[ it's not an explanation, but it is enough information in those four short sentences that tseng can piece together bits of what's going on. something has clearly come over rufus, and whatever it is, he doesn't feel safe leaving himself out here exposed to all these strangers—whether it's an aphrodisiac or something else entirely tseng doesn't know, although he thinks he might be able to guess based on that last set of instructions. ]
Yes, sir.
[ tseng steps slightly to the side to allow rufus to slide out of his seat. his hand shifts from rufus' elbow to his back, where tseng keeps it pressed possessively as they walk—it allows him to obey the don't let go directive, but also keeps him close to rufus and a step behind, which is where he's best situated to keep rufus safe. old habits, and all.
the trip through the casino floor is a bit of a minefield, in terms of people milling about, but whether it's pure chance or the thunderstorm expression on tseng's face, fortunately none of them make a point of approaching. it's only when they reach the elevators up to the penthouse levels that tseng finally relaxes infinitesimally, although he keeps close to rufus and doesn't let his hand slip from rufus' waist where it's come to rest. ]
Okay? [ tseng asks, his voice pitched low enough that only rufus will hear. it is, as always, a shift in tone from turk-and-president to tseng-and-rufus, asking for a slightly more honest status update from rufus than the pointed orders he's received until now.
or maybe what rufus wants is the turk-and-president dynamic, right now, and in that case his response will tell tseng all he needs to know. ]
[Tseng's so attractive when he's protective. It's a thought he can't get out of his head for the whole duration of the walk to the elevators — oh, he's always been conscious of how much he enjoys it on an objective, rational level, but right now it's striking him on a deeper, primal one. He's so good. So loyal. All he has to do is ask and Tseng will bend the world to his will.
(It doesn't escape his notice either, however belatedly, that the active verb in that recognition is ask. It's better when it's because he asked. It means it's because it's him.)
And it shows in the instant the elevator doors close, finally affording them — if not privacy outright, then at least security from the possibility that one of the passerby might touch him without authorization, and without hesitation he sags against Tseng and buries his face in the crook of his neck and just sighs with his whole chest from the relief of having him close.]
Now I am.
[He wasn't before. He is now. How could he not be, when Tseng is so close, when he has his hands on him where they belong?]
I need something crazy. I know it's crazy. You don't have to agree.
[Also a pretty good tell that he's not speaking as the president of Shinra right now, for whom no idea is crazy and everything he wants is correct and his Turks would never even think of disagreeing.]
Damn it. You're so — feels good when you take care of me, Tseng, don't stop —
[ it is telling indeed. the fact that rufus so clearly isn't acting in his capacity as the president of shinra is what gives tseng permission for what he does next: as the elevator begins to climb, he uses his grip on rufus' waist to press him gently back against one of the elevator walls, then cages rufus back against it with his own body, hands cupping rufus' face and broad shoulders shielding him from being able to see much of anything else. as far as body language goes, it is unmistakably protective. ]
You already know I'll agree, [ tseng says. his thumbs are pressed just at the edge of rufus' jaw, his fingers curled around the back of rufus' skull. ] You already know I would do anything you ask.
[ tseng would, for rufus. maybe no idea is too crazy for the president of shinra, but neither is any desire of rufus' too crazy for tseng, who—regardless of his position as director of the turks—would turn the world inside-out if rufus asked it of him.
he presses his lips to rufus' forehead, then his nose, then his lips, as much an attempt at reassurance as it is a way to help rufus settle into himself a little more. ]
[Oh, that's so much better. How could he not have realized how much better it would be to have Tseng move him and pin him and shield him from everything else with his own body as the barrier? Tseng is so smart. So capable. So brilliant. It makes him sigh again, half relieved and half decadent, as one of his arms slides nimbly up between them to fist in Tseng's shirt and hold onto him just as possessively as Tseng has him in return.
The problem is, knowing what he wants and making his mouth shape the words turn out to be two very different things, and for a second he can't quite find the right way to string them together. The word fuck is definitely involved, but something inside him bristles at the thought of using it — bizarre, that, when it's never been ill-fitted before but now it feels crude and somehow demeaning against the magnitude of what this inexplicable insanity knows it wants.
On the other hand, he might actually die of the sentimentality, if he went in the other direction. There is no happy medium. The repressed answer thrums beneath his skin like a shaken bottle threatening to burst.]
I want an heir. Want you to give me one.
[His eyes squeeze shut a little more tightly, brow furrowing with mild annoyance at himself as his cheeks go red; when his mouth falls open in a frustrated exhale, he presses it briskly to Tseng's to seal it again.]
I want you until it — until it takes. Can you do that? For me, can you do it?
[ rufus doesn't need to say it. to tseng, who is sometimes afflicted by a rut period that makes him want very much to fuck a baby into someone, the words rufus does manage to eke out are clear as day—and, despite tseng's lingering concern, they send a little frisson of heat up his spine, prompting a soft exhale just before rufus' mouth presses to his own. ]
Yes, [ tseng says. it sounds simple because to him it is. ] Of course I can. I would be honored to.
[ because they're still in public, despite the relative privacy of the elevator, tseng leaves it there. instead he kisses rufus again, this time with a new edge of desire, coaxing rufus' lips to part briefly so tseng can suck on his tongue for a moment before the elevator slows and the doors slide open to reveal the queen hallway.
no one else is out, which tseng counts as a minor blessing. it's easier for him to keep his hands on rufus if they don't have to evade anyone else as they make their way down to tseng's door. once they're inside, in the foyer, tseng presses himself up against rufus' back and kisses the nape of his neck, one palm splaying low on rufus' belly right above his tattoo.
now that they're in real privacy, it feels safer for tseng to say, ] Nothing you ever ask of me could be too much. Tell me what you want and I'll do it—anything. Everything.
[He's always been fond of feeling Tseng's hand on his stomach, whether it be toying with his tattoo or giving the implication that he's trying to feel the shape of his own cock buried deep inside Rufus's body. Now, however, the touch combines with the way Tseng curls flush against his spine to give off a new impression still: as if resting his hand like a shield over the place where the baby he craves will start to show, possessive and paternal.
Which is, of course, insane. At least now they're behind the safety of closed doors, surrounded by all the familiar sights and sounds of Tseng's quarters. Even if it were as loud and bright as the casino floor in here, Rufus would still find it infinitely preferable to the environment downstairs. Tseng's room is a sanctuary, always has been — even moreso than his own, in certain ways. Even the luxury of a King penthouse hasn't entirely erased the memory of his time spent among the Tens, and the nights he spent safe in Tseng's spare bedroom until eventually it just de facto became his own.]
You see why I needed you to come get me.
[There's room for vulnerability, here. For explanations, no matter how absurd.]
I don't know what this is. I just — can't stop thinking about it. Everyone I looked at down there, I was — appraising.
[His hand clutches into his coat pocket; when it emerges, there's a clump of bar napkins twisted in his fingers, which soon scatter across the floor like a tree shedding leaves. Rufus's printed handwriting is both neat and unmistakable: idle analyses of dominant and recessive genes mapped across a variety of visible traits.
Eye color. Hair color. Freckles. Jawline. Height.
With his fingers freed of the napkins, he presses his own hand over top of Tseng's on his belly, as if to ward off even the slightest semblance of possibility that he might take it away.]
So fuck me. Fuck me until we have one or until I can't think at all, whichever comes first.
