Rufus Shinra sits on his couch in his 10s suite (not as nice as Tseng's, because nothing in this room is quite as nice as the things he partakes of at Tseng's) and holds his watch in fingers he can't quite feel anymore, and breathes, and nothing about him has changed. What he's done just now is about as close to an outright admission of weakness as one can get, the sort of thing he once would've thought couldn't be forced out of him even through torture or truth serum.
But here he is, on his couch, and he puts his feet up on the armrest and lets his head sink back into a pillow, and he holds his watch and Tseng is still his and the whole world hasn't come crashing down around his head, but he repeats himself.
Every future leads to ruin, maybe. A whole planet's fate rests on the decisions he makes. More fool him, should he squander an opportunity during the window he's got it.]
Your regard. Still high?
[Since what he has just asked for, what they now appear to be on the verge of negotiating, is very much him not being Tseng's boss.]
[ out of the shower and with his hair still damp around his shoulders, tseng reads the new message and finds himself smiling just a little, despite himself. he knows how much it must have cost rufus to ask for something like this, understanding what tseng does about the way rufus was raised and the way he views weakness. to ask someone for something, rather than to command it of them, and for that "something" to be sexual submission... tseng is sure it must have set every one of rufus' teeth on edge.
but he still asked, and that's something. that's a lot, actually. ]
Yes, very.
[ it would take quite some doing to damage tseng's regard for rufus, and of all the things that might do it, admitting to wanting tseng to dominate him would never even come close to making the list. ]
[ of course tseng has questions upon questions. the problem is, honestly, less that tseng thinks rufus wouldn't want to answer his questions and more that tseng isn't sure he's ready to hear what rufus' response might be. ]
You have my agreement, but I also need yours.
If we do this, I will ask you to promise me certain things about your boundaries and limits and I will expect you to keep those promises. Do you feel confident that you can do that?
[ feeling the way rufus does about things like weakness and limits and safe words..... ]
[Oh. Oh, he kind of hates that question, actually. Hates the very exacting way it's phrased, hates the fact that they're still playing the game and yes, he's got that as a convenient excuse, but even if they weren't, he'd still find himself compelled to tell the truth.
It just takes a while for him to answer, quiet for a long time. Nobody's said anything about...starting this dynamic just yet, right at this moment, but Tseng had made it more than clear that he's supposed to be honest — no, not just honest. Genuine.]
No. I'm...not confident.
[He takes a slow breath, and makes himself clarify.]
That's why I want it to be you. Because I think I'll...that it's likely I'll make a mistake. And you already know that.
[ if rufus had said yes, tseng would have known he was lying. the fact that he admits to not being confident is, tseng knows, an enormous show of vulnerability from him and proof that he's going to try, even if it's difficult for him at the outset.
the thought is enough to warm tseng through in a way he can't dwell on for too long. ]
That's all right. There will be a learning curve for you, just like there was for me. All I ask is that you do your best, and remember that you can trust me.
[He may be fidgeting in a way that he could never let himself anywhere else, drumming his fingers on his arm and chewing his lip at one corner and then the other, but the nervous tension is all centered in himself, in the expectations placed on him. Tseng, he trusts implicitly.]
Boundaries and limits are to identify things I don't want. How do I —
[Oh. Hm.]
Do I get those for things I do want? Or is that up to you?
Would you like me to explain how I plan to go about this?
[ it's technically a question for a question, but if rufus answers in the affirmative then tseng will answer rufus' question, so he feels like it evens out. ]
I was intending to just explain in sentences, but I can use bullet points if you prefer.
[ that's a joke!! ]
We will start with boundaries, yes. I will lay out mine and ask you for yours. I will also ask for anything you do like, or things you want to try. If you aren't sure about either of those things, then we will experiment together to figure it out.
[ the challenge for rufus will most likely be identifying limits if they encounter any, but tseng is already considering how they might overcome that together. ]
Why would you need them? Boundaries. If I'm just letting you...
[But the thought never finishes; he lets it hang, going back and reopening his dossier and reading it again, as studious and attentive as he's ever applied himself to any of the studies he's actually cared about.]
[ oh, rufus. he has so much work to do with you. ]
I won't choke you. I like breathplay, but I'll only do it with partners whose body language I can read so well that I would know when to stop even if they aren't able to articulate it.
The objective is mutual pleasure, both yours and mine. It isn't a matter of just letting me do whatever I want to you.
