[ president shinra has always been cruel to rufus, ever since his son presented as an omega and not as the alpha he was born to be. cruel and demanding, forcing rufus to playact the alpha because status is all that has ever mattered to shinra senior—status, and money, and power, although aren’t those all really the same thing at the end of the day? and tseng has watched. for as long as he’s been in the shinra company’s employ, he’s watched the way rufus has taken that cruelty and used it to make himself stronger, smarter, quicker on his feet, watched him grow into a better alpha than some of the real ones in this ballroom with them tonight.
he has also studiously ignored the way that every one of rufus’ carefully-controlled heats has triggered a corresponding rut in him—partly because it would be inconvenient to think about, and partly because tseng isn’t supposed to be an alpha, just the same way rufus isn’t supposed to be an omega.
the turks are all betas by regulation—more neutral, easier to control, not influenced by pesky things like hormones and scents and territorial instincts. since he was fifteen years old tseng has been hiding his nature, suppressing his pheromones and quashing all of the annoyances of his biological imperative: the desire to defend what he thinks of as his, the desire to mate, the desire to protect. he’s a good little beta, for all that the company is concerned, with falsified health records to match, and he’s been a good little beta for half of his life, toeing the line.
except, as it turns out, where rufus is concerned.
having tripped the alarm, reno rushes off, accompanied by elena, to usher the president to safety. there will be a car with bulletproof glass windows, and a circuitous route back home that will keep them occupied for some time. tseng, for his part, puts his hand at rufus’ elbow, his grip just this side of too tight, and pushes him out into the stairs that lead to the helipad on the roof.
it’s a fucking miracle none of the alphas at this party clocked the reality of the situation. tseng doesn’t know how they couldn’t—rufus’ heat is pouring off him in waves, his body too loose and his eyes glassy and bright, the scent of the wetness between his thighs bursting across tseng’s tongue like fruit, tart and sweet. ]
Sir. [ it was a terrible idea, making rufus come to this party, a risky move even for the president. and look at rufus now, so strung out on his own need that he’s practically panting for it.
tseng takes his face in both hands and imbues his voice with the command of an alpha—enough, he hopes, to break through the haze of rufus’ desire without either startling him or, even more dangerously, making him present himself to tseng. ] Sir, look at me. One flight of stairs, then the helicopter. Do you understand?
no subject
he has also studiously ignored the way that every one of rufus’ carefully-controlled heats has triggered a corresponding rut in him—partly because it would be inconvenient to think about, and partly because tseng isn’t supposed to be an alpha, just the same way rufus isn’t supposed to be an omega.
the turks are all betas by regulation—more neutral, easier to control, not influenced by pesky things like hormones and scents and territorial instincts. since he was fifteen years old tseng has been hiding his nature, suppressing his pheromones and quashing all of the annoyances of his biological imperative: the desire to defend what he thinks of as his, the desire to mate, the desire to protect. he’s a good little beta, for all that the company is concerned, with falsified health records to match, and he’s been a good little beta for half of his life, toeing the line.
except, as it turns out, where rufus is concerned.
having tripped the alarm, reno rushes off, accompanied by elena, to usher the president to safety. there will be a car with bulletproof glass windows, and a circuitous route back home that will keep them occupied for some time. tseng, for his part, puts his hand at rufus’ elbow, his grip just this side of too tight, and pushes him out into the stairs that lead to the helipad on the roof.
it’s a fucking miracle none of the alphas at this party clocked the reality of the situation. tseng doesn’t know how they couldn’t—rufus’ heat is pouring off him in waves, his body too loose and his eyes glassy and bright, the scent of the wetness between his thighs bursting across tseng’s tongue like fruit, tart and sweet. ]
Sir. [ it was a terrible idea, making rufus come to this party, a risky move even for the president. and look at rufus now, so strung out on his own need that he’s practically panting for it.
tseng takes his face in both hands and imbues his voice with the command of an alpha—enough, he hopes, to break through the haze of rufus’ desire without either startling him or, even more dangerously, making him present himself to tseng. ] Sir, look at me. One flight of stairs, then the helicopter. Do you understand?