[ There have been ample opportunities for Sephiroth to pull away, to rise above, to rebuke him as cruelly and ruthlessly as he likes. No one would ever know; the only Shinra agent who knows this address is Tseng himself—and now, mysteriously, Sephiroth as well—and none of the neighbors would even notice a few shouts and one long shriek of a blade. Tseng is sure of it. He is entirely at the mercy of Sephiroth's desires here.
Nothing like that happens at all, though Tseng begins with the expectation that it might at any moment. Instead, what he gets is Sephiroth's arms winding around him, his fingers dragging sizzling shivers down his spine. He finds Sephiroth's mouth so perfectly pliable, his lips parting so easily to admit the slow sweep of his tongue. The things clattering to the floor are hardly a distraction, and if they are, then Tseng fights tooth and nail to stay immersed in this, his fingers locking more adamantly against Sephiroth's jaw to keep him in place against the urgent motions of his mouth, held breath burning in his lungs from his reluctance to be the first to break away.
Eventually, it becomes impossible to ignore the very plain and simple implications of this kiss, this visit, the looks: Sephiroth wants this, perhaps just as badly as he does. That is when he stops caring entirely, when caution is thrown to the wind and he couldn't give a fuck where it lands because he is kissing Sephiroth, not the beautiful, infallible, perfect one, but the one with tender hands and clever little schemes and the softest lips he's ever known.
The pillow joins the gauze on the floor. One of his alarms starts going off in the single bedroom. Soon, it's joined by his phone buzzing on the chipped coffee table. And still, the only occasion Tseng can find to part from the kiss is this one fleeting moment in between, which is spent not quieting the alarms or checking his messages but pulling away just to look at the face he is holding between his hands the same way he looked at it before, full of wonder and intrigue, wholly captivated. Sephiroth with well-kissed lips is truly a sight to behold, but he can hardly bring himself to do so for very long because he can kiss them better, harder, hungrier, and drag Sephiroth down into this embarrassingly awful floral-printed sofa with him along the way. ]
look who's talkin ðŸ˜
Nothing like that happens at all, though Tseng begins with the expectation that it might at any moment. Instead, what he gets is Sephiroth's arms winding around him, his fingers dragging sizzling shivers down his spine. He finds Sephiroth's mouth so perfectly pliable, his lips parting so easily to admit the slow sweep of his tongue. The things clattering to the floor are hardly a distraction, and if they are, then Tseng fights tooth and nail to stay immersed in this, his fingers locking more adamantly against Sephiroth's jaw to keep him in place against the urgent motions of his mouth, held breath burning in his lungs from his reluctance to be the first to break away.
Eventually, it becomes impossible to ignore the very plain and simple implications of this kiss, this visit, the looks: Sephiroth wants this, perhaps just as badly as he does. That is when he stops caring entirely, when caution is thrown to the wind and he couldn't give a fuck where it lands because he is kissing Sephiroth, not the beautiful, infallible, perfect one, but the one with tender hands and clever little schemes and the softest lips he's ever known.
The pillow joins the gauze on the floor. One of his alarms starts going off in the single bedroom. Soon, it's joined by his phone buzzing on the chipped coffee table. And still, the only occasion Tseng can find to part from the kiss is this one fleeting moment in between, which is spent not quieting the alarms or checking his messages but pulling away just to look at the face he is holding between his hands the same way he looked at it before, full of wonder and intrigue, wholly captivated. Sephiroth with well-kissed lips is truly a sight to behold, but he can hardly bring himself to do so for very long because he can kiss them better, harder, hungrier, and drag Sephiroth down into this embarrassingly awful floral-printed sofa with him along the way. ]