[The mention of breathplay, oddly, makes something sharp and cold drop into the pit of his stomach — unpleasant, or at least that's the easiest immediate explanation. But he could brush aside the unpleasantness just as easily, could lift his chin and bear up and endure something like that, and that's what makes him sit with it a little further, a little quieter, thinking and thinking about the idea of limits.
He thinks about Tseng's fingers wrapped in black leather, caressing his throat like the handle of a gun. That's...attractive, and prompts an involuntarily shiver that he catalogues without letting himself read too much into it. He thinks about Tseng over him to do it, crowding him in, close enough to steal all the air between them because Rufus wasn't using it himself. That's...compelling, too.
But then he thinks of force on his neck, of darkness at the edges of his vision, of struggling and kicking while the world turned blurred and narrow around him, and...
He takes a deeper breath than he expects to. Lets it out again, slow.
Tseng likes breathplay. He's not sure if he does. And maybe he would, maybe he could, but he's not — sure.]
I think I wouldn't mind watching you do that. To someone.
I don't think I want you to do it to me.
[Strange, how hard that was, and then suddenly it wasn't.]
Are you afraid of hurting me?
[Tseng's turn to field the possibility of a difficult, uncomfortable truth, now.]
[ it settles something strangely tense in tseng's stomach, that rufus pauses so long and then returns with that: a boundary. the identification of something he isn't sure he would like. ]
All right, then I won't do it to you. I'm glad you told me.
[ funnily enough, the question rufus asks is directly tied to exactly that tension that tseng had been carrying, that which had just now relaxed. it makes it easy to answer, even though the question is a difficult one. ]
Yes, and no. I have excellent control and years of training to avoid hurting you. I'm not worried about making a mistake.
What does worry me was the idea that you might allow me to do something to you that you don't enjoy, or that hurts more than it feels good, because you're resistant to enforcing boundaries or using safe words. Or because you perceive this as "just letting me do" what I want to you, and think you're obligated to put up with it.
[I'm glad you told me is — maybe unexpected is the wrong word. But it's not something he would've thought to hear, at least, any more than he would have imagined Tseng would tell him he did a good job trimming the ends of his hair that day with the strings.
He thinks about that, too. Thinks about how fingers on his throat and the weight of a body over his have a common denominator, in being the center of Tseng's attention.
He can ask for things he wants. It's starting to add up a little, just what that might be. Now the only question is, can he make himself bear the necessity of asking to begin with.]
I don't think it's obligation.
[His fingers hover over his watch. His stomach twists and churns.]
[ the response comes immediately; it requires no thought.
it's the follow-up that takes a little longer, because typing the words does feel like being vivisected, like flaying his chest open to let rufus read what's written on his ribcage. ]
It's just as important to me to know what you don't like as to know what you do. You telling me your limits is you teaching me how to make you feel good, and my only goal is your pleasure.
[Like piecing together a puzzle, the consistencies in what Tseng says and what he's said before align into a picture. Not a clear one, and not one that's always easy to parse, but one with structure and foundations — with predictability. He'd said before, the subordinate is the one with the power; for all that he might not be ready or comfortable with applying that label to himself, it's clear in Tseng's approach that it holds true from his perspective. He doesn't talk like a kennelmaster putting a hound through its paces on a course. He makes it sound like — like he's waiting for instructions.
Boundaries, limits. Mission parameters. Somehow, the thought of assigning Tseng a mission to make him feel good is both humorous and reassuring, for all that he might not like the specific baggage that the two of them might carry into those connotations.]
You could still put your hands on me. On my throat. That part I like — I think I would like.
[What's difficult is that he knows other things he could count among that number, too, but shaping them properly and putting them into words and making himself understood is...less easy than he might have expected otherwise.]
I like it when you touch me without asking.
[Oh. Oh, wait a minute — oh.]
If you knew what I liked, would you do it more often?
[ questions in a row. a little warmth, a little humor. still, tseng answers, even though the admission makes him feel a little raw. ]
I would, if I knew what you liked and knew that you wanted it from me.
[ something rufus said, earlier: i don't want you to do it just because i asked. rufus knows, of course, that he could order tseng to do anything and tseng would do it without question, up to and including fucking rufus however he wants to be fucked. he owes rufus his life, and has promised his absolute loyalty. this would fall within those parameters.
it means something, then, that what rufus wants is for tseng to want it. that he doesn't want to treat tseng like a tool. with that thought in the back of his mind, tseng says, ]
I've tried to be cautious. I don't want to overstep.
