[It's at the sight of his name, rendered casually in text, that it occurs to him that Tseng hasn't called him sir even once this whole conversation. And for all that the text is an echo of his own words — or a mirror, maybe, by design — it still makes a delicious sensation crawl over his skin, the kind that makes him draw his shoulders in and curl a touch as if to better hold it inside himself.
And it solidifies something about the thoughts he'd been mulling over, doesn't it? Because this is safe, too. Because this is safety like a first tentative step onto ice, gauging whether it will suffice to hold his weight. Because it's not so much that he ever thought he wasn't safe with Tseng, as just that he wasn't seeing the whole bounds of what that encompasses, always focused on how far it could take him but never so much on how deep.
Safe. Yes, he is. Wanted. Yes, bizarrely enough, he's that too.]
We should. Lucky thing I still have a few more questions.
Did you mean it when you said I was a gorgeous little slut?
[It's an invitation, by implication. His own way of conveying that there's safety for Tseng, too. That it goes both ways. That yes is an answer he can give to a question like that at all.]
[ it's not as easy for tseng to read rufus in text as it is in person, but he thinks he knows rufus well enough by now to understand that the question is an opening, not a trap. ]
[They've played this game before, in variations — usually when the House has brought Tseng's suit into play, or driven passions high in some other manner. This one is a new and compelling twist: doing it just because they feel like it, when the authority in Tseng's words is so familiar but his own decisions about balancing pushing back and giving way are novel ones.]
Do you want me to? Or would you like it better if I didn't?
[It's always easier to type things out than it is to muster the words to say them, particularly when they're ones that make him vulnerable. Writing can be revised and second-guessed and deleted in haste. Writing gives a level of plausible deniability if ever he needed one.
But it's safe. This is safe. And even if it's not, Tseng will make it so for him anyway. So maybe writing this out is just another permutation of what he's already been learning to do, letting things slip and be seen without having to think about fifty layers of ramifications.]
I would like to sit you down on one of those pristine couches of yours, fully dressed. I'd fix you a drink. I'd even bring a napkin so it wouldn't leave condensation marks on your tabletops. And then I'd ask if I'd been good enough to have my own seat in your lap. I hope you'd let me.
I'd like to talk while you finished your drink. I'd say how you know so many things I like but I know so little about yours in return. I'd say maybe you're just better at guessing than I am. I'd ask if you'd let me try to guess, and tell me if I got it right.
I'd wait while you sipped at your drink. I'd take it from you and sip it myself, and kiss you so you could drink from my mouth instead. I'd ask you if it tasted better that way. When we'd finished it together, I'd set it aside.
Then I'd ask you about what you'd called me, "gorgeous little slut". I'd ask which part of it turned you on the most. You could have all the little sluts you wanted, so am I just the most gorgeous? Or do you have plenty of gorgeous sluts, but I'm your favorite to be bigger than. Or is it just that you like that I'm a slut, and nobody else knows it but you.
If you said it was that I was a slut, then I'd be one for you, I'd rub on your lap until you were hard and then I'd take you out and sit back while I stroked you to finish, to see if when you came all over me you did it hard enough to get all the way up to my face. And if you said it was that I was gorgeous maybe I'd touch myself instead, right there on top of you, so you could look at my pretty face and know I was doing it for you.
And if you said it was that I was little, then maybe I'd call you daddy and like it.
[ sweet shiva. when tseng's phone buzzes several times in a row, he's expecting a fair bit of text, but he's not expecting something like—like this, an honest and explicit recounting of a very specific fantasy. serves tseng right, honestly, for asking a man like rufus to be exact.
the physical response is immediate: blood rushes to his cock so quickly it leaves him a little dizzy. quietly, into the otherwise still air of his suite, tseng whispers an emphatic fuck. ]
Mmm. The trouble is, Rufus, you make me greedy. Are you expecting that I might tell you it's just one of those things? Gorgeous, or little, or slutty?
What if I were to tell you I like all three of those things about you?
I want you to prepare yourself for me and sit on my cock so I can see that expression you make when you're stretched just right and perfectly full. I want you to touch yourself while I play with your chest, to get yourself close but never quite there. I can picture it, your cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. I want to tease you until you call me daddy and beg me to fuck you.
