseng reflected with some amusement that now he knew what Rufus had originally planned for the evening.

Perhaps they'd get to that later.

He stood Rufus in the middle of the room and draped him in one layer after another, fingers stumbling now and then as he knotted ties and folded belts because he was so unused to doing them this way around, now. They weren't exactly traditional in any case; he had long ago cut each and every tie and belt somewhere unobtrusive and sewed in break-away snaps. The hems were cheated, too, carefully taken up so his feet were free under the last two layers. On Rufus they were actually far closer to the proper, floor-dragging, foot-muddling length. Even on these altered robes, though, the details were still fine enough, and many enough, to distract him from the point of the project until he tied the last, ornate knot and stepped back to regard his handiwork as a whole

And then the breath went out of him.

Rufus stood in the center of the room, straight and still under the weight of the robes, a straightness Tseng's gut recognized; it was the way every noble child learned to stand, under those layers, and the sudden sight of Rufus standing with a noble's still poise made Tseng's chest tighten. The lift of Rufus' chin was the same determination Tseng saw every day, but he now saw, abruptly, that it was also the straightness of honor fit to accompany the imperial seal embroidered into those robes. This, the silk whispered to him as Rufus shifted slightly, was indeed his rightful ruler, and the faint smile that grew on Rufus' lips as he watched Tseng was weighted with all the knowledge a lord should have of his man.

The weight of blood and history, of need and duty, pressed down on Tseng until his knees hit the floor. Rufus' eyes followed him down and the acceptance in them was not only the possessiveness of a son of Shinra. In the light reflected up from that rich silk and gold, it was also a ruler's awareness of obligation, to and from those he commanded. It was everything Tseng had longed passionately to believe Rufus could do and be. Everything he'd told himself he must not dare hope for. It felt like falling and catching himself to complete his bow, hands spread out against the floor before him, head bowed down.

"Lord," Tseng breathed in his own tongue, the single word bare of extra honorifics that proclaimed, not merely formal, but personal loyalty. The one word that paraded for all to hear that he belonged to this man, body and blood. He knew, he knew, Rufus wouldn't understand all that it meant, but he couldn't help offering it anyway. Offering it and claiming the rights of honor and service that went it.

Robes rustled with slow steps toward him, and the rhythm was off, more uncertain than any noble Rufus' age would be. Even so, it was the sound that told him his lord approached, and it kept him down like a hand on his nape.

Until Rufus' hand cupped his jaw and drew his head up.

Tseng was breathing fast, shocked by the intimacy of his lord stooping to touch him and raise him. Rufus didn't mean it that way; he touched Tseng freely all the time. But feeling the weight of Rufus' wide sleeves against his shoulder made Tseng shiver with his nearness, with the sweetness of being permitted this familiarity. There was heat in Rufus' eyes, the heat that Tseng's surrender always lit there. Tonight, though, Tseng finally thought he saw the measure of his own loyalty reflected, weighed justly by the one he'd given it to. As Rufus' thumb stroked down the line of his jaw, he prayed to every god he'd ever tried to turn his back on that it was true.

"You're mine," Rufus told him, and Tseng couldn't help the tiny sound that wrung out of him, because Rufus' voice was quiet. It wasn't Rufus' triumph that Tseng heard in that claim tonight—it was his answer to Tseng's need, and Tseng almost slid away from his hold to bow his head again in acknowledgement and gratitude. But resisting Rufus' hand would be unthinkable, in this moment. "Yes," he whispered instead.

Rufus' eyes were dark. "Come and take these off," he said, very softly, straightening up again to stand quiet and poised. Tseng shivered and nodded, wordless. He rose from his knees and began to undo Rufus' robes, lifting each one off his shoulders with careful hands. When the last one was laid aside, Rufus leaned back against Tseng, and Tseng's breath caught. He folded his arms around Rufus' waist, bending his head to press his mouth to Rufus' bare shoulder, a little dizzy with the feel of Rufus relaxed in his arms. This was a gift, not merely of Rufus' trust but of his understanding. He'd seen what Tseng needed.

"I beg you to permit me," he murmured against Rufus' skin, and he knew Rufus wouldn't understand the words but the language of Midgar didn't have the words, the forms of submission and obligation, to shape his entreaty in.