Then bank one extra on your end. I have a feeling you'll want to use it soon.
[Cautious. Holding himself back, but not necessarily withholding himself. Two similar concepts with one very distinct difference: the former serves to punish Tseng; the latter serves to punish Rufus.
He runs his tongue along the edge of his teeth, resisting the urge to chew his lip until it splits. There's something about this revelation that feels electric, manic, like catching the strut of a helicopter just for the thrill of the exit, and likely it shows in how rapidly the tenor of his text turns from shy to reckless.]
I'm going to tell you once, and I don't want to have to tell you again, so remember it. If you ever decide you want to kiss me, don't wait for some sign that you're allowed. The only reason you should hold back is if you don't want it, yourself.
[ it feels like—like plate tectonics. a shifting of what tseng had previously understood to be true about the relationship between himself and rufus. rufus, brilliant and illuminated, and tseng in the shadows behind him, a load-bearing pillar, a weapon, a fulcrum.
where do the shadows go when the light comes through?
rufus was right: tseng does want to use his second question. he knows the answer may ruin him, but he has to know. ]
Do you want me to kiss you? Or do you want to be kissed, and you trust me the most to do it?
[Tseng came to this resort before him. Has lived here without him. Fucks people who aren't him. Lives in opulence that makes him uncomfortable but won't give it up because of the access it affords him. Has everything at his fingertips, everything a person could possibly want, and it would have been so easy for him to decide, at any time, that he didn't need Rufus.
But these are the questions he asks — really, one question with two parts, a distinction he wants to hear made. For once, Rufus can hear the real one beneath it, because it's precisely the sort of question he's sought to ask in return.
Is it me? Is it me that you want, that you follow, that you crave, is it me?
So many of these questions have been difficult. This one is so, so easy.]
[ his breath punches out of him. it is ruinous, but not the way tseng expected it to be, not the sensation of a floor falling out from underneath him but rather the sharp new awareness that this changes everything.
the moment tseng lets himself have rufus this way, he will be compromised beyond redemption. it's a lucky thing, then, that his boss seems to like him. ]
[It's a solid ten seconds before he realizes that the reason his face aches is because he's started to smile, unpolished and lopsided and disbelieving, and he doesn't quite remember when that happened.]
You told me something you won't do. Tell me something you're going to.
[And the uncertainty still tugs at him, that twisting feeling of almost-wrongness that comes of pushing back against everything he's been taught to be, but Tseng said to trust him even with that, especially with that, and he does.]
[ this is very much not president shinra and the director of administrative research. this is rufus and tseng, and it is probably only fair that rufus get something to hold him over. ]
Kiss you, of course.
I also think it's very unlikely that I'm going to let you get further into my suite than the foyer before I suck you off.
[That's not, he almost types, the sort of thing a dominant is supposed to do, is it, except that he's coming to understand that the sort of thing Tseng as a dominant does is whatever he thinks will please Rufus, and that maybe it's the sort of thing Tseng does regardless of what a dominant would do, and also that it would be another question he's not entitled to so he's barred from asking it anyway.
What he does instead is think of it — Tseng's hair brushing the insides of his thighs, Tseng's tongue dragging hot up his cock like it'd dragged up his jaw — and takes a moment to question the sequencing of these two vows, whether Tseng intends to suck him with lips red and swollen from kissing or whether he'll kiss him after the fact with the taste of cum still on his tongue.
He closes his eyes, the hand not holding the watch drifting down the plane of his stomach toward the swelling ache in his pants.]
I'm going to touch myself to that thought.
[Brat.]
Though I'm sure the reality will exceed expectations.
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Rufus Shinra sits on his couch in his 10s suite (not as nice as Tseng's, because nothing in this room is quite as nice as the things he partakes of at Tseng's) and holds his watch in fingers he can't quite feel anymore, and breathes, and nothing about him has changed. What he's done just now is about as close to an outright admission of weakness as one can get, the sort of thing he once would've thought couldn't be forced out of him even through torture or truth serum.
But here he is, on his couch, and he puts his feet up on the armrest and lets his head sink back into a pillow, and he holds his watch and Tseng is still his and the whole world hasn't come crashing down around his head, but he repeats himself.
Every future leads to ruin, maybe. A whole planet's fate rests on the decisions he makes. More fool him, should he squander an opportunity during the window he's got it.]
Your regard. Still high?
[Since what he has just asked for, what they now appear to be on the verge of negotiating, is very much him not being Tseng's boss.]