[ a picture message, then: tseng's very first dick pic, having pulled his hard length free of his slacks, his hand splayed at the base so rufus can see the full length of him, achingly hard and slick with precum at the tip. ]
Gorgeous little slut. I want you to touch yourself for me right now, baby. I don't care how, but I want you to tell me everything you're doing.
[He'd known, when he'd sent those texts, that the intention was to wind Tseng up — and also, on some level, to lightly gauge which of the scenarios he responded to best. Perhaps without even really intending to, gorgeous little slut had presented him with a means of testing three possibilities: something elegant and beautiful, something filthy, something soft.
Of course there'd always been the possibility that Tseng would take all of them. He just — he'd thought that last bit would prove to be a little too far, maybe, given everything. Maybe he'd thought Tseng wouldn't like it. Maybe he'd thought Tseng would think he wouldn't like it.
But then Tseng's responses come, and there's buzzing in his ears and blood in his cheeks, though the latter abruptly rushes southward when an image shows up.
For a few seconds, he just idles there on his own sofa, half-lounging with his feet kicked up over the armrest, and chews his lip as he reads Tseng's text again and again before typing out, in a brief display of proof he's actually paid attention in all their liaisons before this, a quick and hasty text.]
(i like this i don't want to stop)
[See? He's so well-behaved, making sure to articulate boundaries.]
Thank you for the picture. It looks nice in your hand. It'd look better in my mouth.
But since I can't have that then I'll have to just suck on my fingers instead. The ones on my off hand, so I can still type to you. I'm sure there's lube somewhere but I don't want to get up and you said right now, so I'll just have to get them wet enough like this. I'm licking around and between them, all over.
You remember what that felt like when I did it on you, don't you, daddy?
[ indeed, that little reassurance serves as proof that rufus is learning, little by little. articulating his wants, his boundaries. tseng would be proud, if he wasn't so busy being horny. ]
Of course I do. You have a filthy tongue, like you were made to suck cock. And you looked so good on your knees for me... We'll have to make time for that again soon. I miss feeling you choke on me.
[ that's a little test from tseng, in return. he doesn't actually want to make rufus choke on his dick, not unless rufus wants it, but will it be acceptable in the name of dirty talking?
also using his own off hand, tseng starts to stroke himself slowly, exhaling a slow breath as he tips his head back briefly against the sofa cushions before resuming his texting. ]
Are you going to finger yourself for me, baby?
daddy kink, dirty talk, sexting...it's basically a bingo in here
[What gives it away, of all things, is that subtle but ever-present undercurrent that this is safe. That he's safe with Tseng, even if he's not actively thinking about how or why. That his body knows it anyway. It's why when Tseng's filthy remark crosses just barely over the threshold of disbelief, Rufus clocks it for what it is — because he knows, deep down, that that's not something Tseng would ever really ask of him. Let him, maybe, but not ask for it.
So, they're treading further into the realm of outright fantasy, are they? Just saying things calculated to get each other off — a dangerous prospect, given how well they know each other. An unexpectedly fun one, too, he muses as he gets his trousers open and wriggled down just enough to make room to make good on his words.]
If you want me to. I want to be good.
[It's easier than it once was, working a careful finger inside himself. Not so long ago he wouldn't have thought it was something he wanted at all. Now he just finds himself wishing it was Tseng's hand instead.]
Want to get myself ready in case you decide to come fuck me after all.
I want you to. If you do, if you get yourself off for me, I'll come fuck you like you're imagining.
[ rufus isn't alone in wishing. even though the movements of his own hand slowly along his hard length feel good, they don't feel as good as it does when it's rufus touching him, when he can see rufus' face and taste the little noises he makes when tseng does something that he likes.
just like rufus, tseng wishes he were there to put his fingers inside rufus instead; he wishes rufus were here to put his hand around tseng's cock, maybe suck him off after. ]
Find your prostate and touch it. I want you to get yourself hard for me that way. You remember how I would do it, don't you? Gentle at first, then more and more until you're squirming and dripping wet.
[Fuck. He sends the message so quickly he doesn't even notice his own typos until after it's already gone, and by then he's well beyond caring. Lying on his back isn't very conducive to his efforts; fortunately, the couch is wide enough that he can turn onto his side comfortably, sending his loose hair cascading across his eyes as he settles his cheek on the cushion and focuses on the directions he's been given.
