Saying Thanks, Turk Style

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or settings of Final Fantasy VII. They are the sole creative property of SquareEnix. I do however own my insanity and perversity. Nor do I make a profit from this endeavor, I will however gain carpal tunnel syndrome eventually.

Title: Saying Thanks, Turk Style

Warnings: yaoi, lemon – good time had by all! Language.

Rating: M for sMutty!

Pairings: Valeng? The Undead One/The Director? Tsengcent? (how the fuck do you pronounce that?)

Summary: Sometimes a “Thank You” note just doesn’t suffice.

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Saying Thanks, Turk Style

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“That asshole,” Vincent sneered as he replaced the cover on the long rectangular jewelry box. He stood up from the barstool he was sitting on so quickly that the piece of furniture tipped over on its side and landed with a loud bang that resonated in the nearly empty bar. Grabbing the offending package off of the bar top, the gunner flicked his cape away from his frame as he stormed out of the bar and into the early evening air.

xXx

It had started out innocent enough about two months ago. Tseng and Vincent happened to be at the same place at the same time, the local shopping district in Edge to be exact. It was the first time Tseng had seen Vincent since the gunner saved his and Elena’s life from The Remnants nearly a year prior.

The two men had sat for a bit and enjoyed a pleasant lunch together. Tseng noted that this was the longest that Vincent apparently stayed in one particular place. The man was known for being a still as an inanimate object but his presence in general was always fleeting.

“Please forgive me, but I just realized that I never did thank you for what you did,” Tseng murmured over his cup of tea.

“No thanks is needed,” was Vincent’s typical response. He didn’t save the Turk Director and his underling for any other reason than just to do it.

“Still, I must make it up to you somehow,” the Wutain responded with a mysterious glint in his eye.

A few days later the first gift arrived. It was a very exquisite and tasteful Wutain tea set. It was also apparently very expensive. Vincent didn’t waste any time sending it back with a short note respectfully declining such an unneeded token of gratitude.

Tseng apparently was not deterred though; the next gift came about a month later. It was a state of the art chainsaw with a goalie mask that appeared to be hand painted depicting the skyline of Edge with the words Living Dead running across the sides in an Old Nibel typeface. The gunner frowned at such an odd gift to give someone until he felt a mental tremor followed but what he could only describe as a demonic squeal. Hell Masker loved the gifts and wanted to try them out.

The next gift, even though Vincent hadn’t returned the mask and chainsaw, came a few days later. It was an alarm clock that when it went off, a vampire rose out of a coffin and stated in a horrible Romanian accent, ‘Time to start ze day, blah!’ Vincent would admit it was cute in a kitschy kind of way but the note that was attached was over doing it.

~ So you don’t sleep away another thirty years! ~

The fourth gift confused Vincent for the most part. That was until what he considered his closest friend, Cid Highwind explained it and the note to him. It was an old fashioned oil can and the note that came with this gift called Vincent the “Tin Man” and hoped that on his next journey to Oz, Toto (Red XII) wouldn’t piss on him causing his arm and legs to rust.

Vincent was livid but had enough grace and decorum to just shoot the container to pieces.

This gift, this was the final straw. Sitting, nestled in a satin-like pillow of a velvet cover jewelry box was a collar. A dog’s collar complete with a hanging tag that read: Tseng’s Bitch. Galian rumbled in appreciation but Vincent fumed with every step that brought him closer to the new ShinRa Tower and towards the man who had disrespected him for the last time.

“Since he’s so insistent on thanking me,” Vincent sneered behind his high cowl as he reopened the box to glance at the item, “I’ll show him how. Hn. I’m his bitch? We shall see, Tseng. We shall see.”

xXx

Tseng, Director of The Department of Administrative Research or Turks for short leaned back in his leather executive chair and let out a pent up breath. He couldn’t stop thinking about the enigma of a man that was Vincent Valentine.

The man had turned down his initial gift, stating that it was much too much and was not necessary as he lived very simply and had no use for it, to give it to someone more worthy. Problem was, Tseng mused; Vincent was someone he thought was worthy. As such, there was the crux of the situation, how should Tseng show his appreciation?

Figure that once a Turk always a Turk worked, Tseng sent another small token of thanks. No response came back from that gift. Figuring that that was a sign that the older man was more receptive now, Tseng had sent a few more menial things but again the lack of response threw him for a loop.

He was sure that the gift he had sent today would get a response, if not; he would just have to come out and confront the man again directly. The Wutain leaned forward in his chair again, resting his chin in his left hand as he rolled the tip of the fountain pen along a sheet of paper. He usually preferred ballpoint pens but when you had an elegant desk, you at the accoutrements that went with it, and honestly, Tseng loved to doodle with it.

Tired and bored out  of his wits, Tseng stood up and grabbed his coat from the rack in the corner of his office. Taking one last look around, he shut the light and exited the room. It was a brief walk down the corridor and a momentary wait for the private elevator to ascend up to the office floor.

The elevator doors opened with a soft ding and the Director sighed as he walked into the box and turned around. Leaning his frame against the back wall, he let his head tip back as he stared at his reflection in the gold plated ceiling.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the slight swoosh of sound as the doors began to close, sealing out all intrusive noise. Instead of the silence descending in the elevator, the distinct sound of metal scratching against metal rang out.

Tseng’s head snapped forward as he stared at the elevator doors that did not close fully.

“What the hell is the meaning of… Vincent?” Tseng scowled as he saw the fingers of Vincent’s gauntlet hand wiggle as the gunner pulled and pried apart the elevator doors.

“You tell me,” Vincent glowered as he pushed the elevators apart fully and walked into the private transport. Vincent waited a moment and let the elevator start its slow ascension to the top floors. Once he was satisfied that they were out of the normal maintenance level, Vincent pulled our Cerberus and shot the elevator console.

“I’m not leaving here until you tell me what the fuck all those gifts were about,” Vincent said in a quiet tone that belied his thrumming anger.

“I just wanted to thank you,” The Director replied cautiously.

“Thank me? Oh I’ll show you exactly how you can thank me now,” Vincent muttered before pushing himself against the younger man, their lips barely separated.

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A/N: =x *pushes everyone over the cliff* bwahaha! Actually, I’m just too damn tired to finish this tonight, so 1 more chappy with some lemon-meringue pie. Do you like… pie?