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but he still asked, and that's something. that's a lot, actually. ]
Yes, very.
[ it would take quite some doing to damage tseng's regard for rufus, and of all the things that might do it, admitting to wanting tseng to dominate him would never even come close to making the list. ]
...I can't remember whose turn it is.
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[Leave it to Rufus to have been counting, even subconsciously, when it comes to the running tally of an activity that one can win or lose at.]
I'm not going to tell you what to ask. I will say that you shouldn't feel as though you need to softball it. No figurative legs broken yet.
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You have my agreement, but I also need yours.
If we do this, I will ask you to promise me certain things about your boundaries and limits and I will expect you to keep those promises. Do you feel confident that you can do that?
[ feeling the way rufus does about things like weakness and limits and safe words..... ]
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It just takes a while for him to answer, quiet for a long time. Nobody's said anything about...starting this dynamic just yet, right at this moment, but Tseng had made it more than clear that he's supposed to be honest — no, not just honest. Genuine.]
No. I'm...not confident.
[He takes a slow breath, and makes himself clarify.]
That's why I want it to be you. Because I think I'll...that it's likely I'll make a mistake. And you already know that.
I can promise to try. But I might make mistakes.
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the thought is enough to warm tseng through in a way he can't dwell on for too long. ]
That's all right. There will be a learning curve for you, just like there was for me. All I ask is that you do your best, and remember that you can trust me.
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[He may be fidgeting in a way that he could never let himself anywhere else, drumming his fingers on his arm and chewing his lip at one corner and then the other, but the nervous tension is all centered in himself, in the expectations placed on him. Tseng, he trusts implicitly.]
Boundaries and limits are to identify things I don't want. How do I —
[Oh. Hm.]
Do I get those for things I do want? Or is that up to you?
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[ it's technically a question for a question, but if rufus answers in the affirmative then tseng will answer rufus' question, so he feels like it evens out. ]
no subject
[...]
No need to write up another whole report, though. Bullet points would suffice.
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[ that's a joke!! ]
We will start with boundaries, yes. I will lay out mine and ask you for yours. I will also ask for anything you do like, or things you want to try. If you aren't sure about either of those things, then we will experiment together to figure it out.
[ the challenge for rufus will most likely be identifying limits if they encounter any, but tseng is already considering how they might overcome that together. ]
no subject
[But the thought never finishes; he lets it hang, going back and reopening his dossier and reading it again, as studious and attentive as he's ever applied himself to any of the studies he's actually cared about.]
Give me an example? Of one of yours.
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I won't choke you. I like breathplay, but I'll only do it with partners whose body language I can read so well that I would know when to stop even if they aren't able to articulate it.
The objective is mutual pleasure, both yours and mine. It isn't a matter of just letting me do whatever I want to you.
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He thinks about Tseng's fingers wrapped in black leather, caressing his throat like the handle of a gun. That's...attractive, and prompts an involuntarily shiver that he catalogues without letting himself read too much into it. He thinks about Tseng over him to do it, crowding him in, close enough to steal all the air between them because Rufus wasn't using it himself. That's...compelling, too.
But then he thinks of force on his neck, of darkness at the edges of his vision, of struggling and kicking while the world turned blurred and narrow around him, and...
He takes a deeper breath than he expects to. Lets it out again, slow.
Tseng likes breathplay. He's not sure if he does. And maybe he would, maybe he could, but he's not — sure.]
I think I wouldn't mind watching you do that. To someone.
I don't think I want you to do it to me.
[Strange, how hard that was, and then suddenly it wasn't.]
Are you afraid of hurting me?
[Tseng's turn to field the possibility of a difficult, uncomfortable truth, now.]
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All right, then I won't do it to you. I'm glad you told me.
[ funnily enough, the question rufus asks is directly tied to exactly that tension that tseng had been carrying, that which had just now relaxed. it makes it easy to answer, even though the question is a difficult one. ]
Yes, and no. I have excellent control and years of training to avoid hurting you. I'm not worried about making a mistake.
What does worry me was the idea that you might allow me to do something to you that you don't enjoy, or that hurts more than it feels good, because you're resistant to enforcing boundaries or using safe words. Or because you perceive this as "just letting me do" what I want to you, and think you're obligated to put up with it.
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He thinks about that, too. Thinks about how fingers on his throat and the weight of a body over his have a common denominator, in being the center of Tseng's attention.
