Those things... they no longer exist. I grieved them and I moved forward in their absence. I don't wonder what it would have been like if things were different, because they aren't and they can never be.
What I do know is that the first time I came to see you on the Turks quarters during your house arrest, seeing your mind at work was like looking into the center of a star. I saw your drive and your ambition, and along with it your intelligence and the kindness you prefer no one believe you have at all. You have my loyalty and the loyalty of the Turks not because you demanded it or paid for it but because you earned it. How could I possibly regret that?
Everything you just articulated amounts to trading family for work. You lost people who, it can be assumed if only even statistically speaking, loved you. When you put it the way you just did, I'm not sure I am worth what you gave up to have me.
But I'm willing to consider the possibility that you might have reasons to omit...certain. Assumptions. That you might feel are too ambiguous to presume.
So my question is. Without bringing work into it. Am I an adequate...balance...for a lost family?
To be completely honest with you, Rufus, I don't know. I didn't give anything up, not intentionally--that life was taken from me. But I don't think it serves me, or anyone, to dwell on that, and the exercise doesn't seem meaningful when I don't even remember what it is I'd be losing.
What I do know is that on the balance, what I have now, with you, feels good and right, and that what I feel for you is meaningful enough to be fair to me. For however much that's worth.
I like that. You being completely honest with me. Not that I ever doubted it, just — I thought I should mention that.
[He text bubbles again, a bit.]
It's not the same, but. Being here, I find I don't always miss Midgar as much as I ought to. Because you're here. And I'd rather be here with you than there without you.
[ they've always been able to read each other's little tells; tseng finds that even in text, rufus' words say i love you, too almost as clearly as he ever might do aloud. ]
I'd like to believe that we'd figure it out there, too. Even if it took us a little longer.
And perhaps not in the same manner this all started. Given that it all started with you throwing caution to the wind and having me on my desk. Hardly unwelcome, by the way, but in Midgar there are cameras.
[And maybe that's just another of his little tells, that injection of gentle humor — less deflecting and more just the bashfulness of having been vulnerable, and being understood for it.]
I'm not. Seems my interview with the young hotshot has been canceled, so I'm wide open for you.
Shiva. Did I ever tell you I thought I was dreaming? I thought that for almost a full week until I saw you in the resort, flesh and blood.
[ tseng is relatively sure he's never admitted that to rufus before. not only that he thought he was dreaming, but that the prospect of a wet dream about his boss was welcome enough for tseng to lean into it the way he had. ]
I'll come to you, then. I'd like to make us drinks and then kiss you for a while.
Some of them. Others, you may have to pry from my cold dead hands.
[ that's not true, actually. tseng would tell rufus anything. but he likes the playfulness, the flirting. ]
I'll see you shortly.
[ and indeed, it doesn't take longer than a few minutes for tseng to leave his own suite and make his way to rufus'. the only delay is in retrieving the ingredients for drinks, as he'd promised to make—notably not the whiskey neat that rufus has always professed to like, but fruit juice and peach schnapps and vodka for something akin to the fun cocktails rufus used to drink before the world really sank its claws into him.
he knocks on rufus' door and then steps back, waiting to be let in, a small and unconscious smile settled on his face. ]
[This is the third suite door of Rufus's, now, that Tseng has found his way to since the former's arrival in the resort; tellingly, it's the first of any that Rufus has lived in where the opulence meets his subconscious expectations. Maybe that's why he makes such a stunning contrast to it all when he opens the door to greet Tseng, framed by walls of nearly-white lit with fixtures that cast a yellowy glow and a stunning marble floor inlaid with gold, but himself in a pair of pressed khaki slacks and a blue Oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow. Beside him, Darkstar lingers contentedly, vigilant but at ease from having already scented the visitor outside the doors; behind Rufus the penthouse seems to stretch on and on, with numerous doorways dotting the corridor that suggests a little manor all its own.
Leave it to the boy-king of Midgar to finally feel perfectly at ease in a palace like this. His eyes light up at the sight of Tseng on the other side of the doorway, less from any surprise at the visitor and more just from the pleasure of seeing him at all.]
My 4:00, I take it? Good, I had a cancellation. Disappointing, really; something must've scared my new recruit off.
[His smile widens, surprisingly warm; beside him, Darkstar jingles her collar softly, as pleased as Rufus to see her second-favorite person.]
I guess he just couldn't handle the pressure like you.
Oh, how disappointing, [ tseng says, completely deadpan, before he steps into the foyer of rufus' new suite and lets the door close behind him. his free hand comes up briefly to cup rufus' jaw, holding him in place for a brief kiss hello, and then when they pull apart tseng drops his hand to scratch behind darkstar's ears.
for a moment, he's struck by the magnitude of it all: everything that matters most to him in the world, right here in one room. tseng can take or leave the prestige of the shinra company and its aims toward total energy domination, but for the life of him he would never be able to give up the weight of rufus' affectionate gaze when it lands on him and lingers. ]
I brought liquor, [ tseng says once he's toed his shoes off. he lifts the back to demonstrate, making bottles clink lightly together. ] I hope you're in the mood for something sweet.
