[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.]
[ for a moment tseng finds himself knocked breathless by the image of rufus that comes attached to his latest text. he looks wrecked—flushed feverish, his pupils blown, brows drawn together in the expression of pleasure that means he's doing as tseng told him to do, his fingers buried inside himself even if tseng can't see them. it takes all of tseng's willpower to hold himself back, too, his fist continuing to move steadily along his length despite the churning desire in the pit of his stomach.
he doesn't send back a picture just yet. instead, tseng memorizes every inch of rufus', and then sends back a message of his own. ]
Gorgeous. Keep going, baby. Think about my fingers. Think about me holding you down and eating you out until you come.
[Fuck, he needs — he's not wet enough to imagine that, fuck, he should've made the effort to find the lube after all, could've gotten himself so slick and dripping if he had but he didn't, and it makes him bite at his forearm from the need to feel his teeth around something, working his fingers harder inside him as if to take out his frustrations on his own body. He presses his knees together, squirming, and when a dribble of pre starts to pool on the inside of his thigh, it doesn't take long before an alternative solution presents itself, and he pauses in his efforts only long enough to stroke himself firmly instead, collecting as much as he can before moving the pads of his fingers back to circle his entrance.
Now it's slick, and cool, and with his eyes closed he can call up images of that day on the beach, bent over his father's desk, the way that Tseng's tongue had dragged against the sweat beading on his back only now it's lower, it's pushing inside and oh, fuck, it's so good.]
il ovvvvv e it
[He's pushing himself too hard, maybe — harder than Tseng would, he suspects, when Tseng is always so careful and gentle with him — but that's a problem for a later Rufus, surely.]
myyyy dsek i wanttti t on my des k on his des k;;;;
[ a mixed blessing: tseng would be proud of rufus' resourcefulness, but indeed would also be gentler, were it him with his fingers in rufus' ass instead. but he isn't there and he doesn't know, and he's also busy imagining how it would feel to hold rufus down on his belly and eat his ass, so suffice to say he's a little distracted.
not too distracted to read the text, though, and to understand that the incoherence means rufus is close, that he's being obedient the way tseng told him to. fuck, but the idea of rufus' obedience gets tseng so hard, makes his cock twitch and makes him have to let go of it for a moment to avoid spilling too soon. ]
Oh, you pretty little whore. [ shiva, tseng is so fucking thankful for spellcheck and autocorrect. ] You want me to fuck you on your father's desk? You want to make sure he knows you have another man you call daddy now?
[His watch chimes; he forces his eyes open to look at it and the first five words of Tseng's message crash over him like a wave, electric enough in and of themselves that he has to close them again just to tremble through them. Pretty little whore isn't, on its face, so very different than gorgeous little slut, but there's something in the subtle connotations that makes it feel just new enough to have him shaking. It twinges against some old, deep-seated resentment, some long-engraved insecurity: his father's always-inadequate son, only worthwhile for being a warm body that carried his name, finding use in being a warm body in a very different fashion.
He should hate that, and if it were anyone else, he might. But Tseng tells him and tells him, unfailing, that he is better than the old man ever recognized, that he has value just as himself — and maybe that's what makes it so transgressively decadent, to spend a little while as a Shinra whore instead of as Rufus.
Yes, his father would hate it. His father would loathe every bit of this. And that's what makes it all the better when he looks at his watch again and the second half crashes over him all over again, the temptation of rendering his father just as irrelevant in exchange, oh, fuck, oh fuck —
He really, genuinely, doesn't want to think about his father in a moment like this. Not at any real length. But as a kink, just for that lightning jolt of spite? Fuck, it's so good.]
who neeeds himm
[He shifts a little, the pace of his fingers easing off in favor of maintaining steady, solid pressure on his prostate instead, prolonging the buzz while he makes his fingers behave as well as he's behaving for Tseng.]
who needs h im when i have you?
[And saying that feels so strangely good, so oddly warm, that he almost doesn't want to chase it with one more message, but he can't be good if he doesn't, so he makes himself.]