[ even in the queen suite, larger and more expansive than the jack suite where tseng used to reside, there is a room that tseng has earmarked as rufus' and never lets anyone else use. rufus himself is there much less often these days than he had been back when he was a ten and it was tseng who held the higher rank, but it's still there. just in case rufus ever needs it.
it is not to that room that tseng guides rufus now. instead of up the stairs, tseng presses his chest to rufus' back and walks him toward the shoji-papered door at the foot of the stairs—the master bedroom, with its luxurious bed and even more luxurious bath, where tseng can put rufus down among the pillows and do all manner of things to him until rufus' craving is satisfied or until his brain melts, just as requested.
(tseng has to fight against himself not to be touched by the idea that it's ultimately him who rufus trusts as the "father" of the child his body is convinced it wants. it more likely has to do with his relationship to tseng as a bodyguard. ...still.)
as soon as they're through the doors, tseng slides them shut behind and then turns rufus around so tseng can catch his mouth in a kiss that's surprisingly tender for how charged the moment is. it's important to tseng that rufus feel cared for, cherished, not least of all because he understands that being in this situation to begin with has rufus on the back foot. as they kiss, tseng continues to walk rufus backward until they're nearly at the side of the bed—where he pauses, his hands skimming down rufus' body to find the right buttons to undo. ]
[The master bedroom — Tseng's space. The demanding craving that gnaws inside him nearly purrs its satisfaction at that, fully aware of how reluctant Tseng is to share his sanctuaries with anyone, how carefully compartmentalized he's always kept his private life from scrutiny. That's particularly appealing to Rufus's sensibilities right now, how it classifies him among Tseng's private things by implication. Yes, he should be kept away from scrutiny right now. No one deserves to see him except Tseng.
And no one deserves to touch him except Tseng, or to guide him except Tseng, and that feels good too. There isn't a moment's hesitation in his body when Tseng starts to move him, drowning in the knowledge that he would close his eyes and walk a tightrope backwards if it were nothing but Tseng's hands showing him the way.
(That's what family is supposed to be, isn't it? No longer having to be alone?)
He makes an approving sound as he's kissed, lips parted in invitation but likewise tender in how he doesn't seek to deepen the exchange into something more ravenous, doesn't try to tempt Tseng into invading his mouth and staking his claim with his tongue. He'd almost dare to call it romantic. He's feeling just crazy enough to think he could probably get away with it.]
Do you remember when you told me what you'd do to anyone who treated me as less than a king?
[r...romance...????????]
I loved that. It felt so good.
[He sighs, decadent, and slides his wrists up to rest over Tseng's shoulders, making enough room for Tseng's to get under them and pull at his clothes like he's a gift to be unwrapped. That's delicious, too — the thought of shedding his coat like a waterfall, his black button-down like a puddle of ink, his belt and trousers until Tseng can see the way his attentions make his boxer briefs bulge with arousal.]
You said I belonged to you, and you were right. Everyone else disappoints me because they're not you.
[ in point of fact, tseng does remember what he told rufus he'd do. he had been... not quite in his right mind in that moment, driven a little mad by vampiric urges and intoxicated on the taste and scent of rufus' blood, and yet even now tseng finds himself humming in pleasure as he says, ]
I said I would tear their throats out.
[ and he meant it, too. then, and also now.
tseng's deft fingers tug rufus' shirt free of his slacks, then slowly undo the buttons from bottom to top. he hasn't even rid rufus of his coat yet, but always tseng craves the heat of rufus' skin under his hands, and so he lays rufus' chest and stomach bare first so he can slip his palms inside and press them to the familiar curve of rufus' waist. another kiss, this one a little hotter and a little more searching, and then tseng says, ]
I think I've said that to you before, too. That no matter who else touches you, I want them to always be at least a little disappointing.
[ disappointing, because tseng knows rufus so much better and can give him so much more than anyone else could ever dream of. it's a desire born of a greed within him that tseng very rarely acknowledges, except for in moments like these, where he and rufus are ensconced entirely in a private world of their own and tseng has no cause to worry about how fucking unhinged he sounds when he says things like you belong to me.
finally, he skims his hands up over rufus' chest to ease his coat and his shirt back over his shoulders, letting them fall to the ground in a graceful pool of fabric. when he moves on to rufus' trousers, it isn't immediately to undo his belt and zip, but rather to cup his palm over the growing bulge in the front of the garment and to massage the shape of rufus' cock he can feel there, drawing in a satisfied breath as he does. ]
[Tseng would tear out throats for him with the very same hands that touch him so deftly, that move over his body in an attempt to bring him more pleasure than anyone else ever could. That's the tenor of the way they're tangled up now, and it's why Rufus doesn't make any overt moves to try to get Tseng undressed himself, preferring instead to toy with Tseng's hair and accommodate with shifting movements of his limbs when necessary to get him out of his clothes. This isn't the frantic passion of two unstoppable forces meeting each other, no. This is Tseng coveting him, craving him, and Rufus wanting to be savored as he's eaten alive.]
You were right. There's no one better for me than you.
[A quarter of an hour ago, he would've sworn that this malady was an insatiable fire in desperate need of quenching; now, with Tseng's hand rubbing him through his clothes, it's clearer that what he really needs is something equally deep but slower-burning. A decadent intoxication rather than a rapid inebriation.
His fingers come around from the nape of Tseng's neck to the front of his throat, loosening his collar enough that Rufus can get at the swell of his Adam's apple beneath it; when he seals his lips there, his mouthing kisses follow the same rhythm as Tseng's palm on his cock, as though the two of them are an ouroboros of sensation.]
And I want the same thing, Tseng. I want everyone else to disappoint you but me.
[But when that admission hits the air, suddenly a mere ouroboros isn't enough, and he wants more contact even than Tseng's blissfully deft hand on him. Rufus moves closer, pressing flush against Tseng's body with his mouth still latched to his skin, but seeks out his friction from Tseng's thigh and hip rather than his palm, undulating with the grace of a serpent as he grinds up against him in a slow, hypnotic rhythm.]
[ it's easy for tseng to slip his arm around rufus' waist, pulling him close so that their bodies press together. his thigh slots between rufus' like it was meant to be there, and the first sinuous rub of rufus' cock against his hip makes tseng draw in a sharp breath in response to the stab of arousal that lights his nerve endings up. his palm spreads out at the small of rufus' back, encouraging the slow, rhythmic movements of his hips, and tseng drops his mouth to rufus' neck to suck a mark against his pulse point.
it's rare for tseng to leave visible bruises on rufus, and yet in this moment he feels that he can't help himself. maybe a little of whatever has come over rufus is affecting him, too, making him want to stake his claim—perhaps drawing on some of the animal instinct that comes over tseng on occasion, the rut gifted to him by the house as punishment for his transgressions.
with his free hand, tseng reaches between their close-pressed bodies to undo the belt rufus is wearing. he doesn't bother with the button or zip, because just the belt being loosened gives him more than enough space for what he really wants to do—to slip his hand down the back of rufus' slacks, below his underwear, so he can curl his fingers just right and rub over the tight furl of rufus' hole each time his hips rock backward. forward to grind against tseng's thigh, backward to grind against tseng's fingers—he'll want more than this soon, but for the moment the effect is hypnotic.
besides, it's better to indulge in sensation now, while he still can. tseng doubts his composure will last once he has rufus naked and underneath him. it never does, after all. ]
No one has ever satisfied me like you do, [ he murmurs against rufus' temple, feeling a little drunk on his own desire, the strength of how badly he wants this gorgeous man in his arms. ] No one ever could. Ramuh—will you let me watch you finger yourself?
