[ when they pull apart, tseng becomes keenly aware of the heat of rufus' hands through the thin fabric of his shirt, how rufus' arms are strong and steady where they're wrapped around tseng's waist. it is, he thinks, the most they've ever touched each other on purpose outside of the times they've been intimate with each other in one way or another, and while it is also very much not something president shinra would do with the director of the turks, tseng thinks he likes this being something that happens between rufus and tseng.
he does, however, huff a laugh followed by a light, almost tentative tug to the hair at the nape of rufus' neck. it's soft, as it always is when rufus spends the night here, absent any kind of styling product when he doesn't need to play a role. ]
I am begging you not to mention your father or Verdot while we're kissing, [ tseng says, before he presses another kiss to rufus' mouth. even if he doesn't think he's fond of having parallels drawn between them, it certainly doesn't bother him enough to stop kissing rufus.
after a moment, tseng draws back and slowly lets go of rufus, aware as he is that he's interrupted the attempt at morning coffee. still, even when he goes, he doesn't go far, just sitting back down on his stool to continue watching rufus move around the kitchen, even more obviously this time. his hair is a little more disheveled, now, but tseng makes no move to tidy it. ]
[Now there's a thought so incongruous it almost makes him laugh. There are many people in the world for whom it would be hyperbole to suggest that they would sooner cut off an arm than be caught begging; Tseng is one of the rare few for whom he'd actually believe it.
But luckily, he doesn't want to think about his father any more than Tseng does in a moment like this, save perhaps for the petty aside of considering how much the old man would roll in his grave to know what he was doing, inviting so much intimacy with a direct report. He almost, almost wishes his father were capable of knowing that Tseng has fucked him; curiously, he finds he's not nearly so eager to share the recognition of this.
Maybe it's just because he doesn't want to share Tseng with anyone, like this. That the world outside this suite can have him powerful and polished and perfect, and only Rufus gets to have him like this.
He can feel Tseng's eyes on him as he resumes his attempt at fixing his morning coffee, using the time and the excuse to keep his hands occupied to consider and take stock of his own feelings. His available options. His wants.]
Well. I imagine — [He begins a little deliberately, wrapping both hands around his coffee mug; the tone he chooses is as nonchalant as the gaze he levels at Tseng isn't.] — the president also wouldn't get on his knees for his director. And certainly not over breakfast.
[There's an offer there — implicit, but there, and he watches Tseng carefully for a signal.]
[ and that makes two of them, because tseng has no doubt that if rufus' father were alive to know that tseng had fucked his son, the former president would have tseng executed on the spot. he might not have loved rufus, or even necessarily cared for him, but he did care deeply about appearances, and nothing speaks to brewing unrest like fraternization between the head of your security forces and your heir apparent...
but luckily, although it feels a little blasphemous to think it, the former president is six feet under and tseng no longer has to worry what he would think if he caught tseng's gaze lingering a little too long on rufus' mouth, the column of his throat, the glimpse of his collarbones visible through the neckline of his robe.
down to rufus' chest, and then up again. tseng's gaze is keen, fixed on rufus as he considers the implication, the offer—ramuh, tseng thinks his body might spontaneously combust. if not for the fact that he's already dressed, he suspects the twitch of his cock would be noticeable. ]
I see. [ it is likely clear from the way he holds himself that tseng is one long live wire of desire. ] And is Rufus going to get on his knees for Tseng, over breakfast?
[His lips split into a slow, sly grin, powerfully amused by the sudden hunger in Tseng's body language and in the mildly comical sentence structure both. It's hard to say just what about it is so damned funny, but it is, and he...likes that, actually. Likes the tantalizing prospect of banter, of humor. Of seeing what he can get away with.
Not a bad way of starting a morning, if he does say so himself.]
If Tseng is willing to play along with something Rufus wants.
[He sips from his coffee, taking a long swallow that makes his throat pulse with it, fully aware that he's being watched in precisely that area of his body.]
Tseng needs to put his mouth to use, too. Saying things Rufus wants to hear.
