[ 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.
[ as they make their way through the cavernous expanse of rufus' queen suite—which, in turn, forces tseng to confront exactly how expansive his own queen suite must be—tseng doesn't hide the way he looks around, noting the differences between this space and rufus' previous residences. although it's clear that rufus hasn't touched every corner of it yet, there are already some changes that seem to suit him better—a little bit of personality shining through, in a new and interesting way. ]
We can sit on... the beach, [ tseng says with a hint of bemusement that belies how funny he finds it to have an entire-ass beach inside. although then again he has an entire forest in his suite, so maybe he's not in a position to judge. ] I haven't been since the last time I was in Costa del Sol.
[ which was many years ago, during rufus' house arrest, so tseng doesn't expect him to know what tseng is talking about. he'll explain if asked, but it doesn't really matter—the principle of the thing is getting to relax, have a drink, be themselves for a little while.
tseng sets his bag of ingredients on the bar and unpacks them one by one, then sets about mixing their drinks. the presence of a beach is an unexpected boon, because the recipe he uses is one that's fruity and a little tart, definitely more of a paper-umbrella-in-the-glass type of drink than something serious and refined. still good, though, at least he hopes.
when he's poured one, tseng hands it over to rufus. ]
[When Tseng decides on the beach as their settling place of choice, Rufus grins, then makes a show of looking Tseng up and down, his eyes alight with mischief. There's plenty he wants to probe at, of course, but he knows them both well enough that if they descend into conversation now, they'll both just end up settling here in the room with the bar rather than making it to their ultimate destination, and the prospect of Tseng on the beach is far, far too delightful to ignore.
Not least of which because of what happened the last time they were on a beach together. Hmm.
So he takes his drink when he's offered it, still full of mirth, then sips it delightedly. The sweet tropical flavors remind him of how he'd drink these when he was young, and the nostalgia is certainly playing a role in his mood now.]
You can't go on the beach dressed like that.
[Says Rufus, who looks breezy and light and would fit in perfectly on one, bastard that he is.]
This is perfect for me; yours needs a touch more triple sec and a dash less grenadine. I'll go find you a swimsuit while you finish up here.
[He's so cheerfully amused, it's almost hard to fault him his teasing. Well, if you're in love with him, that is, but you know.]
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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.
no subject
We can sit on... the beach, [ tseng says with a hint of bemusement that belies how funny he finds it to have an entire-ass beach inside. although then again he has an entire forest in his suite, so maybe he's not in a position to judge. ] I haven't been since the last time I was in Costa del Sol.
[ which was many years ago, during rufus' house arrest, so tseng doesn't expect him to know what tseng is talking about. he'll explain if asked, but it doesn't really matter—the principle of the thing is getting to relax, have a drink, be themselves for a little while.
tseng sets his bag of ingredients on the bar and unpacks them one by one, then sets about mixing their drinks. the presence of a beach is an unexpected boon, because the recipe he uses is one that's fruity and a little tart, definitely more of a paper-umbrella-in-the-glass type of drink than something serious and refined. still good, though, at least he hopes.
when he's poured one, tseng hands it over to rufus. ]
Let me know if it's any good.
no subject
Not least of which because of what happened the last time they were on a beach together. Hmm.
So he takes his drink when he's offered it, still full of mirth, then sips it delightedly. The sweet tropical flavors remind him of how he'd drink these when he was young, and the nostalgia is certainly playing a role in his mood now.]
You can't go on the beach dressed like that.
[Says Rufus, who looks breezy and light and would fit in perfectly on one, bastard that he is.]
This is perfect for me; yours needs a touch more triple sec and a dash less grenadine. I'll go find you a swimsuit while you finish up here.
[He's so cheerfully amused, it's almost hard to fault him his teasing. Well, if you're in love with him, that is, but you know.]