Rufus seemed to hear what he meant anyway. He leaned his head back against Tseng's shoulder, smiling, body language perfectly at ease in the curve of Tseng's body. "Yes," he said, and the word was permission and command. It shivered through Tseng and he gathered Rufus closer, one hand sliding up to press over Rufus' heart, offering his own body as Rufus' shield and shelter. This was his role, this was his place, and he was fighting not to flinch with the memory of every time the instincts of his upbringing had cried out for him to destroy whatever offered Rufus insult—and had to be stifled. This was his lord, and Tseng's heart told him he had failed in what he owed far too often, despite his mind's insistence that it was necessary, that Rufus himself would never have allowed Tseng to upset Shinra's delicate political balance to answer those slights properly.

"Tseng," Rufus said softly, and Tseng prepared to draw back, to box up this part of him again because he knew full well it was too passionate to let run free in this land. But Rufus didn't move away. He lifted his arms up and reached behind him to twine them loosely around Tseng's neck, uncovering himself completely. There was nothing to guard him at all, now, but Tseng's arms around him, and Tseng's breath nearly stopped.

"Rufus," he whispered, shaking. Terrifying warmth curled through his stomach, that Rufus would give him this, trust him like this, see him like this. His hands stroked over and over Rufus' body, helplessly protective, and Rufus relaxed into them, eyes closed. Tseng was speaking in his own tongue again, phrase after rippling phrase in the most abject form, begging humbly for the favor Rufus had just shown him because he couldn't quite believe it was this simple.

It took a long time for Tseng to quiet himself again, and Rufus leaned in his arms the whole while, apparently perfectly content. His fingers combed lightly through Tseng's hair now and then. "It's okay," he said at last, quietly, not opening his eyes. "It's okay, Tseng. You're mine." He said it like it explained everything about this night, and after what Rufus had given and shown him Tseng couldn't deny that it did. That Rufus was, indeed, a ruler who would give all of himself in return for the swords and souls his followers laid at his feet. The very one Tseng had wanted him to be, taught him to be, and never dared believe in.

It was shame for that lack of faith that put him back on his knees when Rufus finally straightened and turned—not something Tseng had expected to ever feel again in his life, but the steadiness of Rufus' eyes on him told his heart that he should have known before this. He pressed a kiss to Rufus' palm, and bent his head. "My life and honor are in your hand." The words, finally spoken out loud, hung in the air of the room like a bird hovering.

Rufus' other hand rested lightly on his head. "And my honor is in your care," he answered. It drove a gasp out of Tseng, the gesture, the words, so perfectly right even in the clumsy language of Midgar.

"Tseng." When Tseng looked up, Rufus was smiling. "Take me to bed."

Tseng had to swallow. There was knowledge in Rufus' eyes. Not the laughing victory he'd sometimes seen there when Rufus first understood his power over Tseng, nor the pleasure that had remained for all the years since. Only knowledge. This night Rufus knew, he understood the exact measure of Tseng's surrender to his mastery. And he offered Tseng back his trust in the same measure.

Tseng rose silently and followed Rufus into the bedroom. Rufus stretched out on Tseng's bed, relaxed and waiting, and Tseng had to swallow again against the tangle of desire and tenderness and reverence that rose in him. Slowly, every movement precise under the weight of Rufus' eyes on him, he stripped off his clothes and folded each item. When he turned back to the bed, Rufus was smiling with the pure appreciation he so often showed for Tseng's body. He held out a hand, offering and commanding, and Tseng came to him.

He was shocked all over again by Rufus' pliancy against him, and found himself rolling Rufus underneath him, driven to shelter him. Rufus laughed quietly and settled against the covers, arms draped easily around Tseng's shoulders. Tseng shivered at the sound, at the acceptance in it, and pressed his mouth to the curve of Rufus' neck, open and deferential. "Will you tell me," he asked, husky, "what it is you wish of me?" Because he wasn't sure how much more he could bring himself to do without Rufus' word. Not tonight.

"Mmm." Rufus tipped his head back, relaxed, fingers stroking delicately up and down Tseng's nape under the loose spill of his hair until Tseng was breathless. "I want you inside me. Slowly."

Tseng gathered him closer, steadied by that direction. "Thank you."