It's better when it's Tseng, more artful and also with somewhat less wrist cramping as he shifts and squirms into a position that will serve. It also means it takes him a little longer to do as he's told than he likes, experimenting with depth and angle until at last a sudden flood of pleasure makes him jolt, teeth sinking into his lip as his eyes go half-lidded of their own volition.
His texting arm trembling, he bats ineffectually at the menus until he finds the ability to take a photo, positioning it to frame himself from the shoulders up: curled in on himself, hair askance, pupils dilating, lip bitten red.
He pushes his fingertip against his prostate, and a moment later shoves his thumb against the photo capture button.]
im doing it. For you ,see?
[He sends the text with his picture attached, then drops his watch and closes his eyes, intent on touching himself until he hears it chime again.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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And it solidifies something about the thoughts he'd been mulling over, doesn't it? Because this is safe, too. Because this is safety like a first tentative step onto ice, gauging whether it will suffice to hold his weight. Because it's not so much that he ever thought he wasn't safe with Tseng, as just that he wasn't seeing the whole bounds of what that encompasses, always focused on how far it could take him but never so much on how deep.
Safe. Yes, he is. Wanted. Yes, bizarrely enough, he's that too.]
We should. Lucky thing I still have a few more questions.
Did you mean it when you said I was a gorgeous little slut?
[It's an invitation, by implication. His own way of conveying that there's safety for Tseng, too. That it goes both ways. That yes is an answer he can give to a question like that at all.]
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Oh, wholeheartedly.
Did you like hearing that?
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Yes. All of it, every part.
Although...
[He prompts, clearly wanting the subject pressed further.]
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At least, not as much as I could have.
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Can I?
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You're right. I did mean "may".
[And, well. He's in it this far, he might as well go all in.]
I'm sorry I misspoke. Don't be mad.
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You're forgiven, this time. Are you going to behave?
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Do you want me to? Or would you like it better if I didn't?
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You do want me to behave. And you do like it better when I don't.
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Where are you?
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I wish I was in yours.
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But it's safe. This is safe. And even if it's not, Tseng will make it so for him anyway. So maybe writing this out is just another permutation of what he's already been learning to do, letting things slip and be seen without having to think about fifty layers of ramifications.]
I would like to sit you down on one of those pristine couches of yours, fully dressed. I'd fix you a drink. I'd even bring a napkin so it wouldn't leave condensation marks on your tabletops. And then I'd ask if I'd been good enough to have my own seat in your lap. I hope you'd let me.
I'd like to talk while you finished your drink. I'd say how you know so many things I like but I know so little about yours in return. I'd say maybe you're just better at guessing than I am. I'd ask if you'd let me try to guess, and tell me if I got it right.
I'd wait while you sipped at your drink. I'd take it from you and sip it myself, and kiss you so you could drink from my mouth instead. I'd ask you if it tasted better that way. When we'd finished it together, I'd set it aside.
Then I'd ask you about what you'd called me, "gorgeous little slut". I'd ask which part of it turned you on the most. You could have all the little sluts you wanted, so am I just the most gorgeous? Or do you have plenty of gorgeous sluts, but I'm your favorite to be bigger than. Or is it just that you like that I'm a slut, and nobody else knows it but you.
If you said it was that I was a slut, then I'd be one for you, I'd rub on your lap until you were hard and then I'd take you out and sit back while I stroked you to finish, to see if when you came all over me you did it hard enough to get all the way up to my face. And if you said it was that I was gorgeous maybe I'd touch myself instead, right there on top of you, so you could look at my pretty face and know I was doing it for you.
And if you said it was that I was little, then maybe I'd call you daddy and like it.
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the physical response is immediate: blood rushes to his cock so quickly it leaves him a little dizzy. quietly, into the otherwise still air of his suite, tseng whispers an emphatic fuck. ]
Mmm. The trouble is, Rufus, you make me greedy. Are you expecting that I might tell you it's just one of those things? Gorgeous, or little, or slutty?
What if I were to tell you I like all three of those things about you?
I want you to prepare yourself for me and sit on my cock so I can see that expression you make when you're stretched just right and perfectly full. I want you to touch yourself while I play with your chest, to get yourself close but never quite there. I can picture it, your cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. I want to tease you until you call me daddy and beg me to fuck you.
