[Oh. Leave it to Tseng to be just what he needs — to know what he needs almost before he does himself. There's a sweetness to the way Tseng reaches for him that feels rare and almost fragile, a moment suspended in time amidst the more sexually-charged playfulness of before. It makes him feel better, oddly, in a way that all the logic and rationale in the world couldn't.
And then he lowers himself down to the floor and catches a look at the expression it puts on Tseng's face, the way it makes him pet his fingers through his hair as if entranced, and hell, he could get used to spending time on his knees more often if that's the reward he's going to get for it.]
My Tseng, incoherent? What a thing to say.
[And he keeps his eyes locked on Tseng's as he leans forward to nuzzle at the crotch of Tseng's trousers, dragging his tongue up the zipper fly in an deliberate, provocative lick.]
Maybe I want your voice to match your hair.
[It's hard to say whether it's an invitation, or permission, or just a request in disguise, but either way the outcome is the same: that Tseng looks lovely with his hair a bit unkempt, and Rufus wouldn't mind seeing him mussed in a variety of other ways as well.]
no subject
And then he lowers himself down to the floor and catches a look at the expression it puts on Tseng's face, the way it makes him pet his fingers through his hair as if entranced, and hell, he could get used to spending time on his knees more often if that's the reward he's going to get for it.]
My Tseng, incoherent? What a thing to say.
[And he keeps his eyes locked on Tseng's as he leans forward to nuzzle at the crotch of Tseng's trousers, dragging his tongue up the zipper fly in an deliberate, provocative lick.]
Maybe I want your voice to match your hair.
[It's hard to say whether it's an invitation, or permission, or just a request in disguise, but either way the outcome is the same: that Tseng looks lovely with his hair a bit unkempt, and Rufus wouldn't mind seeing him mussed in a variety of other ways as well.]