[ it's a question, not a command. tseng knows that rufus is a little off-balance right now, although hopefully less so now that he's in the safety of tseng's suite with tseng's arms around him; although tseng would love to have rufus prep himself for tseng to fuck him, if what rufus needs right now is something else, tseng will gladly give that instead. ]
[Tseng is leaving marks on him. He's marking him, his Tseng, his perfect careful Tseng — always so correct, always so poised, always looking out for him — is sucking bruises into his skin so that everyone else will know whose he is. His head spins with it, deep and heady, and without conscious thought Rufus leans a little more emphatically into his grinding rhythm, less an idle temptation and more an effort to actually pleasure himself against Tseng's body. The indulgence of Tseng's questing fingers only adds to the compulsion, giving him just as much reason to draw away as to press near, so that no matter which way he moves there's pleasure waiting for him, pushing him higher and higher without respite.
It could only be better, he thinks hazily, if he were dripping cum in the midst of it all. If every press of Tseng's fingers coaxed out a little more, or fingered it back in again — if he were messy, full, bred —
A groan slips free, thick and low, and he presses his head against Tseng's shoulder from a sudden need to support himself, grasping for words that seem scattered all across the bedroom floor at this point.]
Yeah.
[Of course he will. Even if it means it's not Tseng's fingers inside him, even if it means lube being worked past his entrance instead of hot ropes of cum. Of course he'll do it. Tseng wants to see it.
And that's the operative part, isn't it, is watch you — and maybe Tseng means he just wants to watch Rufus's face, wants to be audience to his pleasure for a little while instead of the sole instigator, but with breeding on the brain there's really only one way that makes sense to Rufus's heat-addled mind to comply.
He hates to pull away, whines faintly when he wriggles free of Tseng's hold and loses both those points of delicious sensation, but they're just next to the bed and it doesn't take much for Rufus to get his zip and button undone as he bends himself over it, shoving his trousers inelegantly down to his thighs before bringing his hands back around to his ass. It's filthy to the point of degrading, almost, how one hand pulls himself open while the fingers of the other go straight to his entrance, and if Tseng doesn't intervene quickly he'll start pushing his fingers in regardless of lube, so desperate to please and to get what he wants.]
[ honestly, but for the lack of lube, the way rufus positions himself is perfect—enough to punch a low noise of desperate arousal from the back of tseng's throat as he watches rufus grip one cheek to spread himself open under tseng's gaze. it's unlike rufus to be so haphazard with his clothes or his body, which tseng attributes to the simmering need he can practically feel rolling from rufus in waves, and the effect is stunning, except that tseng really doesn't want rufus to hurt himself.
fortunately, this is tseng's bedroom and he has lube close at hand. he retrieves it from the top of his dresser and steps up behind rufus, his own cock straining at the proximity, then reaches out to catch rufus' wrist gently in his hand. it isn't a stop, not by a long shot; tseng uses his grip to press rufus' fingertips lightly to his own hole, tracing a slow circle around sensitive flesh before he speaks. ]
I want you wet, baby, [ he murmurs, uncapping the lube so he can drizzle some both over rufus' fingers and down the cleft of his ass. it's almost certainly going to get on rufus' trousers, but all things considered that's a sacrifice tseng is willing to make. he'll find out later whether rufus feels the same when in his right mind. ] Open yourself up for me. Let me see you get ready to take it.
[ shiva, he's so hard. tseng doesn't think he's ever been this hard in his life, his whole body one long line of tension in response to rufus' arousal. deiforms help them both when rufus is finally ready to take tseng's cock—tseng isn't sure he'll be able to hold himself back. ]
[It's satisfying, having the bedding beneath him to bite at as the sensation of the cool lube strikes his heated skin; it's almost instinctive the way he sinks his teeth in against a long, low whine, not out of any desire to stifle himself but because he needs the sensation of biting down so badly to keep him anchored as his chest heaves and his thighs shake. He could wait until it warms, circle his fingers around and around like Tseng had guided him to do before, but even on mindless instinct he knows that the sooner he gets his fingers in, the sooner they'll be replaced with the cock he really craves.
The lube feels positively frigid against his overheated inner walls as he first pushes his fingers in — two at once, right from the start, but he's comfortable enough with penetration by now that taking the tips of them brings only a stretch rather than pain. It's not the kind of fingering that Tseng so often treats him to, thorough and dedicated and half the time an invitation to come in its own right. The fixation on prep is far more deliberate, less questing for his favorite sensitive places inside and more just coaxing his body to be ready for more.
He could chew a hole in the comforter, it feels like. The press of his teeth keeps rhythm with the shift of his fingers, two tips then one to the first knuckle, then two again, working himself inch by inch until it feels good to rock his hips back into it, and it doesn't take long before he becomes aware that if he bends a little harder and leans a little deeper into the mattress, that rocking motion will stimulate his cock against the edge and that gets him keening, too.
And what's perhaps most decadent of all is how much of it isn't meant to be a show; there's nothing deliberate or calculated in the way he's reacting, the way his body moves responsive to his efforts. He's just out of his mind with the need and the ache, and doing everything he can to meet Tseng's demand so he'll give him what it takes to satiate it.]
[ ramuh knows tseng is rarely one to pass up an opportunity to use foreplay to bring rufus to climax, but right now he doesn't have it in him to ask rufus to slow down. something about the urgent way rufus slides his fingers into himself lights a fire under tseng's skin too, a driving need that has him gripping rufus' ass and spreading him wide so he can watch rufus' fingers plunge deeper inside. his touches are efficient, but it's still unbelievably arousing to watch the way rufus' hole stretches to accommodate. tseng's cock hangs heavy between his thighs, throbbing in what feels like rhythm with the shift of rufus' hand between his own thighs.
by the time rufus is fucking himself on the full lengths of two fingers, tseng's patience has nearly reached its end. in an effort to keep himself from losing his mind entirely, tseng slicks one of his own fingers with a little extra lube and then reaches up so that he can slide the tip of it into rufus' body alongside the two fingers that are already there, stretching him incrementally wider and watching his body clutch around the intrusion. the soft, hot muscle at his entrance quivers and tseng curses emphatically under his breath. ]
Just a little more, [ he says. rufus could probably take him now, but he'd be sore the next day, and tseng can already tell they're going to go for long enough tonight that he'd rather rufus be loose and ready. ] Deep breaths.
[ rufus breathes in; tseng slips his finger in further, then begins to fuck him with it in strokes that counter those of rufus' own fingers. despite the obvious eagerness in every inch of rufus' body, he's obedient enough to listen to this at least, and before long tseng can feel his body relaxing around all three of their combined fingers. only when he's satisfied that rufus is prepped enough does tseng finally reach his free hand down to tug lightly at rufus' balls. ]
[It's far from the command of a man who owns the world; really, it's more like a whine that comes riddled with plaintive desperation, like he's such a poor needy thing so terribly wounded by the prospect of going without cock for thirty more seconds. He buries his face in the comforter, sweat-dappled forehead pressed and sticking to the covers, his back arching slightly with the rise and fall of his still-deep breaths. His skin feels like it's burning with the lack of contact, the need to feel Tseng wrapped around him and buried inside; when he finally finds himself with license to draw his hand away, he drags ineffectually at the mattress, halfway between wanting to climb up and curl inward on himself or to bear the waiting even longer.]
Haven't I been good enough? Tseng — !
[Poor, aching, desperate thing. Or maybe just manipulative enough to know precisely which buttons to push to make Tseng crazy — with Rufus half out of his mind with desire, it's always a little difficult to tell what's instinct and what's by design.]