Rufus stroked a thumb over Tseng's cheekbone, eyes dark; he understood, Tseng thought, how much the demands of this trust unsettled Tseng. Understood and required it anyway, and Tseng could only bend his head as Rufus pressed home that proof and reminder of just how complete Tseng's submission to him was. That reminder was exactly what Tseng needed, and he was so hard from it that he was a getting little light-headed.

He went slowly, though, as Rufus had told him, gradually opening the tightness of Rufus' body with slick fingers. The husky sounds Rufus made against his shoulder as he held Rufus close and sank two fingers deep into him made Tseng's breath come quicker. And Rufus, almost without precedent, wasn't pushing. Wasn't urging Tseng on. Was relaxed in Tseng's arms and moving against him with slow abandon, following the guidance of Tseng's hands on him.

He closed his eyes and just breathed, trembling with the weight of everything Rufus laid so easily in his hands. No, perhaps not easily. But deliberately and without hesitation. "Please, lord," he whispered against Rufus' hair, not even sure what he was pleading for.

"Yes," Rufus sighed, eyes half closed as he let his head fall back. "Now."

The command, soft as it was, eased Tseng back from the edge again and his hands were steady as he laid Rufus back against the sheets and settled between his thighs. The vulnerable arch of Rufus' body as Tseng pressed into him nearly undid him again. Even after taking so long in preparation, Rufus was tight and fiercely hot around Tseng's cock, and his unrestrained moan cut Tseng's breath into gasps. His eyes were locked on Rufus' face, on the softness of his parted lips as Tseng drove into him with long, slow thrusts. To be given this, and to have this required of him... it was like a hand, Rufus' hand, reaching down into him to grasp all the things that he held behind a proper reserve and bring them up to the light, laid bare. Tseng groaned wordlessly as Rufus' fingers slid through his hair, down his throat to grip his shoulders. He was dizzy with the pleasure of burying himself in Rufus' body and the sweetness of submitting to Rufus' will.

Rufus moaned as Tseng drove into him deeper, hands stroking over his shoulders, down his chest. "Tseng." The next words were a husky whisper, "This. Needed this. Need you."

That admission, that need, broke Tseng open at last, broke through him in a graceless tumble of words gasped out between kisses as he gathered Rufus tight in his arms. "Yes, my lord, my love, I swear I'm yours, yours for all life and time, body and soul and blood, I belong to you..." Rufus' arms locked around him and his body tightened on Tseng hard. Tseng fell right after him, shaking against Rufus as heat shuddered through his bones in hard, gasping waves and the acknowledgement of Rufus' dominion wrapped around his heart.

Eventually they just lay together, panting for breath. After a few moments, Tseng stirred and murmured against Rufus' neck, "Forgive me. Forgive me for not seeing, for doubting the heart of you. I offer no excuse." This time, at least, he managed to translate his apology.

Rufus' fingers stroked through his hair. "I should have asked," he said quietly. "I was just... afraid of what the answer might be." His voice turned wry. "I mean, there are all kinds of reasons you could choose to serve me without... belonging to me. Willingly, at least."

Tseng swallowed and made himself lean up on his elbows to meet Rufus' eyes. "I serve you willingly, with all my strength and soul," he said, low. "I have belonged to you since the moment we met." And before that, truth be told, but saying that would only distract Rufus right now. "I made that choice in full knowledge." That, at least, was the whole truth.

Rufus looked up at him, eyes clear and bottomless as the sky. "Do you really..." He hesitated, eyes suddenly flickering aside as his fingers stroked lightly over Tseng's chest.

Over his heart.

Tseng really did blame a great deal on the language of Midgar, which was so gracelessly frank about these things that it made Tseng downright embarrassed to speak openly of love. He pressed a kiss to Rufus' brow and another to his lips and murmured, eyes closed for a moment. "Yes. I do. As my student. As my lord. As my friend. As my life."

Rufus shivered and pressed closer letting out a slow, slightly shaky breath. "Thank you," he said against Tseng's shoulder. And then he added, rueful. "I don't know the right words for any of it. But, yes."

Fine tension Tseng had barely even noticed relaxed all at once, and he settled against Rufus with a soft sigh of his own. "Thank you," he whispered back.

