[The instant Tseng's hair comes down, Rufus knows: he'll have his fingers twisted through the mane of it before this liaison is through. What else could have possibly possessed him to set it loose, if not to create such an opportunity to begin with? And it's a gift chocobo he's certainly not going to look in the beak, not when the long lengths of it cascade around Tseng's shoulders and shine ink-black in the candlelight, so close and so inexplicably free for the taking.
(A shame, maybe, that riding his face won't allow for that as naturally as, say, putting him on his knees and choking him on his cock might. How pretty that would look, dark strands clutched in pale fingers, pooling around pale thighs —)
They're drifting farther and farther from their ultimate goal, he thinks absently as Tseng moves into his space and he lifts his chin naturally to meet him, stealing Tseng's own trick and catching his tongue in the midst of the kiss, feeling it out with his own. It's a little unfair to be laid bare while letting Tseng keep his jeans in place and intact, but there's still a lot he can do with it anyway; the security of the layer of denim makes it easier to reach for Tseng's hip, his thigh, the small of his back, and finally settle on grasping for a handful of his ass, for all that his fingers don't quite find purchase in the dense fabric.
It feels good to be touched. It's satisfying to be able to push and claim Tseng's mouth each time he needs to smother a noise, to breathe in the aroma of roses and let the heartbeat thudding in his ears drown out the wet distinctive sound of Tseng's hand moving on his cock.
Say something, he thinks, as his hips rock and he drags Tseng close to him as best he can, aiding the rhythm without hastily interrupting it. He never really works out whether he meant that thought for himself or for Tseng, however, and in short order he really stops caring about the prospect of thinking at all.]
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(A shame, maybe, that riding his face won't allow for that as naturally as, say, putting him on his knees and choking him on his cock might. How pretty that would look, dark strands clutched in pale fingers, pooling around pale thighs —)
They're drifting farther and farther from their ultimate goal, he thinks absently as Tseng moves into his space and he lifts his chin naturally to meet him, stealing Tseng's own trick and catching his tongue in the midst of the kiss, feeling it out with his own. It's a little unfair to be laid bare while letting Tseng keep his jeans in place and intact, but there's still a lot he can do with it anyway; the security of the layer of denim makes it easier to reach for Tseng's hip, his thigh, the small of his back, and finally settle on grasping for a handful of his ass, for all that his fingers don't quite find purchase in the dense fabric.
It feels good to be touched. It's satisfying to be able to push and claim Tseng's mouth each time he needs to smother a noise, to breathe in the aroma of roses and let the heartbeat thudding in his ears drown out the wet distinctive sound of Tseng's hand moving on his cock.
Say something, he thinks, as his hips rock and he drags Tseng close to him as best he can, aiding the rhythm without hastily interrupting it. He never really works out whether he meant that thought for himself or for Tseng, however, and in short order he really stops caring about the prospect of thinking at all.]