[ it was tseng who once begged rufus not to talk about his father or heidegger while they're kissing, and now it's tseng who invokes the old man's name of his own free will in the name of getting them both off. because make no mistake, it does get tseng off, turns him on far more than he ever thought it might to think about fucking rufus on the remains of his father's empire and rendering the late president shinra utterly irrelevant in the process.
he means it, of course, every word. not the bit about calling him daddy—well, truthfully he means that too—but every time he's ever told rufus, emphatic and sincere, that he is more and better, incredible beyond what his father had the capacity to recognize. he would mean it even if it didn't lead to moments like these, when rufus texts him back, a first message that makes tseng's stomach clench for its transgression, followed by a second message that hits him like a thundaga spell to the chest.
his orgasm, then, takes him by surprise. he'd been so careful, coaxing himself to the edge without letting himself fall, but the pleasure of the sentiment—in particular the last bit—is too much for tseng to bear. he feels the beginnings of his climax flare hot and urgent in his belly and strokes himself once, twice, three times before it crests, washing over him in a flood so powerful it feels like being pulled under, swept away.
when he regains his senses, it's to a mess in his hand, and the first thing tseng does is take a picture. his cock, still hard, and his cum all over his palm, dripping down to stain the black fabric of his slacks. ]
[More and more, he's coming to realize that he likes it when Tseng comes first. Mostly it's for the novelty — Tseng always seems to make it such a particular point to get him off frequently and thoroughly — but a little bit for the pride of it, too. It feels good, somehow, to care about that. He's always been one to prefer letting his actions speak for themselves; it's nice to be able to show that he cares about Tseng's pleasure just as much as his own.
So it hits him in a rush, then, when that picture comes through, the ache of as-yet-unsatisfied arousal enhanced by the pride of having made Tseng climax evidently even without being in his proximity, by word and static image and fantasy alone. It makes him moan softly into his arm, but he's good, he's good, he's so good —
Until Tseng tells him what he wants, and those three words on his watch prove enough to tip him over the edge.
It's an odd sensation, coming from only his fingers and his fantasies — unexpectedly intense, and rolling through his body in waves that make his muscles clench and coil tight. He misses the firm grip of a fist around his cock, a little, but it's too overwhelming to even consider trying to do something about it as he trembles and gasps until the deluge subsides.
Climax saps the strength from him, leaves him limp and panting with heat radiating off his skin, and he lies there awhile until he can manage to get his fingers out of himself and use the clean ones to reach for his watch, thumbing on the audio because he knows he's too hopeless to type.]
Tseng...
[He just breathes a little while, while his heart pounds in his chest, his mind curiously blank because all the ten thousand implications and ramifications of what they've just done haven't yet had the chance to catch up.]
Talk to — let me hear you.
[He swallows hard, feeling that odd deep drowsiness settling around himself, and thinks, this is safe. This is good. This is safe. Push. It's fine. It's safe.]
[ the switch to audio is welcome, because tseng doesn't think his fingers are going to be able to manage typing right now. anything that requires fine motor control seems beyond his grasp, but he can at least sink back against the couch and speak to the empty air of his suite, letting the watch pick up the rustle of fabric as well as the heavy satisfaction in tseng's voice. ]
Good boy, baby. [ the praise is low, warm, rich. meant wholeheartedly, too, because it isn't always like rufus to be so obedient, but when he's in the mood for it it's a real delight. ] You did so well. Do you feel good?
[ his own breathing is still a little harsh, particularly in the otherwise quiet room, but tseng doesn't try to control it. he wants rufus to be able to hear the way he affects tseng, even with all this distance in between them. the mess in his hand is slowly cooling and he'll need to get up to clean it soon, but for now it can wait, put to the side to focus instead of the rasp of rufus' voice and the way he's still seeking tseng's reassurance. ]
[He didn't even have to ask for it, is the thing. Once, he would've — well, not had to ask, but would've felt like he needed to, rather. Wouldn't have trusted, somehow, that he would get something he didn't earn, would be given something he didn't ask for. But he doesn't need to ask Tseng to tell him he did well, to praise him. He's safe, and it does feel so good.