[ it's a wish that immediately gets fulfilled: tseng's gaze tracks the way rufus' throat moves when he swallows, the shift of tendon and muscle under his skin. it's a gaze full of lust that makes no attempt to conceal itself. ]
I'm beginning to think that Rufus might like making Tseng a little noisy, [ tseng says with a smirk that tugs at the corners of his lips. he hadn't said it to be funny—he was just trying to differentiate things that the president wouldn't do, but rufus would—but tseng likes making rufus laugh, and so he's more than willing to carry the humor along.
he shifts a little in his chair. spreads his thighs, so that the growing bulge of his cock pressing against the fly of his slacks is more obvious. ]
Is that your professional assessment? It's spot-on as always.
[He takes another drink of his coffee — one he knows will be his last for a while — and then comes around the counter properly, situating himself between Tseng's spread knees and resting his hands lightly on the tops of his thighs.
After a moment, he tilts his head and looks Tseng in the eyes, betraying just a hint of a look that suggests he's not quite as confident as he's pretending, even as he goes forward with his desires anyway.]
Praise.
[And he watches, carefully, before starting to sink down slowly to his knees, right there on the kitchen tile.]
If Tseng stops talking, Rufus stops sucking. At least, until he starts again. Mm?
[ just because he can, as rufus steps between his thighs, tseng reaches up to catch rufus' chin in his fingers and holds him for another kiss, this one softer, more tender. reassuring, in a way, that despite rufus' relative lack of experience tseng is very much eager for all rufus will give him.
and if the kiss doesn't do it, then the way tseng's pupils dilate immediately when rufus sinks to his knees should tell on him instead. ramuh, he's something to look at, isn't he, between tseng's thighs like this—tseng reaches out on instinct to run his fingers through the soft fall of rufus' hair, mussing it a little. he never wears it up when he spends the night at tseng's, and despite himself tseng is beginning to think of this as a side of rufus that only he gets to see, even if he knows that might not be true. ]
Will you accept moans as well? [ tseng asks, abandoning the third-person but still very much participating in the easy back and forth. ] I'm not confident I'll be able to maintain my coherence the entire time.
[ not least of all because tseng has had fucking wet dreams about exactly this and he's not at all sure he'll be able to keep his shit together once rufus has his mouth on his cock. ]
[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.]
[ almost absurdly, tseng is struck by a realization: this may be the only time in rufus' life that he's underestimated his own power. yes, incoherent—how could tseng possibly be expected to be coherent in the face of rufus on his knees on tseng's kitchen floor? not least of all when he does that, leaning forward to drag his tongue along the fine cotton of tseng's slacks, right along the hard shape of his cock? ]
Fuck, [ tseng breathes out. his hand stays where it is in rufus' hair, not to coax or to force him but rather to anchor tseng against the fact that he already feels half-insane and rufus hasn't even unzipped him yet. ] Then I suppose I'll just have to give you what you want.
[ and if that means copious praise and dirty talk before tseng inevitably loses the ability to speak in sentences at all, well, it would be genuinely tseng's pleasure. ]
[The kitchen tile is more unyielding than carpet, not that even the plush carpet of other rooms in the Jack suite would be much of an improvement on his knees. If he weren't so caught up in the impromptu moment, in the aesthetic of what he's doing, he might make a note for himself to grab a throw pillow and ease the way, but such are the spoiled, pampered thoughts for a future Rufus to worry about.
Right now, he ignores the press of floor on his kneecaps, rising up a little for a better angle as he gets Tseng's pants unfastened and tugs the zipper down with hungry efficiency. Naturally he's seen Tseng's cock enough that he's familiar with it by now, but it's something of a different experience to have his face brought this close, to where he can appreciate its girth and its flush and the way it twitches and pulses beneath his attentions. He runs his fingers over it, not meaning to tease so much as just to find a satisfactory place to hold it near its base, and then leans forward to lick at the tip the same way he'd licked at Tseng's zipper shortly before.
This, at least, he's not as unfamiliar with as some of the other activities they've gotten up to. He'll do a reasonable job of it, and it's not as though tonguing at Tseng's leaking head is unpleasant, which is a welcome realization.]