He might find the language of this city awkward and distressingly blunt for expressing heart truths in, but Rufus had never even really known the meanings of his own native words. To recognize love, loyalty, trust nevertheless... Tseng was grateful for that as he would be for any miracle. The fact that Rufus had worked this one out of the pure steel of his soul was exactly the reason every word Tseng had spoken tonight was true.

For the knowledge that Rufus truly cherished his people, that he knew the true measure of Tseng's loyalty and could return it, Tseng might just be willing to offer up true thanks. At least, he would if he'd thought Leviathan or any other god had had a damn thing to do with it, which he most assuredly did not.

No, what he offered up was himself, and only to Rufus' hands.

Which was why he wrapped himself around Rufus, close and protective as was his right. And smiled into the half-light of the city's night through his window as Rufus settled against him.

He belonged to Rufus Shinra, and this was his.

End

A Kiss Upon A Tide

More loyalty-porn! It's the new year, and after Recent Events Tseng is particularly susceptible to the rightness of his place at Rufus' side. Post-game, very loosely in the Lullabye for the New World Order AU continuum. Porn, D/s, I-4

Years of living in Midgar had blunted Tseng's senses, but there were still times of the year that tugged at him. The seventh moon, when the lovers bridged the skies. The tenth moon, when a tiny wooden canal wound its way through Little Wutai for a single night to bear lanterns down its length before being packed away in sections for another year. The turning of the year was the worst of them, but normally even that was no more than an itch in the back of Tseng's head, a memory of smoke on the night air and the sway of human bodies tracing the path of life through every city in the land, a faint tug at him to go and mark that path for the dancers as he'd been trained to for so many years. Normally, he could bear it with, if not perfect equanimity, at least outward calm and perhaps an inward rude gesture or two in Leviathan's direction on the bad years.

That, however, had been before Rufus had set his hand on his own destiny.

Tseng stepped back from the door of his city apartment, resisting the urge to keep backing up or to let his eyes follow the light trailing from Rufus' every gesture as he stepped inside. No moment of Rufus' presence had been without a faint glow, ever since they'd come back to Midgar, but the new year had fanned that fire, and their journey itself had stripped away the dimness from Tseng's sight. That light pulled at him, like the desire to mark the paths of the city's life only far stronger; it closed over him like water as Rufus stepped past him into his home.

"You're sure I'm not interrupting?" Rufus asked him, head cocked, eying the dark, patterned kosode[1] that Tseng wore. "Were you going out?"

Of course Rufus knew about the festival; these days there were very few things about Midgar he did not know. Tseng shook his head, trying to focus on the question instead of the burning of Rufus' will and soul. "That would be... uncomfortable for everyone." The most traditional immigrants would be the most torn between begging the only fully trained priest in the city to officiate, and ignoring the exile as law dictated. Tseng had just wanted the little extra comfort of rightness that proper clothing could offer tonight. "Besides," he added lightly, closing the door, "you sounded a bit desperate when you called."

Rufus kicked off his shoes and stalked into the living room, movements restless. "Not desperate, I just... needed to be somewhere every little thing wouldn't be a fight." He thumped down onto the couch in a slouch that threatened to put yet another tear in the battered jeans he'd worn over.

Tseng had to admit that, even with the worst of the old guard removed, Shinra was still a constant struggle to rebuild. He couldn't blame Rufus for wanting time and space away from that, however overwhelming his company was to Tseng in this season. "I can't promise never to argue with you," he murmured, "but at least you know you have the final word."

Rufus glanced at him, mouth quirked. "Do I?"

Clearly, Rufus was remembering some of their more epic arguments. Any other day, Tseng would have said something dry, something to tease Rufus' sense of humor, but tonight, with the brightness of Rufus' spirit in his eyes, he said simply, "You are my lord, and I am your servant." He almost had to close his eyes as the words took up the resonance of the changing year and rang his own spirit like a struck bell, true and pure and right.

When he looked up again, Rufus' eyes on him had turned dark, and he held out a hand. "Tseng. Come here."

Caught by the brilliance that followed Rufus' hand, Tseng came to him and sank down to the floor before him, smoothing his robe under his knees with an old, practiced sweep of his fingers. He knelt there, surrounded by the brightness of Rufus' presence, waiting to know what he required.

