[On review, after the fact, maybe one or both of them will be able to pinpoint the exact moment when this all went off the rails. The world's most ludicrous mission debrief. He wouldn't put it past Tseng to write it. He wouldn't put it past himself to read it. There's an innuendo lurking somewhere in have it on my desk by tomorrow; maybe that's something he'll think of later, too.
On careful examination, though, someone will surely pinpoint that the crux of it isn't really about what he sounds like when he comes. It's what he sounds like just before it, when his body is radiating heat and dappled with sweat, when his arms are braced and his hips are moving just fractionally and sometimes it makes the tip of his oversensitive cock catch against some sliver of Tseng's chest in a way that feels absolutely exquisite. Someone will note it and draw a circle around it the way they'll mark out that moment when Tseng should've said sir but didn't, and this will prove to be its companion — that moment when Rufus shouldn't have said anything, but did.
Under his breath, yes. Barely a whisper, yes. Too low for any but the most careful of ears to mistake it for anything separate than any other sigh spilling from his mouth, yes.
In the ops analysis from hell, someone will draw an arrow to this.]
Tseng —
[And like so many other dossiers on the activities of the Turks, the president of the Shinra Corporation will take out a lighter and burn it to ash, erasing all evidence save memory that it ever happened to begin with.]
...ple—
[Half a word, barely even a fraction of a word, and yet more than enough to give him away. He barely even knows what he's asking for by it, and that somehow makes it all the headier.]
no subject
On careful examination, though, someone will surely pinpoint that the crux of it isn't really about what he sounds like when he comes. It's what he sounds like just before it, when his body is radiating heat and dappled with sweat, when his arms are braced and his hips are moving just fractionally and sometimes it makes the tip of his oversensitive cock catch against some sliver of Tseng's chest in a way that feels absolutely exquisite. Someone will note it and draw a circle around it the way they'll mark out that moment when Tseng should've said sir but didn't, and this will prove to be its companion — that moment when Rufus shouldn't have said anything, but did.
Under his breath, yes. Barely a whisper, yes. Too low for any but the most careful of ears to mistake it for anything separate than any other sigh spilling from his mouth, yes.
In the ops analysis from hell, someone will draw an arrow to this.]
Tseng —
[And like so many other dossiers on the activities of the Turks, the president of the Shinra Corporation will take out a lighter and burn it to ash, erasing all evidence save memory that it ever happened to begin with.]
...ple—
[Half a word, barely even a fraction of a word, and yet more than enough to give him away. He barely even knows what he's asking for by it, and that somehow makes it all the headier.]