Mmm. Whenever you're ready, then.
[He tosses Tseng another of his coquettish looks, letting his bangs and his long lashes frame the deep blue of his eyes as he waits poised just an inch from Tseng's waiting cock.]
[ the statement earns a quirk of tseng's lips. the hand not in rufus' hair reaches down to brace himself against the back of the chair, steadying, and he spreads his thighs just a little wider to allow rufus to settle more comfortably between them. the kitchen floor is unforgiving, he knows. ]
Believe me, I'm ready.
[ a significant glance down at his cock in rufus' hand, hard and flushed and straining in his grip. certainly tseng is ready, both for rufus' mouth on his cock and to praise him effusively once he begins. ]
[Fuck, but Tseng looks good like that — legs wide, strands of hair falling loose from its pin, one hand outstretched to hold him by the hair and the other slung back for support. There's so much about it that looks casual, and so very unlike the buttoned-up, flawlessly correct Tseng that he tends to present to the rest of the world.
(Of course, that goes for both of them right now, doesn't it? When would he ever allow the outside world the chance to witness himself down on his knees?)
Rufus and Tseng, he thinks with a slow flush of pleasure as he parts his lips wider and closes the distance between his mouth and Tseng's cock, making a nice slow spectacle of it because he knows Tseng is watching, letting him see it go in and in before he finally clasps his mouth around it and gives it a slow suck.
That's what he gets, to begin with: nice, slow, easy suction with a little press of tongue to the underside. Then, just as languidly, he starts to bob his head a little — layering each new movement over the next, and not doing much to hide the fact that he's very clearly making this as much a show for Tseng's eyes as it is in service to his arousal.]
[ it doesn't even need to be a show, is the thing. just the simple fact of knowing that rufus is putting his mouth on tseng's dick is more than enough to drive tseng half out of his mind—the fact that rufus is so clearly paying attention to presentation just as much as he is to the actual blowjob is just. what? the cherry on the sundae, sweet; the nail in the coffin, final.
tseng tips his head back a little and exhales a soft moan at the first touch of tongue to flesh. his hand flexes slightly in rufus' hair, although he doesn't grip, not yet; instead he just forces his chin down again so his gaze can come to rest on rufus once more, sharp, intent as he watches rufus' mouth move over his length in slow passes, leaving him wet and slick where he's been. ]
Fuck, [ tseng murmurs. this, he doesn't have to think about. praising rufus comes as easily as anything. ] You should see yourself like this, Rufus. You look like a fucking vision.
[ a particularly satisfying suck makes tseng's thighs jump, his cock twitching slightly. ]
I've thought about this, you know. How your mouth would feel on me.
[It does something to him, listening to Tseng talk like that — and not just talk like that, but talk to him, about him that way. Unexpectedly, the fine hairs on his arms seem to stand on end; a tremor thrills all the way down the length of his spine, making him shiver involuntarily. Tseng says he looks like a vision and somehow it doesn't feel like he's talking about the show he's putting on, the efforts he's making to try to look good. Somehow it just feels like Tseng is talking about him, and it's so strange and so novel and so good to be praised for being himself, and not something that he's accomplishing.
He'd thought, initially, that his pleasure in this would come from the reactions he would get, the satisfying triumph of having made Tseng unravel. But oddly, his thoughts aren't turning to plans and designs of things he wants to elicit; his mind is unusually quiet, content to just let the sound of Tseng's voice wash over him as his focus narrows down to the heat in his mouth and the rhythm of his own bobbing head.
One hand finds its way to Tseng's knee, fingers curling into the bunched fabric just from looking for something to hold on to; the other leaves the base of his cock to dip down further, searching out his balls to roll and palm at them as he starts to try taking Tseng's cock a little deeper.
In this, at least, he doesn't try to make a spectacle of himself; determined not to choke and embarrass himself, he makes his descent gradually, testing a little at a time before sliding back up to tease just at the head and afford himself a moment's breather before seeing how much he can take once again.]
