[ if there was any part of tseng that thought that they could put a stop to this after a single pass of his tongue, that part of him dies immediately upon hearing the noise rufus makes in response. the sharp exhalation, the way a slight shiver wracks rufus’ frame—it’s a subdued response, as so many of rufus’ responses have been, but it’s enough that tseng forgets there was ever a reality in which he planned to stop before getting rufus off.
his hands tighten on rufus’ hips, and tseng tilts his head just so to be able to breathe, and from there—that’s it. he drags his tongue over rufus’ entrance and trails the tip of it in a circle around the sensitive hole, pushes his tongue inside and curls it against his inner walls. he uses every trick he knows and then some, responding only to the subtle tells of rufus’ body, the way his thighs twitch against tseng’s shoulders and the way his breathing hitches when something feels good. it’s obvious even without seeing rufus’ face that he’s probably doing everything in his power to keep himself from making noise, but even without the benefit of sound tseng can still read him well enough to know, and that’s enough. gods, is it ever enough.
when rufus’ hand finds his thigh, it’s like a jolt of thunder through tseng’s body. he doesn’t expect rufus to reciprocate, of course—but tseng hadn’t really expected rufus to do anything but let tseng handle it (handle him), and the hand on his thigh is an unexpected pleasure.
in a betrayal of his better senses, tseng’s cock twitches and hardens further in his jeans, pressing against the thicker denim of the fly. there’s no hope of hiding it by now, and with rufus facing down tseng’s body the way he is, there’s surely no way he’ll miss how aroused this has him.
but what is there to do for it? except maybe to eat rufus out so thoroughly he stops being able to think of anything at all. ]
no subject
his hands tighten on rufus’ hips, and tseng tilts his head just so to be able to breathe, and from there—that’s it. he drags his tongue over rufus’ entrance and trails the tip of it in a circle around the sensitive hole, pushes his tongue inside and curls it against his inner walls. he uses every trick he knows and then some, responding only to the subtle tells of rufus’ body, the way his thighs twitch against tseng’s shoulders and the way his breathing hitches when something feels good. it’s obvious even without seeing rufus’ face that he’s probably doing everything in his power to keep himself from making noise, but even without the benefit of sound tseng can still read him well enough to know, and that’s enough. gods, is it ever enough.
when rufus’ hand finds his thigh, it’s like a jolt of thunder through tseng’s body. he doesn’t expect rufus to reciprocate, of course—but tseng hadn’t really expected rufus to do anything but let tseng handle it (handle him), and the hand on his thigh is an unexpected pleasure.
in a betrayal of his better senses, tseng’s cock twitches and hardens further in his jeans, pressing against the thicker denim of the fly. there’s no hope of hiding it by now, and with rufus facing down tseng’s body the way he is, there’s surely no way he’ll miss how aroused this has him.
but what is there to do for it? except maybe to eat rufus out so thoroughly he stops being able to think of anything at all. ]