It's strangely nice just to hear Tseng's voice, though. Like stroking his hand down Darkstar's spine, hearing the jingle of her collar as reassurance of her proximity. He really could've been happy just listening to Tseng talk to him about anything. The praise just makes it all the better.]
Yeah...
[Tired, undoubtedly, but being worn out feels good, too.]
[ that touch of exhaustion is audible in rufus' voice, the post-orgasmic lassitude beginning to settle in. it makes him smile slightly, pleased by the realization that he can recognize even that tone. ]
Of course we can.
[ as much as tseng says it to reassure, he also says it because it's true. it both is and isn't part of their play—tseng in his role as dominant reassuring his submissive, but also just tseng, reassuring just rufus, that they can have whatever they want, whenever they want it.
he stirs a little and reaches for the tissues, using them to clean up his hand, at least for now. ]
[It's nice when all of Tseng's questions are so easy. Later, it'll occur to him that it's less about the questions themselves and more about how he feels eerily pliant like this, unusually agreeable and willing to let the flow of things carry him along —
Dangerous. That would be dangerous, if he weren't safe, if it weren't Tseng.
He yawns, not really caring that it's undignified to do it right into the microphone of his watch, and contemplates distantly how nice it feels to just hold very, very still and not move at all.]
Soon. But just talk to me for right now.
[He'll want more soon, because he always wants more, because it's who he is and he's not ashamed of it — but right now he just wants to lie here and listen to Tseng's smooth voice washing over him, and that's enough. It's enough.]
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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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he doesn't send back a picture just yet. instead, tseng memorizes every inch of rufus', and then sends back a message of his own. ]
Gorgeous. Keep going, baby. Think about my fingers. Think about me holding you down and eating you out until you come.
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Now it's slick, and cool, and with his eyes closed he can call up images of that day on the beach, bent over his father's desk, the way that Tseng's tongue had dragged against the sweat beading on his back only now it's lower, it's pushing inside and oh, fuck, it's so good.]
il ovvvvv e it
[He's pushing himself too hard, maybe — harder than Tseng would, he suspects, when Tseng is always so careful and gentle with him — but that's a problem for a later Rufus, surely.]
myyyy dsek i wanttti t on my des k on his des k;;;;
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not too distracted to read the text, though, and to understand that the incoherence means rufus is close, that he's being obedient the way tseng told him to. fuck, but the idea of rufus' obedience gets tseng so hard, makes his cock twitch and makes him have to let go of it for a moment to avoid spilling too soon. ]
Oh, you pretty little whore. [ shiva, tseng is so fucking thankful for spellcheck and autocorrect. ] You want me to fuck you on your father's desk? You want to make sure he knows you have another man you call daddy now?
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He should hate that, and if it were anyone else, he might. But Tseng tells him and tells him, unfailing, that he is better than the old man ever recognized, that he has value just as himself — and maybe that's what makes it so transgressively decadent, to spend a little while as a Shinra whore instead of as Rufus.
Yes, his father would hate it. His father would loathe every bit of this. And that's what makes it all the better when he looks at his watch again and the second half crashes over him all over again, the temptation of rendering his father just as irrelevant in exchange, oh, fuck, oh fuck —
He really, genuinely, doesn't want to think about his father in a moment like this. Not at any real length. But as a kink, just for that lightning jolt of spite? Fuck, it's so good.]
who neeeds himm
[He shifts a little, the pace of his fingers easing off in favor of maintaining steady, solid pressure on his prostate instead, prolonging the buzz while he makes his fingers behave as well as he's behaving for Tseng.]
who needs h im when i have you?