[ a picture message, then: tseng's very first dick pic, having pulled his hard length free of his slacks, his hand splayed at the base so rufus can see the full length of him, achingly hard and slick with precum at the tip. ]
Gorgeous little slut. I want you to touch yourself for me right now, baby. I don't care how, but I want you to tell me everything you're doing.
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Of course there'd always been the possibility that Tseng would take all of them. He just — he'd thought that last bit would prove to be a little too far, maybe, given everything. Maybe he'd thought Tseng wouldn't like it. Maybe he'd thought Tseng would think he wouldn't like it.
But then Tseng's responses come, and there's buzzing in his ears and blood in his cheeks, though the latter abruptly rushes southward when an image shows up.
For a few seconds, he just idles there on his own sofa, half-lounging with his feet kicked up over the armrest, and chews his lip as he reads Tseng's text again and again before typing out, in a brief display of proof he's actually paid attention in all their liaisons before this, a quick and hasty text.]
(i like this i don't want to stop)
[See? He's so well-behaved, making sure to articulate boundaries.]
Thank you for the picture. It looks nice in your hand. It'd look better in my mouth.
But since I can't have that then I'll have to just suck on my fingers instead. The ones on my off hand, so I can still type to you. I'm sure there's lube somewhere but I don't want to get up and you said right now, so I'll just have to get them wet enough like this. I'm licking around and between them, all over.
You remember what that felt like when I did it on you, don't you, daddy?
honestly cw daddy kink the whole way down
Of course I do. You have a filthy tongue, like you were made to suck cock. And you looked so good on your knees for me... We'll have to make time for that again soon. I miss feeling you choke on me.
[ that's a little test from tseng, in return. he doesn't actually want to make rufus choke on his dick, not unless rufus wants it, but will it be acceptable in the name of dirty talking?
also using his own off hand, tseng starts to stroke himself slowly, exhaling a slow breath as he tips his head back briefly against the sofa cushions before resuming his texting. ]
Are you going to finger yourself for me, baby?
daddy kink, dirty talk, sexting...it's basically a bingo in here
So, they're treading further into the realm of outright fantasy, are they? Just saying things calculated to get each other off — a dangerous prospect, given how well they know each other. An unexpectedly fun one, too, he muses as he gets his trousers open and wriggled down just enough to make room to make good on his words.]
If you want me to. I want to be good.
[It's easier than it once was, working a careful finger inside himself. Not so long ago he wouldn't have thought it was something he wanted at all. Now he just finds himself wishing it was Tseng's hand instead.]
Want to get myself ready in case you decide to come fuck me after all.
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[ rufus isn't alone in wishing. even though the movements of his own hand slowly along his hard length feel good, they don't feel as good as it does when it's rufus touching him, when he can see rufus' face and taste the little noises he makes when tseng does something that he likes.
just like rufus, tseng wishes he were there to put his fingers inside rufus instead; he wishes rufus were here to put his hand around tseng's cock, maybe suck him off after. ]
Find your prostate and touch it. I want you to get yourself hard for me that way. You remember how I would do it, don't you? Gentle at first, then more and more until you're squirming and dripping wet.
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[Fuck. He sends the message so quickly he doesn't even notice his own typos until after it's already gone, and by then he's well beyond caring. Lying on his back isn't very conducive to his efforts; fortunately, the couch is wide enough that he can turn onto his side comfortably, sending his loose hair cascading across his eyes as he settles his cheek on the cushion and focuses on the directions he's been given.
It's better when it's Tseng, more artful and also with somewhat less wrist cramping as he shifts and squirms into a position that will serve. It also means it takes him a little longer to do as he's told than he likes, experimenting with depth and angle until at last a sudden flood of pleasure makes him jolt, teeth sinking into his lip as his eyes go half-lidded of their own volition.
His texting arm trembling, he bats ineffectually at the menus until he finds the ability to take a photo, positioning it to frame himself from the shoulders up: curled in on himself, hair askance, pupils dilating, lip bitten red.
He pushes his fingertip against his prostate, and a moment later shoves his thumb against the photo capture button.]
im doing it. For you ,see?
[He sends the text with his picture attached, then drops his watch and closes his eyes, intent on touching himself until he hears it chime again.]
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