Veld, Reeve, Tseng fic. Part ?/?
Character/s: Veld, Reeve Tuesti.
Mentions of Tseng, Scarlet, Heidegger and Palmer.
Pairing/s?: Mano-a-mano
Warnings: Talk of genitalia?
Prompt:
This is for the frankly amazing karanguni. A "lighter" segment of a bigger Veld / Reeve / Tseng story which I've had buzzing around my head and will hopefully get writ. Timelines will come with the rest if they get written but this is just post-new executive Reeve-o.
"Now, even more so then ever, you should remember how to conceal. Leave no indication Mr. Tuesti."
"...What happened to Reeve?"
"Mr. Tuesti."
"If you insist."
"I also insist that this in particular is kept only between you and I. Now. Unbuckle your pants."
"Pardon? Huh. ...Fine."
So it came to pass by some degree of physiological manipulation; calloused fingers probing to some discomfort on my part and leading to plenty of light swearing under my breath, that a Shinra issue handgun was concealed upon my person within handy reach.
"What if I accidentally knock the safety catch off?"
Like every other male I have a rather healthy attachment to my cock and balls and was not counting on becoming a eunuch any time soon. Then or now actually, thank you very much. Though for some reason I still jumped up and down on the spot to test the matter. And why yes, I am fully aware of what they say about curiosity.
"Planning on entering a dance concert in the future?"
"... Well, now that you mention it..."
"Hn."
"Was that a laugh, Veld?"
"Turks are used to carrying weapons. They also, upon rare occasion, engage in activity a little more strenuous than a dainty two-step shuffle."
Blunt statements that leave no room for argument delivered evenly with just a hint of dry humour. Stock and trade Veld. It is little wonder to see where Tseng gets it from.
"You are also a damn sight easier to fit than some."
All the time he is speaking, experienced movements are stopping motion, fixing down buttons and smoothing across fabric until I feel a tug at my neck. My tie slips into position with a quiet hiss. The sound is final and, accompanied as it is by a solid pat upon my chest, almost pleased.
There. It whispers instead of the man.
I'd never, at least up to that point, had the “luxury” of being dressed by another male. Besides my father that is. It all seemed rather too much pomp for my liking and I was almost positive I did not enjoy it. Almost.
So in trying not to laugh at how I suddenly felt like a child being set up for a family gathering, or perhaps even some prize chocobo under scrutiny at one of those fayres they had back home, I raise an eyebrow at his words.
"...Let me guess. Palmer and Heidegger?"
I didn't want to think of Scarlet going through this. Then again, something told me that that damn woman wouldn't have needed this sort of one-on-one expertise. She probably already knew how to stash a bloody rocket launcher within those tight dresses she so favoured. Likely shoved up her...
"Fitting a piece to ensure it can be easily retrieved is more difficult in people who can barely reach their own dicks to take a piss."
...Thank the summons Veld had derailed that particular train of thought… Wait- What did he just say?
"Sir."
Ah, there we go. Punctuated. Stop. Don't even think along those particular lines Reeve. Of course. Veld is never disrespectful to the ‘higher ups’.
Unfortunately, the image he had painted in mind, though perhaps marginally less repulsive than the gap between Scarlet’s legs, had me screwing up my nose in faint disgust. Through a small chuckle, I tried to dismiss the notion with a joke "Surely the Turks can't be responsible f-..."
And found myself cut off by a low, dangerous tone. "Don't even joke about such matters."
My mouth fell agape slightly.
Surely he could not be being serious... But, then again, was Veld anything but serious?
I did not have time to find out the truth behind the comment as the Commander of the Turks nodded a farewell, rocking back onto the heels of his feet and clasping his hands together behind his back as he did so. Then quickly, precisely he turned on his heels and keyed himself through my new office door.
As always with Veld, the entirety of the matter remained concealed. Absolutely no indicator was given whatsoever of what he was truly thinking.
