[ for a moment tseng finds himself knocked breathless by the image of rufus that comes attached to his latest text. he looks wrecked—flushed feverish, his pupils blown, brows drawn together in the expression of pleasure that means he's doing as tseng told him to do, his fingers buried inside himself even if tseng can't see them. it takes all of tseng's willpower to hold himself back, too, his fist continuing to move steadily along his length despite the churning desire in the pit of his stomach.
he doesn't send back a picture just yet. instead, tseng memorizes every inch of rufus', and then sends back a message of his own. ]
Gorgeous. Keep going, baby. Think about my fingers. Think about me holding you down and eating you out until you come.
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he doesn't send back a picture just yet. instead, tseng memorizes every inch of rufus', and then sends back a message of his own. ]
Gorgeous. Keep going, baby. Think about my fingers. Think about me holding you down and eating you out until you come.