Everyone Has One


Chapter 2: Tseng

He was beautiful.

He was beautiful, and it was mostly He that kept Tseng at work so very late, so very often.

Tseng sighed, rubbing a hand across his eyebrows, and finished up the last of his paperwork, filing it away neatly into the folder to his right and filing the folder away just as neatly in the cabinet to his left. A glance at the clock mounted above the door told him that it was 0400 hours, the time that he usually took himself off work, and it was almost with a smile that he rose from his chair, heading toward the break room where he knew his lover was waiting. Sitting on the counter as usual, most likely, and ready and willing to help him go just a little bit longer without sleep.

But by the Gods, was He an amazing stress-reliever. One dose, one taste, was enough to hold Tseng up for hours, almost humming beneath his breath as he worked—and enough to make him long for more, waiting on the next night that they could be together. Tseng was perfectly willing to admit it: he was addicted to Him, and rightfully, violently, obsessively so. Just the thought of Him always had Tseng struggling for composure, desperately trying to keep his face perfectly straight...

The Turk could already feel Him beneath his hands as he strode down the hallway, heading for the doorway that was always, always lit. His petite and almost hourglass figure, smooth-as-glass skin, warm, inviting, and always with a scent to die for—Tseng shivered a little at the thought then straightened his back, quickly glancing around to make sure that no one had seen him. It wasn't likely, as the building was mostly deserted, but by the Gods, if anyone happened to step in on them, Tseng didn't know what the hell he'd do.

After all, it was most likely illegal, the relationship between them, and carried out only in the dead of night. Most days, He and Tseng ignored each other, and Tseng only paid Him trips when ordered to, or forced to. But night—night was theirs, all the very quiet hours of it, and night was when Tseng reveled in Him, kissing, touching, caressing all that he couldn't kiss and touch and caress in the eyes of the rest of the ShinRa workforce.

But it was night now, and night was theirs. Feeling more tingles of apprehension work their spiraling way up his spine, Tseng broke into a quiet run, dashing for the break room and slamming the door shut behind him. And there He was, dressed in pure white as usual, waiting for him perched atop the counter.

Tseng stared at Him. Mr. Coffee stared back. And Tseng smiled for real then, making his way over, and pushed all the right buttons to turn Him on.

By the Gods, He was beautiful...

It was with breath caught in his throat that Tseng reached for the cabinet above Him, drawing out filters and his special expensive Midgar Blue Moutain coffee beans. He could almost taste it already, the scent of it filling the air as the coffee grinder vibrated against his stomach; he almost could feel it already, hot and sliding down the back of his throat as he poured heated water into the machine, heart beating faster and faster with each and every drop. Clutching the edge of the table for support, Tseng slid the ground beans into the filter—oh God, the filter—and closed the machine, pressing the "on" button with a gasp, and—oh Gods, yes, this was caffeinated ecstasy

When the door slid open, Tseng froze in his chair, pitcher of coffee in one hand and the other down his pants.

When the door slid open, Sephiroth froze in his tracks, keycard clattering to the floor and jaw nearly following it.

"What the fu—" Sephiroth started, and

"I know what you did with that Cactuar last summer," Tseng finished, calmly running his tongue along one side of the heated glass.

Sephiroth choked, picked up his keycard, and left.

Tseng just smirked, closing the door behind him, and—

Oh, Gods, yes...

"Err, Mr. Tuesti?" Elena asked the next morning, tucking a bit of her hair behind one ear. "Can I talk to you for a second? It's not important, but—"

"Of course," Reeve replied, turning and leaning against the counter in the break room.

"It's about General Sephiroth," the rookie admitted, blushing a little. "I heard what you said a while ago, about the General being insane, and..."


"Well, we were having coffee this morning, and when I asked if he wanted sugar or cream, he... twitched, and..." she broke off, shaking her head. "It... I think you may be right, sir."

"I may be," Reeve smiled, "but don't go around spreading the word now, Elena. And remind me to find the secretary that makes the coffee around here and have a chat with her, whoever she is."

"Why's that, sir?"

Reeve drained his cup and turned to gaze out the eastern windows at the rising sun, grimacing and gagging at the taste in his mouth. "One, because she always leaves a mess, two, because she leaves the machine on, and..."

"Is there a three?"

Reeve nodded, wiping at his mouth.

"I swear whoever makes it in the morning always puts in salt."