Rufus leaned forward and caught his chin, stroking his thumb along the line of Tseng's jaw. "Are those gods of yours really that strong?" he asked. "That they could make you leave everything that ever formed your life, to come here?" The flick of his fingers took in the apartment, with its mats and screens and discreet shrine, and Tseng's words and actions this night, none of them part of the ways and customs Shinra had shaped in Midgar.

Tseng smiled faintly, ruefully; Rufus saw so much, and yet he still seemed to find this hard to believe. "The gods were not that strong. You were. You are."

Tseng had understood young that he had greater strength than his brother and lord, and his disquiet at that had grown along with his strength, year after year. His training in the Temple had only given the disquiet sharper form. So many of the signs that showed a firm minister and a yielding prince were signs of overturning or stagnation. Biting Through, The Power of the Great, Opposition, The Preponderance of the Small.

The Wanderer.

That had been the sign in Tseng's heart when he'd finally fought his way through his fears and doubts to a decision to leave. He had hoped, among other things, to remove one danger from his brother's house. And that was why, underneath the incandescent rage when he'd first set eyes on Rufus and understood he had been manipulated by the gods from start to finish, there had been a seed of relief. Tseng was a powerful man, thoroughly trained in mind and spirit and body, but Rufus was stronger yet. Serving that strength, Tseng could finally take his rightful part, could yield to his lord without fear, could be at ease in the proper order of the world that even the gods and their machinations must be subject to.

"When I am at your side," he said softly, looking up at Rufus, "you make the world right."

Rufus' eyes on him softened. "Tseng." There was pleasure and possession in that naming, and Tseng wasn't surprised when Rufus slid off the couch to kneel over his folded legs, both hands coming up to close around Tseng's face and tip his head back so Rufus could kiss him. Tseng leaned into it, pliant in Rufus' hands, mouth opening under Rufus' demand. He almost swore he could feel the heat of Rufus' aura burning around those hands as they slid down Tseng's throat to his shoulders, pulling loose his robe and stroking it down to hang from his arms. When Rufus finally drew back it was hard for Tseng to let that heat go, and Rufus smiled down at him as he swayed forward. "We will make the world right, yes," he said, and Tseng swallowed at the force of Rufus' spirit flaring around him.

"Yes, Lord," he answered, just a little breathless, giving himself to Rufus' will without reservation, and he nearly moaned with the surge of rightness through his senses.

Rufus brushed a kiss over his forehead and murmured, "Turn around."

Tseng turned, hands spread against the denseness of the mats, starting to stretch out under Rufus. He flushed a little to realize just how disordered his clothes were as he felt his hair sliding over his bared shoulders and back.

And then he felt Rufus' hand on his skin pushing his hair aside, baring his nape and closing firmly over it.

A shudder of heat shook Tseng so hard his arms gave out and he collapsed down to the floor, breath completely gone. He still didn't know whether Rufus understood everything this gesture meant, but he certainly knew it was the mark of his command over Tseng. And to feel Rufus laying such definite claim, knowing or not, to his rights over Tseng's life and death undid Tseng every time. Tonight, feeling so clearly the weight of Rufus' spirit, it nearly struck him senseless. He lay still under Rufus' hand, panting softly for breath.

"You're mine, Tseng," Rufus said quietly, fingers tightening until Tseng gasped. "I won't let go."

The words fell together with Rufus' kiss, earlier, the brush of his lips over Tseng's mark of exile, and wrote their meaning in sweetness and fire down Tseng's spine. The bone-deep knowledge of place, of belonging at this man's side, broke through Tseng like a wave cresting and set him trembling. "Yes," he whispered. "Please."

Rufus' thumb stroked against the skin of his nape gently. "Shh." His other hand slid up the back of Tseng's thigh, pushing his robe with it until Rufus was pushing slick fingers slowly into him. The small corner of his mind dedicated to irreverence managed to wonder whether Rufus had brought his own lube or had fished Tseng's out of the couch cushions. It eased Tseng back from the edge a bit, the familiarity of Rufus' hands on him like this, though the hand on his neck, holding him down, still put a hot shudder through him. The slow stretch and slide of Rufus opening him up eased the desperation of that need, comforted him with the assurance that it would be met. The promise of Rufus' fingers driving deeper steadied him.

