FicWad

The Objective of This Mission

He told her he'd be there at six, so Elena's not surprised to get a knock at the door at 5:55. Tseng is nothing if not punctual.

She opens the door and blinks in surprise. "Sir," she says. "I didn't realize this would be such a formal occasion. Should I -- is there time for me to change?" He's wearing a tuxedo, the first time she can recall seeing him in one outside of a company black-tie affair.

"I brought you a dress," he says, holding out a box tied with ribbon. "From the tailor who does the Turks' suits, so she should have gotten your measurements fairly accurately."

"Thank you," Elena says, only a little stunned as she takes the box. Tseng is always thorough; it shouldn't surprise her that he would take care of this, too. "Come in, make yourself at home." She retreats to the bedroom as he steps into the flat and closes the door. "I'll try to hurry."

"Take your time," Tseng says mildly. "Reno will wait."

Elena ignores the reprieve -- even if they can afford the time, and they must be able to or Tseng would have come earlier, she'll still make a more favorable impression if she doesn't need it. She tugs the ribbon, discards the box top, and lifts away the tissue paper.

The dress is shimmering, bias-cut antique gold satin. It slithers through her hands as she lifts it free of its wrappings, breathtakingly luxurious, the kind of dress the President would buy for his mistress, if he had one he held in any esteem. She'll never do it justice, she thinks, but she puts it on anyway, watching in the mirror as a simple costume change turns her from Elena the Turk into Elena the aristocrat. The practical side of her notes that the flare of the skirt means she could run in this, if she had to; she'd bet Tseng thought of that when he was choosing it.

She has to hunt through her closet to find the one pair of delicate heels her mother bought for her in a fit of optimism two years ago, and stockings to go with them. The stockings are probably too dark to be really appropriate, but the back of the dress is cut low enough to be scandalous in some company anyway, so she figures a little more won't hurt.

She does the best she can to arm herself, and is trying to do something elegant to her hair when she calls, "Sir, you never did say -- what's the objective of this mission?"

Tseng appears in the doorway, giving her a little dry smile. "The objective of this mission," he says, "is to anger and shame my entire extended family."

Elena pauses in the act of searching for a good pair of earrings. "I'm sorry?"

"The occasion for this party," Tseng continues, as cool and calm as if this is a mission briefing the same as any other, "is the birth of my father's first legitimate son." He meets her eyes in the mirror. "To whom he has already announced he will leave everything."

"Bastard," Elena says.

Tseng laughs a little. "He and I both, it seems. But politeness demanded that he invite me to the party, and I'd like to take the opportunity to remind them all that I don't need their charity, or their dependence on the customs of a backward nation that we -- the ShinRa -- defeated."

Elena shakes her head with a smile. "Lead on, then. I'll offend as best I'm able."

"You certainly will," Tseng says, looking her up and down. "You look wonderful."

She's still blushing when they get down to the car. Reno wolf-whistles approvingly, grinding out his cigarette under his boot and reaching to open the back door for her.

"Reno," Tseng says, his tone chiding.

"Sorry, boss," Reno says insincerely. "What I meant was, you look nice tonight, Elena."

"Thank you," Elena murmurs, sliding into the backseat and fussing with her skirt as Tseng gets in beside her. She's driven one of ShinRa's black sedans before, but this is the first time she's gotten to ride in the back of one.

"It's possible," Tseng says, after a few blocks have rolled by, "that one or more of my female relatives will ask if I've proposed marriage to you. Avoid giving them a straight answer if you can. My father refused to marry my mother because she wasn't from Wutai, so they'll be trying to determine the extent to which I'm following in his footsteps."

Elena nods, smiling faintly. "Yes, sir."

"And none of that," he adds. "Don't let them mistake you for a mere concubine."

"You're taking this very seriously," she says gently. "Tseng." The foreign consonant at the beginning of his name still feels odd on her tongue.

But it makes him smile, warmth touching his eyes for a second. "Of course," he says. "There wouldn't be any point to it otherwise, would there?"

The car purrs smoothly through the streets, Reno subdued enough for once to drive like a normal person instead of a street racer. They leave the relatively nice part of Sector Three where Elena lives, glide smoothly though most of Sector Four, and come to a halt when they've almost reached Sector Five.

"Last stop," Reno says, stepping out of the car and getting the door for them. "Everybody out."

The Wutai presence in Midgar is uneasy, quiet, most windows barred and most buildings the same dull gray as the rest of the city. Only rarely does the red and gold of Wutai show through. Elena remembers it being different when she was a little girl, before the war that left Wutai decimated and ShinRa a world power. She can't imagine how Tseng's family must have reacted when he went to work for the enemy so shortly after their victory.

