a/n: I haven't played Before Crisis, nor have I played Crisis Core. All references to characters found in either of those are information I have gleaned from wikipedia. If, in any instance, it clashes with canon, it is because I haven't actually played the games. I'm playing loose and free with facts because I do not know them. If this bothers you, then I suggest not reading.

With that said, please enjoy!

Title: Wet

Pairings: TsengxSephiroth (one-sided?)

Rating: M

Words: 1051

Warning: self-loving, spoilers?, language, self-beta

Description: Tseng hasn't behaved like this since he was an unstructured teenager, and it's driving him mad.

Disclaimer: I make no profit from this, nor do I own it. Square-Enix has all those lovely rights, not I.

Dedication: To margyy, whose making me so many wonderful banners and I'm poor so this is the only way I can repay her!

Tseng's heart pounded in his chest, trying to break free from his ribs, and he all but fled back to his office, polished black shoes a steady clip against the equally polished tile. He ignored his secretary, easily sidestepped Reno's jovial greeting, ignored Rude's tipped head, and slid into the silent confines of his office.

His door clicked shut behind him, his back falling against the thick wood. The snap of a lock sliding into place echoed and Tseng's eyelids fluttered shut, his palm falling heavy over his groin, the simple touch making him sag in relief.

Pale skin, too delicate to belong on such a soldier, water streaming down the unmarked expanse. A birthmark decorated one hip, just above a shapely buttock, and silver hair had fallen loose from its bonds, clinging wetly to the sides of his face. The black swimming trunks were all but molded to his body, outlining every muscle, shifting with each movement.

Tseng groaned, the heat flushing his body unable to be denied. Why, oh why, had Heidegger demanded he be the one to deliver the message. Weren't there lackeys for this sort of thing?

He trembled, images flashing over and over in his mind, making his cock pulse and throb within the confines of his pants. Tseng massaged himself through the layers of cloth, drooping against the door. A folder fell from his other hand, landing with a light slap against the floor, setting some papers to sprawling.

Drawing his lower lip into his mouth, Tseng ground the heel of his palm against his cock, knowing that he had to be dampening his boxers. But he couldn't stop, not with the images attacking his brain left, right, and center. Not when his mouth was dry from want, when Sephiroth's voice rumbled through his ears like auditory sex.


Mouth dry and trying not to stare but doing so anyway, he watched as Sephiroth rubbed the towel over his shoulders and around his face. "Heidegger sent these," Tseng said, forcing the words out without a stammer, watching as Sephiroth's brow arched in confusion. "Apparently they are Alpha-Class priority."

"Alpha-Class, hmm?" Sephiroth repeated, drying off his hands and taking one of the folders from Tseng, their fingers touching briefly.

Tseng swore that static passed between them, failing to stop his eyes from taking in the muscled expanse of Sephiroth's chest. From lingering on nipples that were discs of pale peach, tightening in the sudden shift from warm pool water to cool open air.

In the privacy of his office, Tseng swallowed down a groan, succumbing to his own perversions. He yanked at his belt, flicking open the buttons to his slacks and drawing down the zipper. His cock strained at the confines of his boxers and Tseng drew the heated flesh free, cold air washing over it.

His head knocked back against the door in a dull thump as he wrapped fingers against his aching self, hips surging towards his own warm palm.

He thought of Sephiroth. Of running his hands over all those muscles. Of laying his lips on Sephiroth's pale skin, tasting his nipples, wondering what Sephiroth tasted like that. Back then, probably chlorine and chemicals, but outside the pool? Something dark and spicy perhaps. Sinful. Exotic.

Like cinnamon and clove perhaps. Or ginger and coriander. Dark as it slid over Tseng's tongue, invading his senses.

The Turk sub-commander's head hung, his breath coming in low pants as he stroked his fingers over his cock. He leaked so copiously that Tseng didn't need to seek out anything else to ease his movements. His fantasies provided quite enough fuel, but as always, they compared nothing to reality.

"There are better uses for the sub-commander than playing messenger boy, aren't there?" Sephiroth asked, those cat-like green eyes glancing at Tseng before returning to the documents in his hand.

Only Tseng's great will kept the flush from entering his cheeks. "Well, no one has ever accused Heidegger of being smart."

Sephiroth chuckled, the sound sliding into Tseng's ears and making him tingle in all the places he didn't need to be reacting right now. "Indeed. We still wonder how he managed to flatter his way into his position."

Tseng shuddered, his tongue sliding over his lips as his cock throbbed in his grip, the coiling of heat in his belly winding tighter and tighter, like a spring. It wouldn't take much; he was already on edge as it was. Just from a glance, a conversation, a brief brush of fingers, and now he was overcome with hormones like a teenage boy!

He berated himself internally, but couldn't stop the thoughts from coming. The wants and needs and desires that drove his fingers and fantasies.

He thought of cornering Sephiroth in his massive office, pushing the general of ShinRa's troops against his desk, Tseng's lips latching onto that pale throat. He thought of hearing Sephiroth speak, that rumble vibrating against Tseng's mouth.

In his fantasies, he grabbed Sephiroth's wrists, pressing them against the desk, pinning him in place. Tseng knew that he was nowhere near strong enough to do such a thing in real life, but that's what fantasies were for, right? To imagine things that didn't have to be based in reality, like the very thought of dragging his mouth upward and capturing Sephiroth's lips. Pushing his tongue inside, tangling with Sephiroth's, nudging their bodies together in all the right places.

Tseng bowed over, his heart trying to escape from his chest as blood raced through his veins, boiling with need. He gasped, fingers sliding over his arousal, across the head of his cock, sending tingles down his spine.


The Turk sub-commander shuddered and spilled over his fingers, the echo of Sephiroth's voice in his ears as he spurted, a few drops splattering the floor. Tseng panted, shocks of pleasure echoing through his body, and he slumped against the door.

This obsession of his was really getting out of hand, he realized. He felt depraved, jacking off in his office in the middle of a workday, his subordinates just outside the door, all while he thought of a man who would likely stab him with Masamune before returning Tseng's perversions.

Tseng groaned, hanging his head. Life used to be so simple.

a/n: These aren't chapters, but inter-related ficlets. I don't know how many there will be, but I consider them each complete with the ability to standalone. I just didn't want to post them all separately. I suppose it will end when I run out of ideas. lol

Well, I hope you enjoyed! I have, for sure, one more up my sleeve. And possibly a third. We'll see. Thanks for reading!