【 Thank you for choosing the Golden Peacock, 5-Star Resort and Casino. You are currently registered as a WILDCARD in our system.
Due to unprecedented high demand we are temporarily unable to check you in to your reserved room. We apologize for the inconvenience. We have arranged for a temporary room while we work on processing your reservation as quickly as possible. We appreciate your understanding.
As a special wedding gift from us, we have arranged for you and your new spouse to stay in one of our junior penthouses while you wait. Congratulations on your new marriage. We are so pleased you have chosen our resort for your honeymoon.
You will be notified as soon as your official reservation has been processed. Your comfort and happiness are our utmost priority. We hope you enjoy the provided amenities and lose yourself in marital bliss. 】
EVENS
EVENS: NEW CHARACTERS
Music plays. Instrumental, the tune gentle enough not to disturb peaceful rest. The sudden insistent beep of the Watch is a cutting cacophony across an otherwise sweet lullaby. Upon opening their eyes, new arrivals will quickly discover that something is wrong. The quilt snug across their body is weighty. Crystals glint in a weave of embroidery and cotton shimmers with threads of silver. Dozens of decorative pillows surround the bed. The gauzy curtains of the canopied bed are drawn, obscuring the rest of the room.
Extravagant for a kidnapping. Too extravagent. What’s more, these new guests will find something even stranger than this new diamond-studded suite tucked into bed beside them. Someone else. Who are they, what are they wearing? What happened last night?!
Guests are encouraged to explore the resort from here! There are paper maps available for those who would like and staff are happy to recommend locations if they have any preferences. Enjoy your honeymoon, you lovebirds!
ODDS
ODDS: SPECIAL RE-ARRIVAL
Never trust a hallway in the Golden peacock.
Cross the wrong threshold and time begins to slow. A short hallway becomes long, sheds its doors, only leading to turns without end. Guests too eager to explore the resort have gotten lost before. For how long always varies, dependent upon capriciousness of the resort. Hours? Yes. Years? Yes. Every guest caught in the winding hallways has reported the same thing: time is different there and too difficult to discern.
Some wayward guests have been caught in the endless hallways since the FIRST TDM. Weeks pass before a single doorway appears in the distance. It creaks upon opening before everything goes topsy-turvy. These guests have been let out of a trap door in the depths of Crane's Respite.
All water corridors will eventually lead back to the populated areas of Crane's Respite. The waters are warm, the scent of bath salts returns, and staff are wild with joy at finally finding all of you. They have been beside themselves searching ever since you vanished!
NOTES
PROMPT NOTES
▶ Because we love all of the new characters premiering on this TDM, we kindly request that our Evens prompt be top level exclusive for new characters. Current characters are encouraged to tag in to these prompts with the caveat that they’ve been picked up from their assigned suite (or wherever else they were before) and dumped into the new arrival’s bed. We would like for new characters to have this prompt unique to their top level comments!
▶ Players are welcome to have their current character riff off of these prompts in the log community with the exclusion of the new arrival element. This request is just for TDM top levels.
▶ Current characters and new characters are both welcome to freely mess around with the Odds prompt with the exclusion of the arrival element. For new characters, players may participate with the idea that their character is exploring Crane’s Respite after their unique arrival in the Evens prompt. The Odds arrival element may also be utilized by current player characters who may have been on an unofficial hiatus in January and did not tag as much as they would have liked, to explain any long IC absence.
▶ Octopi may be killed. If a character decides to eat one of the octopi they may find themselves taking on some of its traits. Which traits are up to player discretion.
ELEVATORS
ELEVATORS
The house has recently ordered a full changeout of art in all high traffic areas. The elevators in particular have received special attention with many different famous artworks and portraits studded to the walls for guests to admire. These artworks are treasures of the modern world that one would typically see behind glass at a museum. Guests may even find works from their own world hanging in the elevators. Even famous works that maybe have been lost to time. So this is where they ended up. Is that Vermeer's The Concert?
Guests may find their elevator suddenly stopping without warning. The portraits on the wall stir, curiously studying them, but there are three main portraits calling the shots. The portrait that controls that particular elevator will make their demands known with the threat that, if they are not obeyed, you will be trapped forever.
Elevators will function after the portrait's demands are met. Guests that hold out and refuse may find themselves trapped upwards of twelve hours. Guests with the ability to do so may crawl out of the top emergency door, free to go wherever they want from there.
GREAT TIT!
GREAT TIT!
Great Tit! is the Golden Peacock’s popular dessert bar and cafe. With its bright pops of color and whimsical treats, guests simply can’t resist stopping in for a butt shaped cookie and hazelnut coffee. After catching wind that the resort has decided to celebrate a dessert shop's most lucrative holiday, Great Tit! is ready to impress the masses. Advertisements for limited edition drinks and desserts rain the main lobby; one can’t go three steps without slipping on a neon pink coupon for 10 percent off nipple buns. Guests that decide to pass by the cafe will find themselves assaulted with confetti cannons and eager employees ushering them inside.
Guests will find a temporary communal shower room upon exiting Great Tit! where they can wash off after a fun day of rolling around in sugar. All guests will be gifted a tee branded with a, CHOCOLATE IS MY LOVER logo.
NOTES
PROMPT NOTES
▶ This portraits prompt has been triggered by several characters expressing interest in and investigating the lore of the resort paintings. This is just dipping a beginning toe in, but congrats to all for poking around!
▶ Portraits in the elevator should not be destroyed, purely for continuity’s sake. If a character would go far enough to attack one of the portraits, the portrait will slap them back with ghostly power.
▶ Characters may also figure other ways out of the elevator if they have specific abilities to do so. While the portraits can control the elevators, they cannot control your character(s). Any destruction to the elevator itself is liable to result in a rush of security dragging the culprit(s) away to the Iron Net.