[ honestly, at this point it's not rufus' ability to withstand that tseng is worried about, but rather his own—his insides feel like a collapsing star, a yawning, aching hunger inside him that threatens to consume. he pushes his slacks down around his thighs and doesn't bother with anything further, can't bother with anything further when rufus's voice sounds the way it does, pitched and demanding. he kneels on the mattress between rufus' spread feet, drags his palm down the appealing sway of rufus' spine with a gentle shh, baby, i've got you—uses the other hand to guide his cockhead to rufus' stretched hole and then pushes inside in one sweet, sweet push.
he couldn't stop if his life depended on it. he doesn't stop until he's all the way inside, until his hips meet rufus' ass and tseng's cock is swallowed by the vicelike velvet heat of rufus' body, slick and needy. fuck, he feels like a fever dream, every desire tseng has ever had condensed into one man's form, gorgeous and golden and writhing beneath the weight of tseng's hands and his gaze. he licks his lips and grips rufus tightly, palms against his hipbones, withdraws and fucks into rufus like he means it, like he wants rufus to taste it in the back of his throat when he wails. ]
You've been so good, baby, [ tseng murmurs, thoughtless and adoring, barely audible over the wet sound of his cock moving, the slap of his hips against rufus' skin. ] You've been so good, you deserve everything, you deserve the whole world—
[ it's unfair, how thoroughly rufus can undo him. decades of training in how to keep his composure, how to compartmentalize emotion and sensation, how to ignore pleasure just as well as pain, and tseng will throw it all away for this beautiful man beneath him. he would give rufus anything he asked for without a second thought. ]
A girl, I want a girl, a little girl, half yours —
[Later, when the thick haze around his thoughts lifts with the clarity of hindsight, he'll bare his teeth at the mortifying ordeal the resort's games have put him through, toying with him like this. But for right now, Rufus can't imagine wanting anything else, can't divert his thoughts from anything but the desperate need to see his phantom cravings fulfilled.
Tseng fills him perfectly. He always does. But the burn of his need isn't just centered in a desire for sex, the way he's so often accustomed to; this time it feels like ambition coming to fruition, like the two of them standing on top of the world and building a future beyond just the instant moment. That, in itself, makes him moan loud and long, his own drive for primacy dovetailed perfectly with the primal drive of Tseng's hips, more more more, drunk on the knowledge that even demanding the impossible, Tseng will set out to give it to him.]
Yours, yours, yours —
[Does he mean that impossible desire? Does he mean himself? It doesn't matter, because the answer is all one and the same, if he deserves everything then everything is his and that means everything is Tseng's because he is. Tseng's grip is deliciously bruising on his hips and wholly unnecessary to hold him, when he's fucking his own body back just as firmly, trying to take Tseng deeper on every stroke until they're both consumed by the conjunction. His arousal burns like a wildfire, beading wet on his skin and making him clench tight around the heady friction of every thrust, but for once something in Rufus's subconscious tries to hold out against the pleasure, deflecting his own climax in an attempt to feel Tseng come first, to feel Tseng make him slick and filthy and bred.]
[ it's unlike rufus to be so willing to delay his pleasure, but in some distant corner of his overheated mind tseng thinks he understands. he can guess that rufus wants to feel himself filled, to have the reassurance of being bred before he can allow his own slide into climax—and tseng, in this moment, wants literally nothing more than to give it to him, something about rufus' urgency triggers an answering instinct in tseng, the need to pin rufus down and breed him again and again until he's certain it takes. to give him the daughter he's begging for, their child.
and another, gentler layer that underpins the driving sexual need between them: tseng wants to see rufus be the father he deserved. they had talked about it, hadn't they, so many months ago on the beach in rufus' suite—whether they were suited to it, whether it was possible. it feels possible now, in the desperate clutch of tseng's hands against rufus' hips, in the steady thrust of rufus' ass back against tseng's body. it feels so close tseng could reach out and grasp it.
he comes like that, bent forward over rufus' spine, whispering beautiful nonsense into the curve of his throat as he spills deep into the welcoming heat of rufus' body. once won't be enough, he thinks, tseng needs to fuck him again and again until he's sure—but one thing at a time. he sinks a claiming bite into the meat of rufus' shoulder and reaches around to grasp his cock, stroking firmly in time with the short, sharp movements of his own hips chasing residual pleasure. ]
Come for me, baby, [ tseng murmurs in rufus' ear. ] So I can put you on your back and fuck you again. Come on, beautiful, there you go, just like that—
[There are no words for the utter satisfaction that crashes over Rufus when Tseng releases inside him. It's as though the air has been punched out of him and a desperate thirst has been satiated all at once; that maddening demand in his subconscious abates just long enough to find a sense of relief from the itch of craving, pacified by the teeth in his shoulder and the molten spill of cum filling him up. The noise that escapes him is wet in itself, halfway between a whine and a sigh, already blissed out and euphoric before Tseng's fingers even close around him to encourage him up to his own delicious peak.]
Ngh...fuck...!
[Every bit of it feels so good — the weight of Tseng's body draped over him, the hot breath washing over his sweat-slick skin, the tremors in his muscles that he can't suppress. Climax catches him off-guard, less like reaching a distinguishable peak and more like something finally giving way and shattering him into pieces as rope after rope of cum spills over Tseng's deft and perfect fingers.
It's the second best thing he can remember feeling, given how hazy and fixated his memory has gone since this bizarre need overtook him. The best is still held firmly in place by the fit of Tseng's cock inside him, unable to leak so long as he's still hilted where he belongs.
The tension coiled in his muscles seems to leave him at the same time his orgasm does; the bedding feels so soft and deep where his cheek sinks into it that despite being bent in half over the mattress, it almost feels like he could drift off into a stupor just like that. It's a rare moment of respite that doesn't last long, as put you on your back and fuck you again threads insidious through his brief moment of clarity and clouds his mind over with the incense of desire once more.]
Oh...hhh, again, yeah...want you again...fuck, Tseng...
[ it doesn't take the observational skills of a turk to notice the way heavy, sweet satisfaction soaks every inch of rufus' body. if tseng let him, he could probably sink right into insensibility, could probably spend a long while just relishing the physical sensation of being full and bred.
the trouble is, of course, that tseng doesn't want to let him. not yet, anyway—despite rufus' lassitude tseng's own hunger hasn't abated. he allows them both a few long seconds of bliss, just breathing in the heavy musk of sweat and sex, enjoying the physical strain of fucking, before he pulls back and lets his cock slip from rufus' body. with a restrained urgency that belies his desire, tseng coaxes rufus first onto his side, then onto his back, where tseng spreads both of rufus' thighs over his own and guides his cock right back into rufus' hole.
at first, his hands stay where they are at rufus' waist, gripping him firmly so tseng can fuck him in long, slow strokes. he hasn't given rufus much of a chance to get hard again yet, and in the oversensitive aftermath of climax tseng thinks it might take a moment, but his own cock is still aching, and at least this way he can take a little of the edge off while rufus slowly comes back to full arousal. ]
You're gorgeous, [ he murmurs. rufus knows better than anyone that tseng is not the type to give compliments freely, least of all ones that are undeserved, so while the honesty is rare he should at least be able to trust that tseng means it. ] Do you remember—drinking with me on the beach? In your room.
[It takes a while before thoughts that aren't yeah, please, fuck, Tseng stand any chance of coalescing in his mind; though he hears the question, and knows the answer, Rufus can't muster any particular urgency to open his mouth and supply it, too content with letting Tseng move him where he wants and lying idle while he's seen to.
