So not my fault.
This is the first rough draft. So yes, it sucks. It's still being worked on.
And no, it's not the one involving office supplies and a desk.
I'm still not posting that one.
Title: None currently
Fandom: FFVII Compilation; Before Crisis prime.
Rating: So very R (For implied kinkiness, (also implied) sex, profanity, and general creepiness.)
Word Count: 650ish
Commentary: First draft. Uh, hot, off the presses, that is. Critique is as always appreciated. Dude, feverent is a word, right?! Word says it isn't; google however doesn't catch it as being a misspelled word...
How it happened he didn't really know.
He had always looked down on them as whores, the girls who fucked their bosses--stupid sluts who couldn't keep their skirts down and panties up. He never had thought of joining their ranks under any circumstances and especially not under these.
Nevertheless, he had, somehow and many times over.
And there he was lying it his boss's arms his boss being none other then Veld of the Turks, and he, even in his half-awake and muddled state, knew quite clearly who he was; Tseng, also of the Turks.
The first time could be excused for utter drunkenness-- he'd been out drinking with Veld, on his invitation, and they'd ended up back in Veld's apartment too drunk to know any better and one thing lead to another and before he knew it he was on his hands and knees in front of the boss with his pants undone. That had been an embarrassing morning after to say the least, when they'd both woken up naked and horribly hungover on Veld's living room floor, full of muttered apologies and feverent blushing, but Tseng couldn't help but think maybe just maybe Veld wasn't as sorry as he was acting and something about the generally frank man's demeanor had told him otherwise-- and he'd been right, for less then a week later Veld had surprised him by pinning him against a desk and to his own surprise his body said yes to betray his mouth's protests.
That's how it had started anyway, and now lately he'd found himself in Veld's apartment more nights then his own, doing things he hadn't even dreamed of doing with a women...
Tseng's thoughts were interrupted by the realization his neck hurt. Like he'd fallen asleep at an odd angle, but no-- he put his hand up to the realization he was wearing a collar.
A shiver ran up the back of his neck and he mentally tried to block out his memories of last night, rolling over in bed and unfortunately pulling the sheets off of Veld, who stirred, yawning, and sat up rubbing his eyes. He glanced over at Tseng's curled form.
"I know you're awake."
Tseng moaned like a schoolboy being yelled at by his mom to get the hell out of bed before she came up there and kicked his ass. Reluctant, yet defeated. He sat up clutching sheets around him.
"Is there something wrong?" Veld spoke in a flat professional tone in everything he did and indeed, it came into the bedroom with him. It was almost eerie.
"...Can you take this off me?"
Veld laughed a short, almost humourless laugh. "Of course. Does it hurt?"
Veld leaned over the bed to undo the buckle of the collar; in a moment, the heavy leather object fell away in his hands.
"Pity. It looked good on you."
Tseng’s face reddened a considerable number of shades. "It wouldn't have been so awful if... If you hadn't pulled on it so much."
"Heh. Does your head feel alright?"
"... Yes." He turned to fetch his hair band, and redid his custom ponytail, a little messily. Veld teasingly grabbed hold of it, and tugged Tseng back down to the bed.
Veld's alarm clock went off then. It would be time to arrive at work in less then half an hour—both Tseng and Veld held perfect records in that regard, and neither were about to ruin them.
"... Too bad. ... Ah, well. Will you come back this evening?"
"... Of course."
And that's how it was, more often then not; Tseng had become the object of Veld's affection in inexplicable way, and he'd been reduced eventually to the role of the bitch, the women.. And, for some, even more unexplainable reason, as it happened more often, the less Tseng minded it, and eventually even liked it.
It was decidedly disturbing.
Oh, and I got 25/25 on my Creative Writing project! But I think my teacher is a pushover. Damnit.