[ for an instant, earlier, tseng had wondered if this might be rufus' first time, but the way he settles into it makes him doubt that conviction. it can't possibly be, when it feels this good—when he's already removing his hands from tseng's cock entirely, using only his mouth and throat and reaching between tseng's thighs to cup his balls instead.
the pressure and sensation earns a low groan, a conscious expression of his pleasure. he'd told rufus he would have to accept moans as praise, and this is why—it's hard to string thoughts together into sentences when most of his attention is fixated on the way rufus' head bobs up and down over tseng's cock. ]
Mmh, just like that... that's good, you feel so good.
[ and he's taking it slowly, which is interesting but appreciated—rufus is ambitious in many things, but tseng would vastly prefer that he don't choke himself trying to deep-throat without adequate practice. ]
[Oh, he could get used to this — the spontaneity, the sweetness, the way his thoughts have gone silent in favor of focusing entirely on this singular moment. It's completely contrary to his usual way of behaving, which would have him planning and plotting out each eventuality in its turn, but — fuck, maybe there is something to be said about little fleeting gestures meant just to make a partner happy, and idly sucking Tseng off before he's even had breakfast somehow seems to fit that bill just as adequately as the little gift of the hairpins had.
He pulls off for just a second, wanting to catch a full breath but also wanting to tug Tseng's focus back to something he'd mentioned before.]
You thought about this?
[He licks his lips in a vain attempt to tidy up some of the saliva that's collected on them from his efforts, then bends to kiss at Tseng's cock to buy himself another moment of breath.]
Tell me. Was it like this?
[Prompt offered, he moves back up to the head and begins to take him in again, now more familiar with the proper angle for taking him deep and humming faintly while he descends.]
[ the only reprieve tseng gets is when rufus lifts his head to speak. he takes full advantage to catch his breath, his gaze hot where it's fixed on rufus' face—pupils blown black, swallowing the warm amber of his eyes. if he looks ruined, it's because rufus has ruined him. ]
No, [ tseng says, too fast and too honest but incapable of anything else when it's rufus doing the asking. he's only a man. he thinks he would give rufus anything, in this moment. ] In my wildest dreams it was never as good as this.
[ and then rufus goes down on him again, and tseng's stomach goes tight with the sensation, consumed once more by the wicked wet heat of rufus' tongue and the insides of his cheeks. he's good at this, or maybe he's just good at reading tseng, a thought that makes tseng feel a little insane as his hand flexes in rufus' hair and he fights not to pull. his thighs are tense, his toes curling against the tile of the kitchen floor. ]
Fuck, Rufus, [ tseng mutters, his voice taut, strained with pleasure and how hard he's having to work to keep himself away from the edge. ] Go—slow, fuck, slow down or I'm going to come.
[His face goes hot, his fair complexion flushing red as the magnitude of Tseng's affirmations sink in. That he is better, just like this, than anything Tseng had ever imagined — that anything, anything he might've dreamed up and craved pales by comparison to the reality of the here and now —
His shoulders shake, involuntarily, like his own body is left quaking just from trying to hold the arousal that floods him. It's so good he doesn't even want to reach for himself, doesn't want to satisfy it, not yet; he just wants to hold it and simmer in it and live in that moment of it, livewire-electrified on the sensation of being wanted.]
Mmmh —
[Up close like this, every tell might as well be outlined in neon: the tension on the strands of his hair that are woven through Tseng's fingers, the tight mass of firm muscle where Tseng's thighs bracket his head. Tseng can make himself a phantom when he wants to be, perfectly controlled, perfectly silent, perfectly unmoving. It's intoxicating to see him come alive like this, too overcome to suppress these things that reveal him as a warm and desperate man.
He runs his fingertips up and down Tseng's calf, as if in reassurance that his pleas for a slower pace have been heard — and thinks of his father's desk, of the foyer of this very suite, of how it'd felt to be on the receiving end of someone absolutely determined to make him come and, well, slow down or isn't the same thing as stop.
His eyes slide up to find Tseng's — stormy, dilated, hazy with his own unbridled enjoyment — and he lets his gaze do the talking that his occupied mouth can't: that making Tseng come is what he wants, that he wants to push him there, and the question in his eyes is: won't you let me?]