With a little more presence of mind, he might be tempted to laugh at the sight he surely makes — Shinra's boy king turned pillow princess, splayed out and drowsing while his dutiful knight-Turk keeps him glutted to dripping in pleasure.
He does remember, though. The sand had been more coarse than the pillowy mattress beneath him now, and there'd been the kiss of condensation on cool glass, and more liberty to unwind than either of them usually allows himself outside of the bedroom like this, and all the lust of the present moment equaled in kind with a softer sort of happiness.]
I remember.
[It falls from his lax, wet mouth like a sigh; though it seems such a struggle to coax his eyes open, he does it because he knows Tseng thinks his eyes are gorgeous, too, and Rufus thinks he'd do just about anything to please in a moment like this.]
[ it doesn't matter. tseng hadn't asked the question to get a response, not really—more just to let rufus hear his voice, one small thread to keep him tethered to the bed they share. he knows rufus remembers it just as well as tseng does. ]
Yeah, [ tseng murmurs in soft, adoring agreement. ] It is.
[ there's really something about rufus when he's like this. beautiful and disheveled and deep, deep in the soft clouds of subspace, able to think of little other than his body and his pleasure. it clenches like a fist behind tseng's breastbone, this knowledge that rufus trusts him so implicitly that he would allow tseng to not only see him like this, but to be the one to make him this way—every rise of rufus' chest, every twitch of his thighs as good as a tacit i love you.
as if there had ever been a question that tseng would tear the world apart bare-handed if it was what rufus asked of him. how could tseng look down at the glorious, white-golden sight of rufus beneath him and do anything other than turn himself over to perfect supplication?
tseng's pace increases, little by little, as rufus' body begins to respond. the slide is so slick now, between rufus' relaxation and the mess of cum still filling him up, and the wet sounds of his cock moving inside rufus are astonishingly lewd. still, tseng clutches hard at his own self-control, determined to bring rufus to another peak before allowing himself to do the same. ]
[Rufus thinks, fleetingly, that it feels as though he couldn't lift his arms if he tried, weighted and sluggish with satisfaction as he is, but there's a thought in his mind that compels him to try. They raise, just a little, and his fingers fumble artlessly as he tries to reach for Tseng and pull him down, willing in that moment to sacrifice even the delicious leverage that keeps Tseng hitting up inside him at the perfect angle and rhythm in favor of trying to pull him down for a kiss.
He wants that, he finds. Wants to be laid out on his back with Tseng over top of him, weighted down beneath the secure presence of someone who loves him with such limitless abandon. It's been close to a year since first he was willing to even voice this particular desire to himself, the tantalizing thought of being only the size of his own body and no more. He wants it now, to delineate exactly how much space he takes up by where he ends and where Tseng begins.]
Come kiss me like I'm yours.
[There's not even the hint of a question in Rufus's breathy words, not an ounce of doubt in his choice of the word like. The ending of that sentence, because I am yours, simply lingers unspoken — but it's not as though they've ever really needed words, not when it's the two of them like this.]
[ no need to tell tseng twice. he leans down immediately, bracketing rufus' head with his forearms and pressing his elbows into the pillows, so that when their mouths press together it's as if they're in an enclosed space all their own—the world no larger than the two of them in this bed. it changes the angle, changes the pace so that tseng can't drive quite as deeply inside, but that doesn't matter—even though his hips only shift in minute increments, more gentle nudges than steady strokes, the new position is so toe-curlingly intimate that it feels all the better for it.
tseng kisses rufus exactly as he's told to do, like rufus is his, unquestioned. it's slow and thorough, the slide of his tongue against rufus' mirroring the shallow rocks of his hips; he nips adoringly at rufus' lower lip, sucks at his tongue, explores every sensitive place he's memorized inside rufus' mouth so he can earn the reward of rufus' shivers and quiet noises. rufus is more expressive when he's like this, no longer thinking of image and face. tseng savors every muffled whine.
when they pull apart a little to breathe, tseng rests his brow against rufus' and lets his eyes open just a sliver. enough to see the lovely blur of him at this distance, pale skin and pale hair and the shocking stormy blue of his eyes, almost swallowed by his pupil. he's so beautiful tseng can barely stand it. ]
You are mine, [ tseng murmurs, so quietly it's nearly inaudible. it doesn't need to be said aloud, but it feels good to say anyway. ] Just like I'm yours.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Yes, sir.
[ tseng steps slightly to the side to allow rufus to slide out of his seat. his hand shifts from rufus' elbow to his back, where tseng keeps it pressed possessively as they walk—it allows him to obey the don't let go directive, but also keeps him close to rufus and a step behind, which is where he's best situated to keep rufus safe. old habits, and all.
the trip through the casino floor is a bit of a minefield, in terms of people milling about, but whether it's pure chance or the thunderstorm expression on tseng's face, fortunately none of them make a point of approaching. it's only when they reach the elevators up to the penthouse levels that tseng finally relaxes infinitesimally, although he keeps close to rufus and doesn't let his hand slip from rufus' waist where it's come to rest. ]
Okay? [ tseng asks, his voice pitched low enough that only rufus will hear. it is, as always, a shift in tone from turk-and-president to tseng-and-rufus, asking for a slightly more honest status update from rufus than the pointed orders he's received until now.
or maybe what rufus wants is the turk-and-president dynamic, right now, and in that case his response will tell tseng all he needs to know. ]
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(It doesn't escape his notice either, however belatedly, that the active verb in that recognition is ask. It's better when it's because he asked. It means it's because it's him.)
And it shows in the instant the elevator doors close, finally affording them — if not privacy outright, then at least security from the possibility that one of the passerby might touch him without authorization, and without hesitation he sags against Tseng and buries his face in the crook of his neck and just sighs with his whole chest from the relief of having him close.]
Now I am.
[He wasn't before. He is now. How could he not be, when Tseng is so close, when he has his hands on him where they belong?]
I need something crazy. I know it's crazy. You don't have to agree.
[Also a pretty good tell that he's not speaking as the president of Shinra right now, for whom no idea is crazy and everything he wants is correct and his Turks would never even think of disagreeing.]
Damn it. You're so — feels good when you take care of me, Tseng, don't stop —
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You already know I'll agree, [ tseng says. his thumbs are pressed just at the edge of rufus' jaw, his fingers curled around the back of rufus' skull. ] You already know I would do anything you ask.
[ tseng would, for rufus. maybe no idea is too crazy for the president of shinra, but neither is any desire of rufus' too crazy for tseng, who—regardless of his position as director of the turks—would turn the world inside-out if rufus asked it of him.
he presses his lips to rufus' forehead, then his nose, then his lips, as much an attempt at reassurance as it is a way to help rufus settle into himself a little more. ]
I won't stop. Tell me what you need.
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The problem is, knowing what he wants and making his mouth shape the words turn out to be two very different things, and for a second he can't quite find the right way to string them together. The word fuck is definitely involved, but something inside him bristles at the thought of using it — bizarre, that, when it's never been ill-fitted before but now it feels crude and somehow demeaning against the magnitude of what this inexplicable insanity knows it wants.
On the other hand, he might actually die of the sentimentality, if he went in the other direction. There is no happy medium. The repressed answer thrums beneath his skin like a shaken bottle threatening to burst.]
I want an heir. Want you to give me one.
[His eyes squeeze shut a little more tightly, brow furrowing with mild annoyance at himself as his cheeks go red; when his mouth falls open in a frustrated exhale, he presses it briskly to Tseng's to seal it again.]
