[It's at the sight of his name, rendered casually in text, that it occurs to him that Tseng hasn't called him sir even once this whole conversation. And for all that the text is an echo of his own words — or a mirror, maybe, by design — it still makes a delicious sensation crawl over his skin, the kind that makes him draw his shoulders in and curl a touch as if to better hold it inside himself.
And it solidifies something about the thoughts he'd been mulling over, doesn't it? Because this is safe, too. Because this is safety like a first tentative step onto ice, gauging whether it will suffice to hold his weight. Because it's not so much that he ever thought he wasn't safe with Tseng, as just that he wasn't seeing the whole bounds of what that encompasses, always focused on how far it could take him but never so much on how deep.
Safe. Yes, he is. Wanted. Yes, bizarrely enough, he's that too.]
We should. Lucky thing I still have a few more questions.
Did you mean it when you said I was a gorgeous little slut?
[It's an invitation, by implication. His own way of conveying that there's safety for Tseng, too. That it goes both ways. That yes is an answer he can give to a question like that at all.]
no subject
And it solidifies something about the thoughts he'd been mulling over, doesn't it? Because this is safe, too. Because this is safety like a first tentative step onto ice, gauging whether it will suffice to hold his weight. Because it's not so much that he ever thought he wasn't safe with Tseng, as just that he wasn't seeing the whole bounds of what that encompasses, always focused on how far it could take him but never so much on how deep.
Safe. Yes, he is. Wanted. Yes, bizarrely enough, he's that too.]
We should. Lucky thing I still have a few more questions.
Did you mean it when you said I was a gorgeous little slut?
[It's an invitation, by implication. His own way of conveying that there's safety for Tseng, too. That it goes both ways. That yes is an answer he can give to a question like that at all.]