[ perhaps stupidly, it takes until that very moment—the moment that he sees rufus' shoulders shake with his own rush of desire—for tseng to realize that rufus is getting off on this too, that he's finding his own pleasure in tseng's. oh, maybe he had known it in some distant corner of his mind, but it's that electric shiver that runs through rufus that brings the knowledge to the forefront of tseng's mind. ]
Ah, fuck, [ tseng breathes out, wondering, the hot fizz of his impending orgasm beginning to creep its way up his spine. rufus' eyes are a maelstrom when they lock with tseng's, and there's an obvious ask in his expression, not quite a plea but not far off either; how could tseng do anything else? ] Fuck, Rufus—
[ rufus' hands are warm on his thigh, on his calf, and tseng is overcome. one hand reaches out abruptly to grip the edge of the counter behind him, and his fingers tighten in rufus' hair before he forces them to loosen, because in a moment he's going to lose his grip on his control and if rufus doesn't want to swallow, well—
and that's it. tseng's breath catches and then shudders into an emphatic moan as he comes, his cock throbbing against rufus' tongue as he spills hot and sticky into the warm cavern of his mouth. it should feel wrong, but instead all tseng can feel is pleasure and the bone-deep satisfaction of being gifted something he would never have allowed himself to reach for. ]
[He's ready for Tseng's orgasm when it comes, anticipating with every moment the flood of it into his mouth, which arguably has more to do with the pride of refusing to choke than anything to do with skill at the craft. Tseng's moan catches in his ears and he grasps his fingers firm around his leg, like he's holding on for stability's sake as his own vision narrows and all of his attention goes to the rush of heat spilling onto his tongue.
He catches it, and holds it, and leaves his eyes half-lidded as he sucks gently on Tseng's cock as if to coax out every last drop he can afford him, and then puts the figurative cherry atop his little performance by sliding off and opening his mouth just enough to let Tseng see the cum on his tongue before closing his lips and swallowing deliberately.
(It's hardly a delicacy. That's not going to stop him from acting like it, just this once; it is Tseng's belated birthday, after all.)
It's only once the hazy hypnosis of his little encore breaks that he really starts to notice anything outside the taste in his mouth and the heat in his cheeks — like the fact that his knees ache a little, or that hair has fallen across his nose and is sticking to his tacky lips and there's just a little sweat starting to bead on his forehead. Fuck, he's a mess. It's worth it, he decides, and makes no move to correct any of it.]
Mmh. You should tell me about your wildest dreams more often.
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he does, however, huff a laugh followed by a light, almost tentative tug to the hair at the nape of rufus' neck. it's soft, as it always is when rufus spends the night here, absent any kind of styling product when he doesn't need to play a role. ]
I am begging you not to mention your father or Verdot while we're kissing, [ tseng says, before he presses another kiss to rufus' mouth. even if he doesn't think he's fond of having parallels drawn between them, it certainly doesn't bother him enough to stop kissing rufus.
after a moment, tseng draws back and slowly lets go of rufus, aware as he is that he's interrupted the attempt at morning coffee. still, even when he goes, he doesn't go far, just sitting back down on his stool to continue watching rufus move around the kitchen, even more obviously this time. his hair is a little more disheveled, now, but tseng makes no move to tidy it. ]
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[Now there's a thought so incongruous it almost makes him laugh. There are many people in the world for whom it would be hyperbole to suggest that they would sooner cut off an arm than be caught begging; Tseng is one of the rare few for whom he'd actually believe it.
But luckily, he doesn't want to think about his father any more than Tseng does in a moment like this, save perhaps for the petty aside of considering how much the old man would roll in his grave to know what he was doing, inviting so much intimacy with a direct report. He almost, almost wishes his father were capable of knowing that Tseng has fucked him; curiously, he finds he's not nearly so eager to share the recognition of this.
Maybe it's just because he doesn't want to share Tseng with anyone, like this. That the world outside this suite can have him powerful and polished and perfect, and only Rufus gets to have him like this.
