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