[There's easy bait for banter, there: something sweet like you?, he could reply, offhand and easy, and maybe they'd laugh or maybe they wouldn't. But he waits a little too long, dwelling over that impulsive thought, and the window closes before he can sneak in such a sly, opportunistic remark.
Curious, really. He's not usually so sluggish with his wit. Maybe he's just caught up in the memory of Tseng draped in swaths of silk and delicate chains, melting beneath the voyeuristic eye of a camera and the slow, possessive touch of his hands.]
...That sounds great.
[— is what he says instead, not nearly so clever as he might've otherwise been, but lightly earnest in its place, and he finds he doesn't altogether regret the substitution. Darkstar, too, regards them both for a moment before walking a single slow circle around them, as if determining for herself that her master is in sufficiently good hands before trotting off elsewhere within the ornate penthouse. Particularly sharp ears might catch a distant fwump of something heavy landing on thick cushions; in Rufus's penthouse, after all, there is no furniture where D isn't allowed.]
So, that bit about prying information from your cold dead hands. Would you say getting you drunk would be an adequate start?
[It's his turn, then, to move into Tseng's orbit and lean for a kiss, aimed not to land on his mouth proper but rather just at the corner of it, tempting and plying.]
Or I could offer you value in kind, if that's more enticing a proposition.
[ the distinctive sound of dog on furniture draws tseng's gaze briefly back into rufus' suite—that is certainly the kind of indulgence that tseng doesn't allow when rufus isn't around—but he's unwilling to leave rufus' side, and anyway he knows rufus will let darkstar do whatever she wants regardless. so after a second his attention slides back to rufus, just in time for his kiss to land softly against the corner of tseng's lips.
it's a quiet, tender gesture despite the playfulness of rufus' words, and it makes tseng smile a bit to himself as he lifts his free hand to rest briefly at rufus' waist. ]
I can neither confirm nor deny, [ tseng says, in his very best diplomatic tone, so exaggerated that rufus will certainly know he's joking. ] But it might be a start.
[ it would mark, tseng thinks, the first time he's ever been drunk around rufus. first time he's been drunk in a long time anyway, but least of all with rufus, whose safety tseng has always been charged with guarding. it would be inconceivable for tseng to allow himself to be incapacitated in any regard, were he still nothing more than a turk to the president and not in equal measure just tseng to just rufus, these days. ]
But if you're offering quid pro quo I won't decline that, either. Show me where you keep your glasses?
Edited (remembered the phrase i was looking for the instant i hit post) 2025-05-31 20:07 (UTC)
Then I suppose I better watch out, lest you try to get me drunk. You conniving thing.
[Joke received, and challenge accepted, in other words; for the briefest of moments, his arm goes around Tseng and his fingertips come to rest at the small of his back, the way that a bodyguard escort might rest a hand against their charge to guide them along a path. It's not a lengthy touch; his hand doesn't remain there for any duration. But it's a sweet touch nevertheless, and a possessive one, and an inviting one.
The inner workings of the penthouse prove just as elaborate as the view from the door; Rufus, having clearly spent enough time mapping out the environs to get his bearings (so as not to suffer the indignity of being lost in his own living space), leads them easily down a pristine hallway, past an atrium-style room that appears to be — of all bizarre things — a miniature personalized stretch of beach complete with mock-ocean — and into the room opposite the beach down the same hallway: a comfortable sort of recreational leisure room done up in blues and tans instead of stark white, with a full bar, a billiard table, and a range of seating from chairs to loveseats to divans.
He motions easily to the bartop, which is absent Rufus's usual touches of discarded half-drunk glasses or ignored napkins; evidently he hasn't used this room much since his ascension to the queen suite, though he's evidently aware of it.]
Take your pick. We could stay in here or go sit by the water — whichever you find more appealing.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
What I do know is that the first time I came to see you on the Turks quarters during your house arrest, seeing your mind at work was like looking into the center of a star. I saw your drive and your ambition, and along with it your intelligence and the kindness you prefer no one believe you have at all. You have my loyalty and the loyalty of the Turks not because you demanded it or paid for it but because you earned it. How could I possibly regret that?
no subject
Can I ask you something? I don't want to sound as though I doubt your position or your commitment to it.
no subject
no subject
But I'm willing to consider the possibility that you might have reasons to omit...certain. Assumptions. That you might feel are too ambiguous to presume.
So my question is. Without bringing work into it. Am I an adequate...balance...for a lost family?
no subject
What I do know is that on the balance, what I have now, with you, feels good and right, and that what I feel for you is meaningful enough to be fair to me. For however much that's worth.
no subject
[He text bubbles again, a bit.]
It's not the same, but. Being here, I find I don't always miss Midgar as much as I ought to. Because you're here. And I'd rather be here with you than there without you.
no subject
I'd like to believe that we'd figure it out there, too. Even if it took us a little longer.
Are you busy?
no subject
[And maybe that's just another of his little tells, that injection of gentle humor — less deflecting and more just the bashfulness of having been vulnerable, and being understood for it.]