It was a fair reminder that it had not just been weaponry we had been concerned with.
Mentions of Tseng, Scarlet, Heidegger and Palmer.
Pairing/s?: Mano-a-mano
Warnings: Talk of genitalia?
Prompt:
This is for the frankly amazing karanguni. A "lighter" segment of a bigger Veld / Reeve / Tseng story which I've had buzzing around my head and will hopefully get writ. Timelines will come with the rest if they get written but this is just post-new executive Reeve-o.
"Now, even more so then ever, you should remember how to conceal. Leave no indication Mr. Tuesti."
"...What happened to Reeve?"
"Mr. Tuesti."
"If you insist."
"I also insist that this in particular is kept only between you and I. Now. Unbuckle your pants."
"Pardon? Huh. ...Fine."
So it came to pass by some degree of physiological manipulation; calloused fingers probing to some discomfort on my part and leading to plenty of light swearing under my breath, that a Shinra issue handgun was concealed upon my person within handy reach.
"What if I accidentally knock the safety catch off?"
Like every other male I have a rather healthy attachment to my cock and balls and was not counting on becoming a eunuch any time soon. Then or now actually, thank you very much. Though for some reason I still jumped up and down on the spot to test the matter. And why yes, I am fully aware of what they say about curiosity.
"Planning on entering a dance concert in the future?"
"... Well, now that you mention it..."
"Hn."
"Was that a laugh, Veld?"
"Turks are used to carrying weapons. They also, upon rare occasion, engage in activity a little more strenuous than a dainty two-step shuffle."
Blunt statements that leave no room for argument delivered evenly with just a hint of dry humour. Stock and trade Veld. It is little wonder to see where Tseng gets it from.
"You are also a damn sight easier to fit than some."
All the time he is speaking, experienced movements are stopping motion, fixing down buttons and smoothing across fabric until I feel a tug at my neck. My tie slips into position with a quiet hiss. The sound is final and, accompanied as it is by a solid pat upon my chest, almost pleased.
There. It whispers instead of the man.
I'd never, at least up to that point, had the “luxury” of being dressed by another male. Besides my father that is. It all seemed rather too much pomp for my liking and I was almost positive I did not enjoy it. Almost.
So in trying not to laugh at how I suddenly felt like a child being set up for a family gathering, or perhaps even some prize chocobo under scrutiny at one of those fayres they had back home, I raise an eyebrow at his words.
"...Let me guess. Palmer and Heidegger?"
I didn't want to think of Scarlet going through this. Then again, something told me that that damn woman wouldn't have needed this sort of one-on-one expertise. She probably already knew how to stash a bloody rocket launcher within those tight dresses she so favoured. Likely shoved up her...
"Fitting a piece to ensure it can be easily retrieved is more difficult in people who can barely reach their own dicks to take a piss."
...Thank the summons Veld had derailed that particular train of thought… Wait- What did he just say?
"Sir."
Ah, there we go. Punctuated. Stop. Don't even think along those particular lines Reeve. Of course. Veld is never disrespectful to the ‘higher ups’.
Unfortunately, the image he had painted in mind, though perhaps marginally less repulsive than the gap between Scarlet’s legs, had me screwing up my nose in faint disgust. Through a small chuckle, I tried to dismiss the notion with a joke "Surely the Turks can't be responsible f-..."
And found myself cut off by a low, dangerous tone. "Don't even joke about such matters."
My mouth fell agape slightly.
Surely he could not be being serious... But, then again, was Veld anything but serious?
I did not have time to find out the truth behind the comment as the Commander of the Turks nodded a farewell, rocking back onto the heels of his feet and clasping his hands together behind his back as he did so. Then quickly, precisely he turned on his heels and keyed himself through my new office door.
As always with Veld, the entirety of the matter remained concealed. Absolutely no indicator was given whatsoever of what he was truly thinking.
It was a fair reminder that it had not just been weaponry we had been concerned with.