[ 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.
[Who but Tseng could make sex so satisfying, so thoroughly complete, that even the thought of orgasm goes rapidly by the wayside in favor of Rufus simply wanting this to last. Having succeeded at drawing Tseng down over him like a blanket, Rufus's fingers are free instead to weave through the drape of Tseng's hair in his own little echoed intimacy, the liberty so familiar he's almost forgotten that it once was out of reach.
Tseng tells him he's beautiful, often. Gorgeous, others. Stunning, sometimes. Rufus believes it when Tseng has him like this, believes it with even more conviction than he believes in his own destined greatness, his own capacity to bend the world to his will. He's never been beautiful like that before Tseng existed like this to look at him as he does, before Tseng made his own gaze into lenses through which Rufus could see himself, too.]
Yeah. I need you.
[It's not the frantic, desperate begging of the compulsion from before. It's not desire fueled by lust. It just, like Tseng's, feels good to say. Good to admit, in the sliver of space between their lips reserved for secrets, like a flash of an enigmatic smile beneath an elevator's golden light.]
[ although neither of them has taken the step of actually saying the words aloud, there are moments when tseng feels them acutely—like now, embroidered into the way rufus says i need you, meaning not that rufus shinra needs the head of his turks but that rufus, just rufus, needs just tseng. the entirety of tseng's life has been shaped around the question of what use he can be: how he might be forged into a weapon to be wielded by the long arm of the company, what purpose he might serve to those who own him. the meaning of his existence has always been his function.
but now, in the quiet of tseng's bedroom, rufus says i need you and it has nothing to do with what tseng can do for him, nothing to do with how tseng can be used. the thought that he might be of some value to this man beyond his function is one that nearly overwhelms him, and tseng can do nothing but give rufus another lingering, breathless kiss, some small way to express the way that those simple words touch something tender deep inside him, a place that no one else has ever been able to reach. ]
You have me, [ tseng promises, in between the kisses he presses to rufus' mouth. ] You have me, always.
[ even when they part, he stays close, his forehead pressed to rufus' and their noses brushing together, the warm wash of rufus' breath against his mouth each time their bodies move together. climax becomes an afterthought and also an inevitability; they will come, both of them, but tseng is no longer focused on it as a goal. ]
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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. ]
no subject
[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 subject
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.
no subject
Tseng tells him he's beautiful, often. Gorgeous, others. Stunning, sometimes. Rufus believes it when Tseng has him like this, believes it with even more conviction than he believes in his own destined greatness, his own capacity to bend the world to his will. He's never been beautiful like that before Tseng existed like this to look at him as he does, before Tseng made his own gaze into lenses through which Rufus could see himself, too.]
Yeah. I need you.
[It's not the frantic, desperate begging of the compulsion from before. It's not desire fueled by lust. It just, like Tseng's, feels good to say. Good to admit, in the sliver of space between their lips reserved for secrets, like a flash of an enigmatic smile beneath an elevator's golden light.]
I do.
no subject
but now, in the quiet of tseng's bedroom, rufus says i need you and it has nothing to do with what tseng can do for him, nothing to do with how tseng can be used. the thought that he might be of some value to this man beyond his function is one that nearly overwhelms him, and tseng can do nothing but give rufus another lingering, breathless kiss, some small way to express the way that those simple words touch something tender deep inside him, a place that no one else has ever been able to reach. ]
You have me, [ tseng promises, in between the kisses he presses to rufus' mouth. ] You have me, always.
[ even when they part, he stays close, his forehead pressed to rufus' and their noses brushing together, the warm wash of rufus' breath against his mouth each time their bodies move together. climax becomes an afterthought and also an inevitability; they will come, both of them, but tseng is no longer focused on it as a goal. ]