[ as sasuke stands, tseng lets his legs uncross, so that when sasuke steps forward he can slot his body between the lines of tseng's thighs. he is hard, and he makes no effort to hide it, just as open and unselfconscious as sasuke had been in house finch—keenly aware that their current posture is a mirror of that evening, the fact of which only serves to make him feel warmer. ]
Maybe I am. [ tseng sets his teacup further up the counter, to reduce the risk of spilling, and then sits back against the back of the stool, almost lounging in place. it's a sweet, heady thing to have confirmation of how affected sasuke is, to know that his desire matches tseng's; it makes him want to bask in it, to soak it up and taste it on his tongue.
tseng reaches out and draws a fingertip down the center of sasuke's chest, from his collarbones down the line between his pectorals and all the way to his solar plexus. tracing the skin that was exposed by sasuke's shirt that night,. ] Then I suppose there's nothing for it. I'll just have to call you every single one.
[ he flattens his palm against sasuke's stomach, then slides it slowly back up. the gesture rucks sasuke's shirt up a little at the waist, exposing a the fine trail of dark hair leading from his navel down into his jeans; tseng's gaze flicks down, then back up as his hand curls loosely around the back of sasuke's neck. ]
I like sir. I prefer it to "master." [ tseng's thumb presses just below sasuke's jaw, right over the place where his pulse is beating in his throat, rabbit-quick. the line of tension between them is drawn taut, and tseng can feel his own patience fraying the longer they stand like this. ] Did you like calling me sir?
"this will be a normal nonsexy debrief" 🤡
Maybe I am. [ tseng sets his teacup further up the counter, to reduce the risk of spilling, and then sits back against the back of the stool, almost lounging in place. it's a sweet, heady thing to have confirmation of how affected sasuke is, to know that his desire matches tseng's; it makes him want to bask in it, to soak it up and taste it on his tongue.
tseng reaches out and draws a fingertip down the center of sasuke's chest, from his collarbones down the line between his pectorals and all the way to his solar plexus. tracing the skin that was exposed by sasuke's shirt that night,. ] Then I suppose there's nothing for it. I'll just have to call you every single one.
[ he flattens his palm against sasuke's stomach, then slides it slowly back up. the gesture rucks sasuke's shirt up a little at the waist, exposing a the fine trail of dark hair leading from his navel down into his jeans; tseng's gaze flicks down, then back up as his hand curls loosely around the back of sasuke's neck. ]
I like sir. I prefer it to "master." [ tseng's thumb presses just below sasuke's jaw, right over the place where his pulse is beating in his throat, rabbit-quick. the line of tension between them is drawn taut, and tseng can feel his own patience fraying the longer they stand like this. ] Did you like calling me sir?