He can ask for things he wants. It's starting to add up a little, just what that might be. Now the only question is, can he make himself bear the necessity of asking to begin with.]
I don't think it's obligation.
[His fingers hover over his watch. His stomach twists and churns.]
I think I don't want to disappoint you.
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[ the response comes immediately; it requires no thought.
it's the follow-up that takes a little longer, because typing the words does feel like being vivisected, like flaying his chest open to let rufus read what's written on his ribcage. ]
It's just as important to me to know what you don't like as to know what you do. You telling me your limits is you teaching me how to make you feel good, and my only goal is your pleasure.
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Boundaries, limits. Mission parameters. Somehow, the thought of assigning Tseng a mission to make him feel good is both humorous and reassuring, for all that he might not like the specific baggage that the two of them might carry into those connotations.]
You could still put your hands on me. On my throat. That part I like — I think I would like.
[What's difficult is that he knows other things he could count among that number, too, but shaping them properly and putting them into words and making himself understood is...less easy than he might have expected otherwise.]
I like it when you touch me without asking.
[Oh. Oh, wait a minute — oh.]
If you knew what I liked, would you do it more often?
no subject
[ questions in a row. a little warmth, a little humor. still, tseng answers, even though the admission makes him feel a little raw. ]
I would, if I knew what you liked and knew that you wanted it from me.
[ something rufus said, earlier: i don't want you to do it just because i asked. rufus knows, of course, that he could order tseng to do anything and tseng would do it without question, up to and including fucking rufus however he wants to be fucked. he owes rufus his life, and has promised his absolute loyalty. this would fall within those parameters.
it means something, then, that what rufus wants is for tseng to want it. that he doesn't want to treat tseng like a tool. with that thought in the back of his mind, tseng says, ]
I've tried to be cautious. I don't want to overstep.
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[Cautious. Holding himself back, but not necessarily withholding himself. Two similar concepts with one very distinct difference: the former serves to punish Tseng; the latter serves to punish Rufus.
He runs his tongue along the edge of his teeth, resisting the urge to chew his lip until it splits. There's something about this revelation that feels electric, manic, like catching the strut of a helicopter just for the thrill of the exit, and likely it shows in how rapidly the tenor of his text turns from shy to reckless.]
I'm going to tell you once, and I don't want to have to tell you again, so remember it. If you ever decide you want to kiss me, don't wait for some sign that you're allowed. The only reason you should hold back is if you don't want it, yourself.
no subject
where do the shadows go when the light comes through?
rufus was right: tseng does want to use his second question. he knows the answer may ruin him, but he has to know. ]
Do you want me to kiss you? Or do you want to be kissed, and you trust me the most to do it?
no subject
But these are the questions he asks — really, one question with two parts, a distinction he wants to hear made. For once, Rufus can hear the real one beneath it, because it's precisely the sort of question he's sought to ask in return.
Is it me? Is it me that you want, that you follow, that you crave, is it me?
So many of these questions have been difficult. This one is so, so easy.]
My Tseng.
I like you. I want you.
no subject
the moment tseng lets himself have rufus this way, he will be compromised beyond redemption. it's a lucky thing, then, that his boss seems to like him. ]
Come over tomorrow.
Bring a change of clothes.
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[It's a solid ten seconds before he realizes that the reason his face aches is because he's started to smile, unpolished and lopsided and disbelieving, and he doesn't quite remember when that happened.]
You told me something you won't do. Tell me something you're going to.
[And the uncertainty still tugs at him, that twisting feeling of almost-wrongness that comes of pushing back against everything he's been taught to be, but Tseng said to trust him even with that, especially with that, and he does.]
Please. I want to think about it until then.
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[ this is very much not president shinra and the director of administrative research. this is rufus and tseng, and it is probably only fair that rufus get something to hold him over. ]
Kiss you, of course.
I also think it's very unlikely that I'm going to let you get further into my suite than the foyer before I suck you off.
no subject
What he does instead is think of it — Tseng's hair brushing the insides of his thighs, Tseng's tongue dragging hot up his cock like it'd dragged up his jaw — and takes a moment to question the sequencing of these two vows, whether Tseng intends to suck him with lips red and swollen from kissing or whether he'll kiss him after the fact with the taste of cum still on his tongue.
He closes his eyes, the hand not holding the watch drifting down the plane of his stomach toward the swelling ache in his pants.]
I'm going to touch myself to that thought.
[Brat.]
Though I'm sure the reality will exceed expectations.
(no subject)