I want you until it — until it takes. Can you do that? For me, can you do it?
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Yes, [ tseng says. it sounds simple because to him it is. ] Of course I can. I would be honored to.
[ because they're still in public, despite the relative privacy of the elevator, tseng leaves it there. instead he kisses rufus again, this time with a new edge of desire, coaxing rufus' lips to part briefly so tseng can suck on his tongue for a moment before the elevator slows and the doors slide open to reveal the queen hallway.
no one else is out, which tseng counts as a minor blessing. it's easier for him to keep his hands on rufus if they don't have to evade anyone else as they make their way down to tseng's door. once they're inside, in the foyer, tseng presses himself up against rufus' back and kisses the nape of his neck, one palm splaying low on rufus' belly right above his tattoo.
now that they're in real privacy, it feels safer for tseng to say, ] Nothing you ever ask of me could be too much. Tell me what you want and I'll do it—anything. Everything.
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Which is, of course, insane. At least now they're behind the safety of closed doors, surrounded by all the familiar sights and sounds of Tseng's quarters. Even if it were as loud and bright as the casino floor in here, Rufus would still find it infinitely preferable to the environment downstairs. Tseng's room is a sanctuary, always has been — even moreso than his own, in certain ways. Even the luxury of a King penthouse hasn't entirely erased the memory of his time spent among the Tens, and the nights he spent safe in Tseng's spare bedroom until eventually it just de facto became his own.]
You see why I needed you to come get me.
[There's room for vulnerability, here. For explanations, no matter how absurd.]
I don't know what this is. I just — can't stop thinking about it. Everyone I looked at down there, I was — appraising.
[His hand clutches into his coat pocket; when it emerges, there's a clump of bar napkins twisted in his fingers, which soon scatter across the floor like a tree shedding leaves. Rufus's printed handwriting is both neat and unmistakable: idle analyses of dominant and recessive genes mapped across a variety of visible traits.
Eye color. Hair color. Freckles. Jawline. Height.
With his fingers freed of the napkins, he presses his own hand over top of Tseng's on his belly, as if to ward off even the slightest semblance of possibility that he might take it away.]
So fuck me. Fuck me until we have one or until I can't think at all, whichever comes first.
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it is not to that room that tseng guides rufus now. instead of up the stairs, tseng presses his chest to rufus' back and walks him toward the shoji-papered door at the foot of the stairs—the master bedroom, with its luxurious bed and even more luxurious bath, where tseng can put rufus down among the pillows and do all manner of things to him until rufus' craving is satisfied or until his brain melts, just as requested.
(tseng has to fight against himself not to be touched by the idea that it's ultimately him who rufus trusts as the "father" of the child his body is convinced it wants. it more likely has to do with his relationship to tseng as a bodyguard. ...still.)
as soon as they're through the doors, tseng slides them shut behind and then turns rufus around so tseng can catch his mouth in a kiss that's surprisingly tender for how charged the moment is. it's important to tseng that rufus feel cared for, cherished, not least of all because he understands that being in this situation to begin with has rufus on the back foot. as they kiss, tseng continues to walk rufus backward until they're nearly at the side of the bed—where he pauses, his hands skimming down rufus' body to find the right buttons to undo. ]
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And no one deserves to touch him except Tseng, or to guide him except Tseng, and that feels good too. There isn't a moment's hesitation in his body when Tseng starts to move him, drowning in the knowledge that he would close his eyes and walk a tightrope backwards if it were nothing but Tseng's hands showing him the way.
(That's what family is supposed to be, isn't it? No longer having to be alone?)
He makes an approving sound as he's kissed, lips parted in invitation but likewise tender in how he doesn't seek to deepen the exchange into something more ravenous, doesn't try to tempt Tseng into invading his mouth and staking his claim with his tongue. He'd almost dare to call it romantic. He's feeling just crazy enough to think he could probably get away with it.]
Do you remember when you told me what you'd do to anyone who treated me as less than a king?
[r...romance...????????]
I loved that. It felt so good.
[He sighs, decadent, and slides his wrists up to rest over Tseng's shoulders, making enough room for Tseng's to get under them and pull at his clothes like he's a gift to be unwrapped. That's delicious, too — the thought of shedding his coat like a waterfall, his black button-down like a puddle of ink, his belt and trousers until Tseng can see the way his attentions make his boxer briefs bulge with arousal.]
You said I belonged to you, and you were right. Everyone else disappoints me because they're not you.
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I said I would tear their throats out.
[ and he meant it, too. then, and also now.
tseng's deft fingers tug rufus' shirt free of his slacks, then slowly undo the buttons from bottom to top. he hasn't even rid rufus of his coat yet, but always tseng craves the heat of rufus' skin under his hands, and so he lays rufus' chest and stomach bare first so he can slip his palms inside and press them to the familiar curve of rufus' waist. another kiss, this one a little hotter and a little more searching, and then tseng says, ]
I think I've said that to you before, too. That no matter who else touches you, I want them to always be at least a little disappointing.
[ disappointing, because tseng knows rufus so much better and can give him so much more than anyone else could ever dream of. it's a desire born of a greed within him that tseng very rarely acknowledges, except for in moments like these, where he and rufus are ensconced entirely in a private world of their own and tseng has no cause to worry about how fucking unhinged he sounds when he says things like you belong to me.
finally, he skims his hands up over rufus' chest to ease his coat and his shirt back over his shoulders, letting them fall to the ground in a graceful pool of fabric. when he moves on to rufus' trousers, it isn't immediately to undo his belt and zip, but rather to cup his palm over the growing bulge in the front of the garment and to massage the shape of rufus' cock he can feel there, drawing in a satisfied breath as he does. ]
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You were right. There's no one better for me than you.
[A quarter of an hour ago, he would've sworn that this malady was an insatiable fire in desperate need of quenching; now, with Tseng's hand rubbing him through his clothes, it's clearer that what he really needs is something equally deep but slower-burning. A decadent intoxication rather than a rapid inebriation.
His fingers come around from the nape of Tseng's neck to the front of his throat, loosening his collar enough that Rufus can get at the swell of his Adam's apple beneath it; when he seals his lips there, his mouthing kisses follow the same rhythm as Tseng's palm on his cock, as though the two of them are an ouroboros of sensation.]
And I want the same thing, Tseng. I want everyone else to disappoint you but me.
[But when that admission hits the air, suddenly a mere ouroboros isn't enough, and he wants more contact even than Tseng's blissfully deft hand on him. Rufus moves closer, pressing flush against Tseng's body with his mouth still latched to his skin, but seeks out his friction from Tseng's thigh and hip rather than his palm, undulating with the grace of a serpent as he grinds up against him in a slow, hypnotic rhythm.]
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it's rare for tseng to leave visible bruises on rufus, and yet in this moment he feels that he can't help himself. maybe a little of whatever has come over rufus is affecting him, too, making him want to stake his claim—perhaps drawing on some of the animal instinct that comes over tseng on occasion, the rut gifted to him by the house as punishment for his transgressions.
with his free hand, tseng reaches between their close-pressed bodies to undo the belt rufus is wearing. he doesn't bother with the button or zip, because just the belt being loosened gives him more than enough space for what he really wants to do—to slip his hand down the back of rufus' slacks, below his underwear, so he can curl his fingers just right and rub over the tight furl of rufus' hole each time his hips rock backward. forward to grind against tseng's thigh, backward to grind against tseng's fingers—he'll want more than this soon, but for the moment the effect is hypnotic.
besides, it's better to indulge in sensation now, while he still can. tseng doubts his composure will last once he has rufus naked and underneath him. it never does, after all. ]
No one has ever satisfied me like you do, [ he murmurs against rufus' temple, feeling a little drunk on his own desire, the strength of how badly he wants this gorgeous man in his arms. ] No one ever could. Ramuh—will you let me watch you finger yourself?
