[Here's one of the invisible perks about owning the world: nobody ever asks you to be a courteous bedmate. The bed linens feel softer now than they had when they'd started, somehow; the rose petals, tacky as they are, seem vaguely less oppressive even where they stick to his sweat-dappled skin. On a physical level, the release is satisfying; it leaves him pleasantly tired and his nerves vaguely humming, but most welcome of all is the fact that his mind still hasn't quite come back online yet in the aftermath, and doesn't need to for a while yet either.
Maybe Tseng looks at him or maybe he doesn't. There's no need to think about it, not when he can let the mattress swallow him up and think of nothing but the rapid cadence of his heartbeat, the ragged rhythm of his breath. He doesn't bother to open his eyes even when he feels the mattress dip, unsurprised at the thought of Tseng getting up to see to business as opposed to any sort of ridiculous notions of...sentiment. Tseng will get cleaned up, and handle whatever needs to be handled, and in the meantime Rufus will let the aftermath (afterglow?) wash over him, and collect his thoughts, and plan.
That's how it's supposed to work. That's how business always works.
His hair, shaken loose from the exertion and the sweat, falls over his eyes as he lies still and collects himself, not really seeing the point in moving to brush it away so he doesn't bother. Tseng retreats to the bathroom, and eventually the water starts running — probably brushing his teeth — and Rufus slowly starts to redirect his thoughts towards the slot machines, the mandate, the payout, the outcomes.
This was beneficial. They've gained. He's gained.
(For one fleeting, treacherous instant, he wonders if he's lost anything in exchange.)
By the time Tseng returns, he's still lounging but propped on one elbow like a painting of an idle god, less keyed up than before they'd begun now that they've returned to more relatively familiar footing. It's always easier when there's a familiar power structure in place, and regardless of the saccharine environment around them, this is hardly any different than the norm — Rufus scheming, and Tseng at the ready to make his demands a reality.]
Oh. Good.
[The return and the towel both prompt him to sit up as he shifts his attention to efficiently cleaning himself off — right up until the point when he finds himself actually looking at Tseng, and for just an instant, his attention lands on the even line of Tseng's mouth and his thoughts fly to that moan and —]
You missed a snarl.
[His beckon is as good as a demand, and his fingers are at the ready when Tseng inevitably bends to it, carding through one of the longer lengths of his thick dark hair as if to sort the strands back into their usual impeccable fashion. It's possible there was a snarl, and he'd simply sorted it out so gently that it couldn't be felt at all.
That would also raise the question of Rufus Shinra's capacity to be gentle, while prompting alternative explanations better left unspoken.]
no subject
Maybe Tseng looks at him or maybe he doesn't. There's no need to think about it, not when he can let the mattress swallow him up and think of nothing but the rapid cadence of his heartbeat, the ragged rhythm of his breath. He doesn't bother to open his eyes even when he feels the mattress dip, unsurprised at the thought of Tseng getting up to see to business as opposed to any sort of ridiculous notions of...sentiment. Tseng will get cleaned up, and handle whatever needs to be handled, and in the meantime Rufus will let the aftermath (afterglow?) wash over him, and collect his thoughts, and plan.
That's how it's supposed to work. That's how business always works.
His hair, shaken loose from the exertion and the sweat, falls over his eyes as he lies still and collects himself, not really seeing the point in moving to brush it away so he doesn't bother. Tseng retreats to the bathroom, and eventually the water starts running — probably brushing his teeth — and Rufus slowly starts to redirect his thoughts towards the slot machines, the mandate, the payout, the outcomes.
This was beneficial. They've gained. He's gained.
(For one fleeting, treacherous instant, he wonders if he's lost anything in exchange.)
By the time Tseng returns, he's still lounging but propped on one elbow like a painting of an idle god, less keyed up than before they'd begun now that they've returned to more relatively familiar footing. It's always easier when there's a familiar power structure in place, and regardless of the saccharine environment around them, this is hardly any different than the norm — Rufus scheming, and Tseng at the ready to make his demands a reality.]
Oh. Good.
[The return and the towel both prompt him to sit up as he shifts his attention to efficiently cleaning himself off — right up until the point when he finds himself actually looking at Tseng, and for just an instant, his attention lands on the even line of Tseng's mouth and his thoughts fly to that moan and —]
You missed a snarl.
[His beckon is as good as a demand, and his fingers are at the ready when Tseng inevitably bends to it, carding through one of the longer lengths of his thick dark hair as if to sort the strands back into their usual impeccable fashion. It's possible there was a snarl, and he'd simply sorted it out so gently that it couldn't be felt at all.
That would also raise the question of Rufus Shinra's capacity to be gentle, while prompting alternative explanations better left unspoken.]