His face is shuttered now, as carefully blank as it has ever been in a meeting with the board of directors. He offers her his arm and she nods once, matching his composed expression as she takes it.

Inside, the place is a strange mix of Wutai and Midgar sensibilities, with chopsticks and high-backed chairs, red paper lanterns and a formal ballroom. The crowd is the same way, half paunchy Midgar businessmen and half cold Wutai aristocrats. The Wutai women look at Elena like she's an accident on the highway.

"Don't let them unsettle you," Tseng murmurs in her ear as they're led to their seats, near the foot of the long table.

Elena smiles up at him as though he's just complimented her. "I wouldn't dream of it," she reassures him. "I'm a Turk."

He smiles back, genuinely pleased and maybe a little amused, and she tries not to let him see the little thrill that dances down her spine at that. She is a Turk, first and foremost, and she knows better than to jeopardize that with ill-considered attempts at romancing her boss. No matter how handsome he is.

The conversation at their end of the table is stilted at best. Their host's wife -- Tseng's stepmother, though she looks about his own age -- is quiet, smiling awkwardly, speaking only when spoken to. Elena concentrates on making no etiquette blunders with her chopsticks, and not making it too obvious how contemptible she finds that sort of spinelessness.

The man on her left, balding and too well-fed, wearing a suit he paid too much for, gives Elena a condescending little leer between courses. "Have we met before, sweetheart?"

"Six months ago, Mister Johnson." Elena gives him her business smile. "Reno and I stopped by to discuss the terms of a loan you have with ShinRa Corporation."

He pales visibly. "I -- yes, of course," he says. His escort -- a thousand gil for the night, Elena would bet -- titters behind her hand. No wonder Tseng wanted company for this. These people are dismal.

The marriage question, at least, isn't aimed at her. Instead one of the cousins asks Tseng directly, and he gives Elena a look so smoldering that she feels herself blush, and replies that as soon as they're ready to make an announcement he will, of course, let his family know.

When the plates have been cleared away for the last course, a little band starts to play in the adjoining room, and their host and hostess lead the way to the dance floor. They're badly matched, Elena thinks. The new mother looks tiny next to her husband, and she follows timidly, letting him drag her around the floor.

After the first song, other couples start to take the floor with them -- Johnson and his call girl among the first of them. Elena glances over at Tseng for a cue.

"Elena," he says, and it sounds as though he's saying her name just to hear it. "Do you tango?"

She raises an eyebrow. "That's a bit risqué for this crowd, isn't it?" Tseng only smiles, and after a moment she nods. "It's been a while. But if it increases the chances of our mission's success," and she tries to keep her composure when that makes his smile reach his eyes, "then I'm sure I can pick it back up."

Tseng takes her hand. "Shall we?"

Elena's sure she must be blushing when they walk up to the edge of the dance floor. This can't be real.

But she's not waking up, waiting as Tseng exchanges a few quiet words with the leader of the band, then following him out onto the floor. People can't really be staring at her as much as she imagines they are.

When the music starts it's almost shocking, the rich sensuality of the saxophone, the aggressive beat of the drums. Tseng reaches out, and Elena gives him her hand. He pulls her close, and she forgets everyone else in the room. She has no chance to think of anything but this: the dark intensity of his eyes, the firm heat of his hand on her waist, the way he makes demands with his body in every step of the dance. He couldn't be more explicit if he were fucking her on the dance floor, and she blushes hotly. He's doing this to make a point, she reminds herself, pretending to desire her because his father pretended not to desire his mother. All she has to do is keep up, dance well and not betray how much she really wants him to --

He pulls her close with a snap of his wrist, hot and solid against her -- and he's hard. Elena makes a tiny, needy sound before she can help herself. She'd be horrified, except that Tseng takes a sharp breath in response, his hand tightening on hers. So she throws her shoulders back and meets his eyes challengingly. She'll give him the dance he's asking for.

Her heels snap against the floor like pistol shots, and she takes each step and turn with the precision of a martial artist. Tseng matches her, his movements hard and still sensual, and she could almost believe the look in his eyes is promising -- promising --

"Phase two successful," he murmurs in her ear, his breath warm, as the music stops. It sounds like he's smiling. "Initiate phase three."

"Phase three?" Elena asks. The skin of Tseng's neck smells of cloves and sandalwood.

"Successful retreat," Tseng breathes against her hair. He pulls back, and her heart skips a beat when he meets her eyes. "Shall we?"

It is, she tells herself, completely in character for her to lean on his arm when they go to find his father and say good night. And that is the only reason she's doing it. After all, she has the composure to wish Tseng's father and stepmother an insincere congratulations, and even to smile coyly at the jealousy and discomfort they're trying to hide. She's fine. She's not fluttery or weak in the knees, because she won't let herself be. She'll follow Tseng back through the dining room, down the red-lit hallway to the front door --

And Tseng pulls open a side door, and drags her in with him. In colder weather this is probably a coat closet, but right now it's empty except for Elena, and Tseng pressing her against the wall.