[And saying that feels so strangely good, so oddly warm, that he almost doesn't want to chase it with one more message, but he can't be good if he doesn't, so he makes himself.]
clo se
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he means it, of course, every word. not the bit about calling him daddy—well, truthfully he means that too—but every time he's ever told rufus, emphatic and sincere, that he is more and better, incredible beyond what his father had the capacity to recognize. he would mean it even if it didn't lead to moments like these, when rufus texts him back, a first message that makes tseng's stomach clench for its transgression, followed by a second message that hits him like a thundaga spell to the chest.
his orgasm, then, takes him by surprise. he'd been so careful, coaxing himself to the edge without letting himself fall, but the pleasure of the sentiment—in particular the last bit—is too much for tseng to bear. he feels the beginnings of his climax flare hot and urgent in his belly and strokes himself once, twice, three times before it crests, washing over him in a flood so powerful it feels like being pulled under, swept away.
when he regains his senses, it's to a mess in his hand, and the first thing tseng does is take a picture. his cock, still hard, and his cum all over his palm, dripping down to stain the black fabric of his slacks. ]
Come for me.
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So it hits him in a rush, then, when that picture comes through, the ache of as-yet-unsatisfied arousal enhanced by the pride of having made Tseng climax evidently even without being in his proximity, by word and static image and fantasy alone. It makes him moan softly into his arm, but he's good, he's good, he's so good —
Until Tseng tells him what he wants, and those three words on his watch prove enough to tip him over the edge.
It's an odd sensation, coming from only his fingers and his fantasies — unexpectedly intense, and rolling through his body in waves that make his muscles clench and coil tight. He misses the firm grip of a fist around his cock, a little, but it's too overwhelming to even consider trying to do something about it as he trembles and gasps until the deluge subsides.
Climax saps the strength from him, leaves him limp and panting with heat radiating off his skin, and he lies there awhile until he can manage to get his fingers out of himself and use the clean ones to reach for his watch, thumbing on the audio because he knows he's too hopeless to type.]
Tseng...
[He just breathes a little while, while his heart pounds in his chest, his mind curiously blank because all the ten thousand implications and ramifications of what they've just done haven't yet had the chance to catch up.]
Talk to — let me hear you.
[He swallows hard, feeling that odd deep drowsiness settling around himself, and thinks, this is safe. This is good. This is safe. Push. It's fine. It's safe.]
Daddy, please.
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Good boy, baby. [ the praise is low, warm, rich. meant wholeheartedly, too, because it isn't always like rufus to be so obedient, but when he's in the mood for it it's a real delight. ] You did so well. Do you feel good?
[ his own breathing is still a little harsh, particularly in the otherwise quiet room, but tseng doesn't try to control it. he wants rufus to be able to hear the way he affects tseng, even with all this distance in between them. the mess in his hand is slowly cooling and he'll need to get up to clean it soon, but for now it can wait, put to the side to focus instead of the rasp of rufus' voice and the way he's still seeking tseng's reassurance. ]
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It's strangely nice just to hear Tseng's voice, though. Like stroking his hand down Darkstar's spine, hearing the jingle of her collar as reassurance of her proximity. He really could've been happy just listening to Tseng talk to him about anything. The praise just makes it all the better.]
Yeah...
[Tired, undoubtedly, but being worn out feels good, too.]
We can do this again...right? More of this?
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Of course we can.
[ as much as tseng says it to reassure, he also says it because it's true. it both is and isn't part of their play—tseng in his role as dominant reassuring his submissive, but also just tseng, reassuring just rufus, that they can have whatever they want, whenever they want it.
he stirs a little and reaches for the tissues, using them to clean up his hand, at least for now. ]
Still want me to come over?
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[It's nice when all of Tseng's questions are so easy. Later, it'll occur to him that it's less about the questions themselves and more about how he feels eerily pliant like this, unusually agreeable and willing to let the flow of things carry him along —
Dangerous. That would be dangerous, if he weren't safe, if it weren't Tseng.
He yawns, not really caring that it's undignified to do it right into the microphone of his watch, and contemplates distantly how nice it feels to just hold very, very still and not move at all.]
Soon. But just talk to me for right now.
[He'll want more soon, because he always wants more, because it's who he is and he's not ashamed of it — but right now he just wants to lie here and listen to Tseng's smooth voice washing over him, and that's enough. It's enough.]