He can feel Tseng's eyes on him as he resumes his attempt at fixing his morning coffee, using the time and the excuse to keep his hands occupied to consider and take stock of his own feelings. His available options. His wants.]
Well. I imagine — [He begins a little deliberately, wrapping both hands around his coffee mug; the tone he chooses is as nonchalant as the gaze he levels at Tseng isn't.] — the president also wouldn't get on his knees for his director. And certainly not over breakfast.
[There's an offer there — implicit, but there, and he watches Tseng carefully for a signal.]
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but luckily, although it feels a little blasphemous to think it, the former president is six feet under and tseng no longer has to worry what he would think if he caught tseng's gaze lingering a little too long on rufus' mouth, the column of his throat, the glimpse of his collarbones visible through the neckline of his robe.
down to rufus' chest, and then up again. tseng's gaze is keen, fixed on rufus as he considers the implication, the offer—ramuh, tseng thinks his body might spontaneously combust. if not for the fact that he's already dressed, he suspects the twitch of his cock would be noticeable. ]
I see. [ it is likely clear from the way he holds himself that tseng is one long live wire of desire. ] And is Rufus going to get on his knees for Tseng, over breakfast?
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Not a bad way of starting a morning, if he does say so himself.]
If Tseng is willing to play along with something Rufus wants.
[He sips from his coffee, taking a long swallow that makes his throat pulse with it, fully aware that he's being watched in precisely that area of his body.]
Tseng needs to put his mouth to use, too. Saying things Rufus wants to hear.
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I'm beginning to think that Rufus might like making Tseng a little noisy, [ tseng says with a smirk that tugs at the corners of his lips. he hadn't said it to be funny—he was just trying to differentiate things that the president wouldn't do, but rufus would—but tseng likes making rufus laugh, and so he's more than willing to carry the humor along.
he shifts a little in his chair. spreads his thighs, so that the growing bulge of his cock pressing against the fly of his slacks is more obvious. ]
And what is it Rufus would like to hear?
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[He takes another drink of his coffee — one he knows will be his last for a while — and then comes around the counter properly, situating himself between Tseng's spread knees and resting his hands lightly on the tops of his thighs.
After a moment, he tilts his head and looks Tseng in the eyes, betraying just a hint of a look that suggests he's not quite as confident as he's pretending, even as he goes forward with his desires anyway.]
Praise.
[And he watches, carefully, before starting to sink down slowly to his knees, right there on the kitchen tile.]
If Tseng stops talking, Rufus stops sucking. At least, until he starts again. Mm?
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and if the kiss doesn't do it, then the way tseng's pupils dilate immediately when rufus sinks to his knees should tell on him instead. ramuh, he's something to look at, isn't he, between tseng's thighs like this—tseng reaches out on instinct to run his fingers through the soft fall of rufus' hair, mussing it a little. he never wears it up when he spends the night at tseng's, and despite himself tseng is beginning to think of this as a side of rufus that only he gets to see, even if he knows that might not be true. ]
Will you accept moans as well? [ tseng asks, abandoning the third-person but still very much participating in the easy back and forth. ] I'm not confident I'll be able to maintain my coherence the entire time.
[ not least of all because tseng has had fucking wet dreams about exactly this and he's not at all sure he'll be able to keep his shit together once rufus has his mouth on his cock. ]
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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.]
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Fuck, [ tseng breathes out. his hand stays where it is in rufus' hair, not to coax or to force him but rather to anchor tseng against the fact that he already feels half-insane and rufus hasn't even unzipped him yet. ] Then I suppose I'll just have to give you what you want.
[ and if that means copious praise and dirty talk before tseng inevitably loses the ability to speak in sentences at all, well, it would be genuinely tseng's pleasure. ]
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[The kitchen tile is more unyielding than carpet, not that even the plush carpet of other rooms in the Jack suite would be much of an improvement on his knees. If he weren't so caught up in the impromptu moment, in the aesthetic of what he's doing, he might make a note for himself to grab a throw pillow and ease the way, but such are the spoiled, pampered thoughts for a future Rufus to worry about.