He still made a faint sound of protest when Rufus released his nape to slide a hand down his back and pull his robe the rest of the way off. "Shh," Rufus told him again, low and sure. "You belong to me, whether my hand is on you or not, Tseng. Remember that."

Tseng bent his head, flushed with the heat of his response to those words. "Yes, Lord."

"Good," Rufus purred, fingers twisting slowly deep in his ass. "Now, once again—come here." His hand on Tseng's hip urged him up.

It took a moment for Tseng to gather himself enough to move, under the weight of Rufus' spirit in this small space, but after a breath he rocked back onto his knees in the muddle of his robe, resting his forehead on his crossed arms. The delicate brush of air over his still-bared nape made him shiver. This too felt right, though, to be spread out and opened, all of him offered to Rufus. He moaned softly when he felt the roughness of Rufus' jeans against his thighs and ass and realized Rufus hadn't bothered to undress himself while he'd been stripping Tseng naked, body and heart. "Rufus, please," he whispered, hot and breathless.

"Yes," Rufus answered him, bedrock surety in his voice, and then he was pushing into Tseng, stretching and filling him. Body-feeling ran deep and fast alongside spirit-feeling, wrapping around each other into a current of pleasure so heavy Tseng groaned with it, hands clutching at the floor, at his robe, at anything to anchor him while Rufus fucked him hard and slow. But there was no anchor in this except Rufus himself, Rufus who held Tseng still for every stroke the same way he held Tseng in his right place in the world. Tseng gave himself to that strength, spread himself wider for Rufus, surrendered his soul and senses into those hands, and cried out as they closed on him tighter.

Pleasure wrung him out hard, and the velvety edge of Rufus' moan swept an extra shudder through him. Rufus kept him up on his knees, fucking him harder even while Tseng's muscles melted as all the built-up tension in him released at once. Tseng panted, cheek pressed against the mats of the floor, and groaned softly when Rufus buried himself deep, hips pressed tight against Tseng's ass. When Rufus finally eased him down again he just lay there for a while, savoring the slow stroke of Rufus' fingers carding through his hair. "Thank you," he said at last, softly.

"Shouldn't that be my line?" Rufus asked, leaning over him on one elbow, smiling. "Thanking you for your service?"

Tseng turned slowly onto his side, looking up at Rufus. His shirt was pulled up and his jeans hung open, and his hair was rumpled. He should have looked like a college student in the middle of an energetic party.

He didn't.

Tseng bent his head before the radiance Rufus wore so easily, before the knowledge and responsibility that shadowed those bright eyes after the last year. This was his lord, the one who made a true place for him in the world. "My service is your right."

After a long, silent moment, a firm hand lifted his chin and Rufus kissed him gently. "Know that I will never take that for granted."

Tseng shivered as the words slid over him, sure as Rufus' touch. "And that's why," he murmured.

Rufus snorted and stroked Tseng's hair back over his shoulder with light fingers. "After all your hard work, I should hope so." His fingers slid up to caress Tseng's nape again, easy and possessive, and a thread of heat wound down Tseng's spine.

He could still feel the changing of the year, but it didn't pull at him any more. The year, and the world, turned now on the one prince great enough for Tseng to yield his will and service to.

Tseng bowed his head again and rested under Rufus' hand.

End

A/N: Tseng's casual wear should probably be a noushi (casual or visiting wear for kuge), not a kosode (only outerwear by the period when the buke had already taken power), but we're already making a glorious mishmash of times and cultures, and kosode are sexier than noushi, so there you go. Picture a fairly casual kimono.back

Heavier Than A Mountain

Rufus is not prepared to let Tseng die. Tseng is not prepared to refuse him. Written for the Oh My God We Need Some Porn in Here Stat meme, and the prompt Rufus/Tseng, command. Porn, I-4

Happens just post-Advent Children, but assuming some Lullabye for the New World Order history.

Tseng was sorting his desk. An attack on the city always meant re-sorting his information, prioritizing the small fears and unrests that would always flare in the aftermath. The focus of the task was soothing.

Given the basic equation of fears and unrest, of course, it was predictable that he would be interrupted.