[ it's a question, not a command. tseng knows that rufus is a little off-balance right now, although hopefully less so now that he's in the safety of tseng's suite with tseng's arms around him; although tseng would love to have rufus prep himself for tseng to fuck him, if what rufus needs right now is something else, tseng will gladly give that instead. ]
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It could only be better, he thinks hazily, if he were dripping cum in the midst of it all. If every press of Tseng's fingers coaxed out a little more, or fingered it back in again — if he were messy, full, bred —
A groan slips free, thick and low, and he presses his head against Tseng's shoulder from a sudden need to support himself, grasping for words that seem scattered all across the bedroom floor at this point.]
Yeah.
[Of course he will. Even if it means it's not Tseng's fingers inside him, even if it means lube being worked past his entrance instead of hot ropes of cum. Of course he'll do it. Tseng wants to see it.
And that's the operative part, isn't it, is watch you — and maybe Tseng means he just wants to watch Rufus's face, wants to be audience to his pleasure for a little while instead of the sole instigator, but with breeding on the brain there's really only one way that makes sense to Rufus's heat-addled mind to comply.
He hates to pull away, whines faintly when he wriggles free of Tseng's hold and loses both those points of delicious sensation, but they're just next to the bed and it doesn't take much for Rufus to get his zip and button undone as he bends himself over it, shoving his trousers inelegantly down to his thighs before bringing his hands back around to his ass. It's filthy to the point of degrading, almost, how one hand pulls himself open while the fingers of the other go straight to his entrance, and if Tseng doesn't intervene quickly he'll start pushing his fingers in regardless of lube, so desperate to please and to get what he wants.]
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fortunately, this is tseng's bedroom and he has lube close at hand. he retrieves it from the top of his dresser and steps up behind rufus, his own cock straining at the proximity, then reaches out to catch rufus' wrist gently in his hand. it isn't a stop, not by a long shot; tseng uses his grip to press rufus' fingertips lightly to his own hole, tracing a slow circle around sensitive flesh before he speaks. ]
I want you wet, baby, [ he murmurs, uncapping the lube so he can drizzle some both over rufus' fingers and down the cleft of his ass. it's almost certainly going to get on rufus' trousers, but all things considered that's a sacrifice tseng is willing to make. he'll find out later whether rufus feels the same when in his right mind. ] Open yourself up for me. Let me see you get ready to take it.
[ shiva, he's so hard. tseng doesn't think he's ever been this hard in his life, his whole body one long line of tension in response to rufus' arousal. deiforms help them both when rufus is finally ready to take tseng's cock—tseng isn't sure he'll be able to hold himself back. ]
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The lube feels positively frigid against his overheated inner walls as he first pushes his fingers in — two at once, right from the start, but he's comfortable enough with penetration by now that taking the tips of them brings only a stretch rather than pain. It's not the kind of fingering that Tseng so often treats him to, thorough and dedicated and half the time an invitation to come in its own right. The fixation on prep is far more deliberate, less questing for his favorite sensitive places inside and more just coaxing his body to be ready for more.
He could chew a hole in the comforter, it feels like. The press of his teeth keeps rhythm with the shift of his fingers, two tips then one to the first knuckle, then two again, working himself inch by inch until it feels good to rock his hips back into it, and it doesn't take long before he becomes aware that if he bends a little harder and leans a little deeper into the mattress, that rocking motion will stimulate his cock against the edge and that gets him keening, too.
And what's perhaps most decadent of all is how much of it isn't meant to be a show; there's nothing deliberate or calculated in the way he's reacting, the way his body moves responsive to his efforts. He's just out of his mind with the need and the ache, and doing everything he can to meet Tseng's demand so he'll give him what it takes to satiate it.]
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by the time rufus is fucking himself on the full lengths of two fingers, tseng's patience has nearly reached its end. in an effort to keep himself from losing his mind entirely, tseng slicks one of his own fingers with a little extra lube and then reaches up so that he can slide the tip of it into rufus' body alongside the two fingers that are already there, stretching him incrementally wider and watching his body clutch around the intrusion. the soft, hot muscle at his entrance quivers and tseng curses emphatically under his breath. ]
Just a little more, [ he says. rufus could probably take him now, but he'd be sore the next day, and tseng can already tell they're going to go for long enough tonight that he'd rather rufus be loose and ready. ] Deep breaths.
[ rufus breathes in; tseng slips his finger in further, then begins to fuck him with it in strokes that counter those of rufus' own fingers. despite the obvious eagerness in every inch of rufus' body, he's obedient enough to listen to this at least, and before long tseng can feel his body relaxing around all three of their combined fingers. only when he's satisfied that rufus is prepped enough does tseng finally reach his free hand down to tug lightly at rufus' balls. ]
Ready?
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[It's far from the command of a man who owns the world; really, it's more like a whine that comes riddled with plaintive desperation, like he's such a poor needy thing so terribly wounded by the prospect of going without cock for thirty more seconds. He buries his face in the comforter, sweat-dappled forehead pressed and sticking to the covers, his back arching slightly with the rise and fall of his still-deep breaths. His skin feels like it's burning with the lack of contact, the need to feel Tseng wrapped around him and buried inside; when he finally finds himself with license to draw his hand away, he drags ineffectually at the mattress, halfway between wanting to climb up and curl inward on himself or to bear the waiting even longer.]
Haven't I been good enough? Tseng — !
[Poor, aching, desperate thing. Or maybe just manipulative enough to know precisely which buttons to push to make Tseng crazy — with Rufus half out of his mind with desire, it's always a little difficult to tell what's instinct and what's by design.]
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he couldn't stop if his life depended on it. he doesn't stop until he's all the way inside, until his hips meet rufus' ass and tseng's cock is swallowed by the vicelike velvet heat of rufus' body, slick and needy. fuck, he feels like a fever dream, every desire tseng has ever had condensed into one man's form, gorgeous and golden and writhing beneath the weight of tseng's hands and his gaze. he licks his lips and grips rufus tightly, palms against his hipbones, withdraws and fucks into rufus like he means it, like he wants rufus to taste it in the back of his throat when he wails. ]
You've been so good, baby, [ tseng murmurs, thoughtless and adoring, barely audible over the wet sound of his cock moving, the slap of his hips against rufus' skin. ] You've been so good, you deserve everything, you deserve the whole world—
[ it's unfair, how thoroughly rufus can undo him. decades of training in how to keep his composure, how to compartmentalize emotion and sensation, how to ignore pleasure just as well as pain, and tseng will throw it all away for this beautiful man beneath him. he would give rufus anything he asked for without a second thought. ]
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[Later, when the thick haze around his thoughts lifts with the clarity of hindsight, he'll bare his teeth at the mortifying ordeal the resort's games have put him through, toying with him like this. But for right now, Rufus can't imagine wanting anything else, can't divert his thoughts from anything but the desperate need to see his phantom cravings fulfilled.
Tseng fills him perfectly. He always does. But the burn of his need isn't just centered in a desire for sex, the way he's so often accustomed to; this time it feels like ambition coming to fruition, like the two of them standing on top of the world and building a future beyond just the instant moment. That, in itself, makes him moan loud and long, his own drive for primacy dovetailed perfectly with the primal drive of Tseng's hips, more more more, drunk on the knowledge that even demanding the impossible, Tseng will set out to give it to him.]