I'm not. Seems my interview with the young hotshot has been canceled, so I'm wide open for you.
no subject
[ tseng is relatively sure he's never admitted that to rufus before. not only that he thought he was dreaming, but that the prospect of a wet dream about his boss was welcome enough for tseng to lean into it the way he had. ]
I'll come to you, then. I'd like to make us drinks and then kiss you for a while.
no subject
I'd like that. Maybe you can tell me more about your dreams of me while we're at it.
no subject
[ that's not true, actually. tseng would tell rufus anything. but he likes the playfulness, the flirting. ]
I'll see you shortly.
[ and indeed, it doesn't take longer than a few minutes for tseng to leave his own suite and make his way to rufus'. the only delay is in retrieving the ingredients for drinks, as he'd promised to make—notably not the whiskey neat that rufus has always professed to like, but fruit juice and peach schnapps and vodka for something akin to the fun cocktails rufus used to drink before the world really sank its claws into him.
he knocks on rufus' door and then steps back, waiting to be let in, a small and unconscious smile settled on his face. ]
no subject
Leave it to the boy-king of Midgar to finally feel perfectly at ease in a palace like this. His eyes light up at the sight of Tseng on the other side of the doorway, less from any surprise at the visitor and more just from the pleasure of seeing him at all.]
My 4:00, I take it? Good, I had a cancellation. Disappointing, really; something must've scared my new recruit off.
[His smile widens, surprisingly warm; beside him, Darkstar jingles her collar softly, as pleased as Rufus to see her second-favorite person.]
I guess he just couldn't handle the pressure like you.
no subject
for a moment, he's struck by the magnitude of it all: everything that matters most to him in the world, right here in one room. tseng can take or leave the prestige of the shinra company and its aims toward total energy domination, but for the life of him he would never be able to give up the weight of rufus' affectionate gaze when it lands on him and lingers. ]
I brought liquor, [ tseng says once he's toed his shoes off. he lifts the back to demonstrate, making bottles clink lightly together. ] I hope you're in the mood for something sweet.
no subject
Curious, really. He's not usually so sluggish with his wit. Maybe he's just caught up in the memory of Tseng draped in swaths of silk and delicate chains, melting beneath the voyeuristic eye of a camera and the slow, possessive touch of his hands.]
...That sounds great.
[— is what he says instead, not nearly so clever as he might've otherwise been, but lightly earnest in its place, and he finds he doesn't altogether regret the substitution. Darkstar, too, regards them both for a moment before walking a single slow circle around them, as if determining for herself that her master is in sufficiently good hands before trotting off elsewhere within the ornate penthouse. Particularly sharp ears might catch a distant fwump of something heavy landing on thick cushions; in Rufus's penthouse, after all, there is no furniture where D isn't allowed.]
So, that bit about prying information from your cold dead hands. Would you say getting you drunk would be an adequate start?
[It's his turn, then, to move into Tseng's orbit and lean for a kiss, aimed not to land on his mouth proper but rather just at the corner of it, tempting and plying.]
Or I could offer you value in kind, if that's more enticing a proposition.
no subject
it's a quiet, tender gesture despite the playfulness of rufus' words, and it makes tseng smile a bit to himself as he lifts his free hand to rest briefly at rufus' waist. ]
I can neither confirm nor deny, [ tseng says, in his very best diplomatic tone, so exaggerated that rufus will certainly know he's joking. ] But it might be a start.
[ it would mark, tseng thinks, the first time he's ever been drunk around rufus. first time he's been drunk in a long time anyway, but least of all with rufus, whose safety tseng has always been charged with guarding. it would be inconceivable for tseng to allow himself to be incapacitated in any regard, were he still nothing more than a turk to the president and not in equal measure just tseng to just rufus, these days. ]
But if you're offering quid pro quo I won't decline that, either. Show me where you keep your glasses?
no subject
[Joke received, and challenge accepted, in other words; for the briefest of moments, his arm goes around Tseng and his fingertips come to rest at the small of his back, the way that a bodyguard escort might rest a hand against their charge to guide them along a path. It's not a lengthy touch; his hand doesn't remain there for any duration. But it's a sweet touch nevertheless, and a possessive one, and an inviting one.
The inner workings of the penthouse prove just as elaborate as the view from the door; Rufus, having clearly spent enough time mapping out the environs to get his bearings (so as not to suffer the indignity of being lost in his own living space), leads them easily down a pristine hallway, past an atrium-style room that appears to be — of all bizarre things — a miniature personalized stretch of beach complete with mock-ocean — and into the room opposite the beach down the same hallway: a comfortable sort of recreational leisure room done up in blues and tans instead of stark white, with a full bar, a billiard table, and a range of seating from chairs to loveseats to divans.
He motions easily to the bartop, which is absent Rufus's usual touches of discarded half-drunk glasses or ignored napkins; evidently he hasn't used this room much since his ascension to the queen suite, though he's evidently aware of it.]
Take your pick. We could stay in here or go sit by the water — whichever you find more appealing.