Right now, he ignores the press of floor on his kneecaps, rising up a little for a better angle as he gets Tseng's pants unfastened and tugs the zipper down with hungry efficiency. Naturally he's seen Tseng's cock enough that he's familiar with it by now, but it's something of a different experience to have his face brought this close, to where he can appreciate its girth and its flush and the way it twitches and pulses beneath his attentions. He runs his fingers over it, not meaning to tease so much as just to find a satisfactory place to hold it near its base, and then leans forward to lick at the tip the same way he'd licked at Tseng's zipper shortly before.
This, at least, he's not as unfamiliar with as some of the other activities they've gotten up to. He'll do a reasonable job of it, and it's not as though tonguing at Tseng's leaking head is unpleasant, which is a welcome realization.]
Mmm. Whenever you're ready, then.
[He tosses Tseng another of his coquettish looks, letting his bangs and his long lashes frame the deep blue of his eyes as he waits poised just an inch from Tseng's waiting cock.]
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Believe me, I'm ready.
[ a significant glance down at his cock in rufus' hand, hard and flushed and straining in his grip. certainly tseng is ready, both for rufus' mouth on his cock and to praise him effusively once he begins. ]
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(Of course, that goes for both of them right now, doesn't it? When would he ever allow the outside world the chance to witness himself down on his knees?)
Rufus and Tseng, he thinks with a slow flush of pleasure as he parts his lips wider and closes the distance between his mouth and Tseng's cock, making a nice slow spectacle of it because he knows Tseng is watching, letting him see it go in and in before he finally clasps his mouth around it and gives it a slow suck.
That's what he gets, to begin with: nice, slow, easy suction with a little press of tongue to the underside. Then, just as languidly, he starts to bob his head a little — layering each new movement over the next, and not doing much to hide the fact that he's very clearly making this as much a show for Tseng's eyes as it is in service to his arousal.]
Mmm...
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tseng tips his head back a little and exhales a soft moan at the first touch of tongue to flesh. his hand flexes slightly in rufus' hair, although he doesn't grip, not yet; instead he just forces his chin down again so his gaze can come to rest on rufus once more, sharp, intent as he watches rufus' mouth move over his length in slow passes, leaving him wet and slick where he's been. ]
Fuck, [ tseng murmurs. this, he doesn't have to think about. praising rufus comes as easily as anything. ] You should see yourself like this, Rufus. You look like a fucking vision.
[ a particularly satisfying suck makes tseng's thighs jump, his cock twitching slightly. ]
I've thought about this, you know. How your mouth would feel on me.
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He'd thought, initially, that his pleasure in this would come from the reactions he would get, the satisfying triumph of having made Tseng unravel. But oddly, his thoughts aren't turning to plans and designs of things he wants to elicit; his mind is unusually quiet, content to just let the sound of Tseng's voice wash over him as his focus narrows down to the heat in his mouth and the rhythm of his own bobbing head.
One hand finds its way to Tseng's knee, fingers curling into the bunched fabric just from looking for something to hold on to; the other leaves the base of his cock to dip down further, searching out his balls to roll and palm at them as he starts to try taking Tseng's cock a little deeper.
In this, at least, he doesn't try to make a spectacle of himself; determined not to choke and embarrass himself, he makes his descent gradually, testing a little at a time before sliding back up to tease just at the head and afford himself a moment's breather before seeing how much he can take once again.]
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the pressure and sensation earns a low groan, a conscious expression of his pleasure. he'd told rufus he would have to accept moans as praise, and this is why—it's hard to string thoughts together into sentences when most of his attention is fixated on the way rufus' head bobs up and down over tseng's cock. ]
Mmh, just like that... that's good, you feel so good.
[ and he's taking it slowly, which is interesting but appreciated—rufus is ambitious in many things, but tseng would vastly prefer that he don't choke himself trying to deep-throat without adequate practice. ]
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He pulls off for just a second, wanting to catch a full breath but also wanting to tug Tseng's focus back to something he'd mentioned before.]
You thought about this?