Rufus didn't bang the door open. He opened and closed it behind him very precisely, the only sound a soft click of the latch. That was a far stronger danger sign than overt temper, and Tseng prudently laid down his files and pen, well out of the way. Rufus crossed the office with a measured step and laid a hand on the back of Tseng's desk chair.

Tseng calmly tucked his knees back to keep from banging them on the desk as Rufus swung the chair sharply around and leaned over him. "Yes, sir?" he asked, leaning his head back to look up at the President. Rufus was steady on his feet, and the chair creaked under his grip; he looked entirely recovered from the Geostigma, and Tseng spared a moment of thanks to Aerith, wherever and whatever she had become now.

"You miscalculated the risk of going to the Northern Crater," Rufus stated flatly. "Don't let that happen again."

"I will certainly endeavor not to," Tseng answered dryly. Being tortured by broken fragments of Sephiroth's spirit was not an experience he wanted to repeat.

"Do more than that," Rufus ordered. "Understand me, Tseng. You do not have my permission to die."

Tseng froze in his chair, staring up at Rufus. Even in this language, the words dove down into the center of him and rang there. Death, and the manner of it, were the final right of the humblest warrior. To safeguard his family and secure his honor, to deny the enemy, to choose his own end, all that was the right of any warrior whose determination did not fail him. To surrender it...

Protest struggled with a curl of hot response, wrapping around each other in his chest, and Tseng's hands tightened on the arms of his chair.

Rufus caught his chin, burning blue eyes locked with his, fixing him in his chair sure as a sword thrust. "You do not have my permission, Tseng," he repeated softly. "Not while I live." Tseng could feel the force of Rufus' will like the heat of a fire on his face, and the part of him that had waited so many years for Rufus to grow into his own soul couldn't help but answer.

"I receive your command," he murmured in his own tongue, measured and formal, acknowledging Rufus' right. A corner of his mind remarked dryly that his family would have mass heart failure if they ever learned of this. A larger part was ruefully aware of how hard he was.

"Good." Rufus' thumb stroked along Tseng's jaw slowly. "Then come here."

Yes, Rufus had definitely noticed.

Tseng rose from his chair, and Rufus' hands were on his belt, and as quickly as that he was bent over his desk with Rufus' fingers in his ass. Tseng moaned low in his throat at the rough, slow stretch. The dry corner of his thoughts observed that the door was not locked and Reno never knocked. The part of him that was hot and hungry with his surrender to Rufus half hoped someone would come in, that someone else would witness the fire that Rufus was burning with and understand why Tseng offered his life and soul to it.

Rufus fucked him slow and hard, leaning over Tseng, hands running up and down his body. He could not have more clearly marked his possession without tattooing property of Rufus Shinra, do not touch across Tseng's back. Possession... and protection. Even as Tseng panted with the hard, driving thrusts of Rufus' cock into his ass, he could feel the gentleness in Rufus' hands as they slid up under his shirt, careful of Tseng's injuries even now they were healed. It was the care that drove a soft, unvoiced, "Lord," out of Tseng, and when Rufus leaned down, chest against Tseng's back, and whispered in his ear in the same language, "Yes," Tseng came completely undone.

Rufus worked him through it and it wasn't until Tseng was a limp, boneless mess sprawled across his desk that Rufus took his own pleasure. He had, Tseng reflected through the haze of satiation, learned a gratifying degree of control.

They rested against the desk for a while, quiet, and Tseng was content to stay there. He could feel the steadiness of Rufus' heartbeat against his spine, and the easy heat of his body. Not fever-hot and not chilled. Healed and well again. The fear and fury that had, Tseng knew, kept him searching the Northern Crater long after the signs of danger would normally have sent him back to fetch reinforcements, finally eased all the way. He was relaxed enough to make a contented sound as Rufus' fingers rubbed slowly up and down the nape of his neck.

"Remember," Rufus said quietly.

"I won't forget what I am," Tseng returned, voice steady.

Rufus' man. Life and soul.

There was an extra leash on what he could do in that cause, now, but that was all right. Fighting fate was already more or less Tseng's job. He could add this to the list of things he tried to circumvent. And if that happened to cause a disagreement or two, or give Rufus reason to reassert his command...

Tseng smiled into the crook of his arm.

End