[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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no subject
(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...
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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?]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.