[He licks his lips in a vain attempt to tidy up some of the saliva that's collected on them from his efforts, then bends to kiss at Tseng's cock to buy himself another moment of breath.]
Tell me. Was it like this?
[Prompt offered, he moves back up to the head and begins to take him in again, now more familiar with the proper angle for taking him deep and humming faintly while he descends.]
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No, [ tseng says, too fast and too honest but incapable of anything else when it's rufus doing the asking. he's only a man. he thinks he would give rufus anything, in this moment. ] In my wildest dreams it was never as good as this.
[ and then rufus goes down on him again, and tseng's stomach goes tight with the sensation, consumed once more by the wicked wet heat of rufus' tongue and the insides of his cheeks. he's good at this, or maybe he's just good at reading tseng, a thought that makes tseng feel a little insane as his hand flexes in rufus' hair and he fights not to pull. his thighs are tense, his toes curling against the tile of the kitchen floor. ]
Fuck, Rufus, [ tseng mutters, his voice taut, strained with pleasure and how hard he's having to work to keep himself away from the edge. ] Go—slow, fuck, slow down or I'm going to come.
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His shoulders shake, involuntarily, like his own body is left quaking just from trying to hold the arousal that floods him. It's so good he doesn't even want to reach for himself, doesn't want to satisfy it, not yet; he just wants to hold it and simmer in it and live in that moment of it, livewire-electrified on the sensation of being wanted.]
Mmmh —
[Up close like this, every tell might as well be outlined in neon: the tension on the strands of his hair that are woven through Tseng's fingers, the tight mass of firm muscle where Tseng's thighs bracket his head. Tseng can make himself a phantom when he wants to be, perfectly controlled, perfectly silent, perfectly unmoving. It's intoxicating to see him come alive like this, too overcome to suppress these things that reveal him as a warm and desperate man.
He runs his fingertips up and down Tseng's calf, as if in reassurance that his pleas for a slower pace have been heard — and thinks of his father's desk, of the foyer of this very suite, of how it'd felt to be on the receiving end of someone absolutely determined to make him come and, well, slow down or isn't the same thing as stop.
His eyes slide up to find Tseng's — stormy, dilated, hazy with his own unbridled enjoyment — and he lets his gaze do the talking that his occupied mouth can't: that making Tseng come is what he wants, that he wants to push him there, and the question in his eyes is: won't you let me?]
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Ah, fuck, [ tseng breathes out, wondering, the hot fizz of his impending orgasm beginning to creep its way up his spine. rufus' eyes are a maelstrom when they lock with tseng's, and there's an obvious ask in his expression, not quite a plea but not far off either; how could tseng do anything else? ] Fuck, Rufus—
[ rufus' hands are warm on his thigh, on his calf, and tseng is overcome. one hand reaches out abruptly to grip the edge of the counter behind him, and his fingers tighten in rufus' hair before he forces them to loosen, because in a moment he's going to lose his grip on his control and if rufus doesn't want to swallow, well—
and that's it. tseng's breath catches and then shudders into an emphatic moan as he comes, his cock throbbing against rufus' tongue as he spills hot and sticky into the warm cavern of his mouth. it should feel wrong, but instead all tseng can feel is pleasure and the bone-deep satisfaction of being gifted something he would never have allowed himself to reach for. ]
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He catches it, and holds it, and leaves his eyes half-lidded as he sucks gently on Tseng's cock as if to coax out every last drop he can afford him, and then puts the figurative cherry atop his little performance by sliding off and opening his mouth just enough to let Tseng see the cum on his tongue before closing his lips and swallowing deliberately.
(It's hardly a delicacy. That's not going to stop him from acting like it, just this once; it is Tseng's belated birthday, after all.)
It's only once the hazy hypnosis of his little encore breaks that he really starts to notice anything outside the taste in his mouth and the heat in his cheeks — like the fact that his knees ache a little, or that hair has fallen across his nose and is sticking to his tacky lips and there's just a little sweat starting to bead on his forehead. Fuck, he's a mess. It's worth it, he decides, and makes no move to correct any of it.]
Mmh. You should tell me about your wildest dreams more often.