Yours, yours, yours —
[Does he mean that impossible desire? Does he mean himself? It doesn't matter, because the answer is all one and the same, if he deserves everything then everything is his and that means everything is Tseng's because he is. Tseng's grip is deliciously bruising on his hips and wholly unnecessary to hold him, when he's fucking his own body back just as firmly, trying to take Tseng deeper on every stroke until they're both consumed by the conjunction. His arousal burns like a wildfire, beading wet on his skin and making him clench tight around the heady friction of every thrust, but for once something in Rufus's subconscious tries to hold out against the pleasure, deflecting his own climax in an attempt to feel Tseng come first, to feel Tseng make him slick and filthy and bred.]
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and another, gentler layer that underpins the driving sexual need between them: tseng wants to see rufus be the father he deserved. they had talked about it, hadn't they, so many months ago on the beach in rufus' suite—whether they were suited to it, whether it was possible. it feels possible now, in the desperate clutch of tseng's hands against rufus' hips, in the steady thrust of rufus' ass back against tseng's body. it feels so close tseng could reach out and grasp it.
he comes like that, bent forward over rufus' spine, whispering beautiful nonsense into the curve of his throat as he spills deep into the welcoming heat of rufus' body. once won't be enough, he thinks, tseng needs to fuck him again and again until he's sure—but one thing at a time. he sinks a claiming bite into the meat of rufus' shoulder and reaches around to grasp his cock, stroking firmly in time with the short, sharp movements of his own hips chasing residual pleasure. ]
Come for me, baby, [ tseng murmurs in rufus' ear. ] So I can put you on your back and fuck you again. Come on, beautiful, there you go, just like that—
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Ngh...fuck...!
[Every bit of it feels so good — the weight of Tseng's body draped over him, the hot breath washing over his sweat-slick skin, the tremors in his muscles that he can't suppress. Climax catches him off-guard, less like reaching a distinguishable peak and more like something finally giving way and shattering him into pieces as rope after rope of cum spills over Tseng's deft and perfect fingers.
It's the second best thing he can remember feeling, given how hazy and fixated his memory has gone since this bizarre need overtook him. The best is still held firmly in place by the fit of Tseng's cock inside him, unable to leak so long as he's still hilted where he belongs.
The tension coiled in his muscles seems to leave him at the same time his orgasm does; the bedding feels so soft and deep where his cheek sinks into it that despite being bent in half over the mattress, it almost feels like he could drift off into a stupor just like that. It's a rare moment of respite that doesn't last long, as put you on your back and fuck you again threads insidious through his brief moment of clarity and clouds his mind over with the incense of desire once more.]
Oh...hhh, again, yeah...want you again...fuck, Tseng...
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the trouble is, of course, that tseng doesn't want to let him. not yet, anyway—despite rufus' lassitude tseng's own hunger hasn't abated. he allows them both a few long seconds of bliss, just breathing in the heavy musk of sweat and sex, enjoying the physical strain of fucking, before he pulls back and lets his cock slip from rufus' body. with a restrained urgency that belies his desire, tseng coaxes rufus first onto his side, then onto his back, where tseng spreads both of rufus' thighs over his own and guides his cock right back into rufus' hole.
at first, his hands stay where they are at rufus' waist, gripping him firmly so tseng can fuck him in long, slow strokes. he hasn't given rufus much of a chance to get hard again yet, and in the oversensitive aftermath of climax tseng thinks it might take a moment, but his own cock is still aching, and at least this way he can take a little of the edge off while rufus slowly comes back to full arousal. ]
You're gorgeous, [ he murmurs. rufus knows better than anyone that tseng is not the type to give compliments freely, least of all ones that are undeserved, so while the honesty is rare he should at least be able to trust that tseng means it. ] Do you remember—drinking with me on the beach? In your room.
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With a little more presence of mind, he might be tempted to laugh at the sight he surely makes — Shinra's boy king turned pillow princess, splayed out and drowsing while his dutiful knight-Turk keeps him glutted to dripping in pleasure.
He does remember, though. The sand had been more coarse than the pillowy mattress beneath him now, and there'd been the kiss of condensation on cool glass, and more liberty to unwind than either of them usually allows himself outside of the bedroom like this, and all the lust of the present moment equaled in kind with a softer sort of happiness.]
I remember.
[It falls from his lax, wet mouth like a sigh; though it seems such a struggle to coax his eyes open, he does it because he knows Tseng thinks his eyes are gorgeous, too, and Rufus thinks he'd do just about anything to please in a moment like this.]
S'nice...
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Yeah, [ tseng murmurs in soft, adoring agreement. ] It is.
[ there's really something about rufus when he's like this. beautiful and disheveled and deep, deep in the soft clouds of subspace, able to think of little other than his body and his pleasure. it clenches like a fist behind tseng's breastbone, this knowledge that rufus trusts him so implicitly that he would allow tseng to not only see him like this, but to be the one to make him this way—every rise of rufus' chest, every twitch of his thighs as good as a tacit i love you.
as if there had ever been a question that tseng would tear the world apart bare-handed if it was what rufus asked of him. how could tseng look down at the glorious, white-golden sight of rufus beneath him and do anything other than turn himself over to perfect supplication?
tseng's pace increases, little by little, as rufus' body begins to respond. the slide is so slick now, between rufus' relaxation and the mess of cum still filling him up, and the wet sounds of his cock moving inside rufus are astonishingly lewd. still, tseng clutches hard at his own self-control, determined to bring rufus to another peak before allowing himself to do the same. ]
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[Rufus thinks, fleetingly, that it feels as though he couldn't lift his arms if he tried, weighted and sluggish with satisfaction as he is, but there's a thought in his mind that compels him to try. They raise, just a little, and his fingers fumble artlessly as he tries to reach for Tseng and pull him down, willing in that moment to sacrifice even the delicious leverage that keeps Tseng hitting up inside him at the perfect angle and rhythm in favor of trying to pull him down for a kiss.
He wants that, he finds. Wants to be laid out on his back with Tseng over top of him, weighted down beneath the secure presence of someone who loves him with such limitless abandon. It's been close to a year since first he was willing to even voice this particular desire to himself, the tantalizing thought of being only the size of his own body and no more. He wants it now, to delineate exactly how much space he takes up by where he ends and where Tseng begins.]
Come kiss me like I'm yours.
[There's not even the hint of a question in Rufus's breathy words, not an ounce of doubt in his choice of the word like. The ending of that sentence, because I am yours, simply lingers unspoken — but it's not as though they've ever really needed words, not when it's the two of them like this.]
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tseng kisses rufus exactly as he's told to do, like rufus is his, unquestioned. it's slow and thorough, the slide of his tongue against rufus' mirroring the shallow rocks of his hips; he nips adoringly at rufus' lower lip, sucks at his tongue, explores every sensitive place he's memorized inside rufus' mouth so he can earn the reward of rufus' shivers and quiet noises. rufus is more expressive when he's like this, no longer thinking of image and face. tseng savors every muffled whine.
when they pull apart a little to breathe, tseng rests his brow against rufus' and lets his eyes open just a sliver. enough to see the lovely blur of him at this distance, pale skin and pale hair and the shocking stormy blue of his eyes, almost swallowed by his pupil. he's so beautiful tseng can barely stand it. ]
You are mine, [ tseng murmurs, so quietly it's nearly inaudible. it doesn't need to be said aloud, but it feels good to say anyway. ] Just like I'm yours.
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