"You would stop me, if you didn't want to," he says, a request for confirmation.

"I wouldn't have let it get this far," she agrees. She learned that lesson the hard way, dealing with Midgar's worst on a daily basis. She twines her arms around Tseng's neck. "I want to."

The light in here is weak, but she can see him smile. "I'm glad." And he kisses her, directly and unhesitantly as he does everything, his mouth sweet with the plum wine from dessert.

Elena moans, her hands on the broad smooth plane of his back, rocking her hips to feel his cock hard against her belly.

His hands slide down her sides, over her hips, catching the satin of her skirt and gathering it up. He pauses when he finds the harness strapped to her thigh, and his fingers trace the outline of the knife. "You're beautiful," he murmurs, and reaches further up, between her legs, pushing aside the lace of her panties and finding her wet. He strokes her, and she clings to his shoulders and tries not to make too much noise.

He withdraws his fingers smoothly, and she expects him to reach for the buttons of his pants, but instead he's sinking to his knees in front of her, tugging her panties down and pressing her thighs apart.

"Oh god," Elena hears herself saying, "oh god, oh god," as she leans back against the wall, holding her skirts up out of the way so she can watch as Tseng parts the lips of her cunt with his tongue and closes his mouth around her clit. He moans as he sucks her off, as she trembles there, pinned between him and the wall, and she never dared dream it would happen like this, Tseng on his knees for her, sucking her clit, making her shiver and gasp and try desperately to keep silent when all she wants to do is moan his name and then it feels like it's barely taken any time at all and she's coming so hard she can barely stay on her feet.

Tseng sits back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and he looks proud as a cat, so pleased with himself. He smiles at her as he stands up, sliding her panties back up her legs and smoothing them into place.

Elena's hands are shaking when she reaches out to unbutton his pants. "Your turn," she says, and his eyes flutter shut as her hand closes around his cock.

He opens his mouth and for a second it looks like he's going to say /You don't have to/, but she just kneels and wets her lips, and instead he says, "Yes," very softly, as she takes the head of his cock in her mouth.

He tastes good, clean and sharp and masculine, and she has to stretch her mouth wide to take him in, thick and hard and hot against her tongue. One of his hands comes to rest on her shoulder, trembling, almost squeezing but not quite, and she closes her eyes to concentrate. She can't take it all -- he's too big and she's too out of practice -- but it doesn't seem to matter, because his breathing is shaky and ragged and he stumbles over the words when he tries to tell her it's good, and then she feels his cock stiffen and pulse and tastes the heat of it as he comes in her mouth.

She's a little unsteady on her feet when she stands back up -- suddenly, her ability to balance in heels seems to be gone. But he steadies her, and pulls her into a kiss as she tucks him back into his pants. It's more intimate, she thinks, than the frantic sex that came before, this willingness to still kiss her, deep and slow and passionate.

When they break the kiss, Tseng keeps one arm around Elena's waist and reaches into his breast pocket with the other. He flips his phone open and punches up a number. "Reno? ...Mm. Bring the car around, please." He tucks the phone away again and smiles down at her. "You feeling collected enough to leave?"

Elena smiles weakly. "I think so." She reaches up and brushes a stray lock of hair back off his forehead, tucking it behind his ear. "Yes."

Reno pulls the car to a halt in front of the house with a screech, just as they step outside. He grins at them as he swaggers around to open the rear door. "So good a party, you had to leave early, huh boss?"

Tseng shrugs, a tiny, eloquent gesture. "We did what we came here to do." He slides into the back seat beside Elena, and he might be a little too close for propriety, but he's still not close enough that they touch.

Nothing has changed, Elena tells herself, as they ride back to her house, silent except for whatever awful pop music Reno has on the radio. This wasn't a /date/, after all; if the pressure happened to get to them, and they happened to do something...unprofessional...while they were out, that was just -- it just /was/; it didn't mean anything. On Monday morning they'll still be Turks, and that's all, and that's enough. More than enough; it means a lot, belonging to a group like that.

When Reno stops the car, Tseng gets out with her, and walks her up to the door. "Thank you, Elena," he says quietly. "This was far more than I'd expected from this evening."

Elena looks down, feeling herself blush again. "Me, too," she admits. "I...me, too. Thanks." Tseng lifts her chin up with gentle, strong fingers, and leans down to kiss her. "Oh," she says when he pulls back, her heart pounding. "Oh."

"Good night," Tseng says. "I'll see you on Monday."

Elena stands there watching, her keys in her hand, until his car pulls away from the curb.