▶ Great Tit! is running a massive sale! Even characters who are on the broke end of the spectrum will be able to afford to join in on the fun and indulge in sugar at these prices.
▶ Players are encouraged to make up any other elements for the Hall of Chocolate. If it’s a dessert and edible, it’s there. Enjoy your sugar coma!
▶ While the chocolate boxes are ICly limited due to Alessandro’s skills as a chocolatier, this is only an IC mechanic. There is no OOC limitation on this prompt as far as chocolate rarity goes.
THE NEST
ALICE AND THE PARROTS
Fashion boutiques are a dime a dozen in the Nest. The shopping hub is massive, lined with stores all trying to aggressively appeal to guests. A challenge in itself — but the guests of the Golden Peacock are no ordinary people. Used to being pampered and fed excitement, if these boutiques don’t bust their bottoms to appeal to the fickle nature of their patrons, they won’t be in business for much longer! One particular boutique, Alice and the Parrots, is riding winds of romantic thrill and churning out a couple of brand new fashion lines sure to draw in loads of chips.
Guests are welcome to try on clothes in Alice and the Parrots' dressing rooms. These dressing rooms are small and can only accommodate two people sharing at a time. Such is the life of a small boutique store. Sharing is no big deal, right? And there’s no way you can buy clothing this expensive without giving it a test first.
NOTES
PROMPT NOTES
▶ Players are encouraged to make up whatever cute outfits they would like for this prompt.
▶ Wedding clothes do not have to be cute and frilly; this section accommodates tastes of everyone.
▶ Alice and the Parrots is more expensive than Love Dove. Their clothing quality is excellent but their price tags are high. Staff may watch low ranks extra diligently to cut off any stealing. Thieves will be chased by NPC security! Anyone caught gets a day in the Iron Net.
CASINO CHAPEL
CASINO FLOOR
A Pop up Chapel has appeared in the Phoenix Casino. Guests are delighting in playing out weddings and pretending to get married — and a few guests are even tying the knot for real. They aren't worried about the sanctity of marriage; they can divorce tomorrow if they get bored of each other. And everyone knows that getting married doesn't mean you can't fuck whoever you want!
Since the resort isn't keeping track of how many marriages a guest has, all guests are encouraged to marry as many people as they would like. The more the merrier!
Wild wedding events will continue all throughout the month of February, until the guests find it's gotten stale. A divorce rush will round out the fun at the end of the month.
NOTES
PROMPT NOTES
▶ Weddings are not legally binding. Birdvis is not registered as a real officiant, but he does have an excellent beak and pompadour.
▶ Prizes from easy mode slot machines are automatic and do not require mod thumbs up to claim.
▶ Chip prize from difficult mode slot machines is automatic. The special prize is 5 reward points to add to your bank on rewards. Players who wish to claim the special prize should link the finished thread (the kink in question has been completed) under their rewards header with the header, Wedding Slot Machine. If you do any combination of 6/6 (finger hand lol) we ask you somehow make this sexy or involve a climax in order to claim the points.
BLANKET CW: Aphrodisiac; Compulsion; Costumes; Dubcon; Entrapment; Foodplay; Gambling; Lingerie; Matrimony; Tentacles; NSFW Images and Language; NTR; Nudity; Roleplay; Sacrilegious Themes
▶ All new characters on the TDM are WILDCARDS, which means they have not yet been assigned a card value. The house is still observing and deciding. As rank and suits are assigned upon acceptance your new character's suit will not manifest until they are accepted into the game.
▶ All TDMs are game canon. This TDM acts as the game's February event.
▶ Current characters may top level on the TDM. Please make sure to review the arrival prompt notes! Any current characters posting to the TDM should note they are current in their subject header.
▶ The top level directory is for new characters only. We want to make sure new characters are priority and receive attention!
▶ If you aren't satisfied with the prompts on this TDM please feel free to check out our LOCATIONS to explore more of the resort.
▶ Smut threads that take place on this TDM can be used for rewards. If both parties in the smut thread join the game, you may retroactively apply the character's initial card values to your 52 bank. If one character does not join the game the thread will not be applicable toward rewards (as that character would not have a card value). The character that does join would still receive a small payout for the encounter. Hopefully it was a fun thread anyway!
▶ We ask you to kindly add content warnings to your threads as appropriate.
▶ If you do not currently have permissions and kinks listed in your character’s journal we suggest leaving a note in your top level of any limits or boundaries for other players to reference.
▶ Thank you for spending Valentine's Day with us! You're our sweetheart this year. 💕
[It's one thing to know, on an intellectual level, how they'll need to arrange themselves in order to accomplish this; it proves to be quite another thing entirely to actually position himself there, Rufus finds. For all that he's situated atop Tseng — preferable, because surely he would hate it to be laid out on his back, of all things — it doesn't make him feel any more stable or in control of himself for it. It's all Tseng, now, smooth and even and steady, directing him with almost delicate tact like he's moving them across the venue of a social affair and not...this.
But then —
Lower your hips, he says, and the silence that follows after it is deafening. The respect is precisely the same as always; the lack of the word sir has Rufus's chest going tight from how he forgets to breathe. Maybe that's why he obe— why he acquiesces without question; he's too busy thinking to think better of it, too preoccupied to resist the way Tseng's hands stroke over his hips and settle on his sides to show him exactly where and what he needs to be.
His lungs quickly remember their function at the first pass of Tseng's tongue. It's like the breath has been punched out of him with the way it rasps, hard and blunt like a gasp in reverse. All of a sudden his arms seem to have to work harder to bear his own weight, where they're braced against the mattress; all he can see from this vantage is a slim strip of Tseng's bared abdomen and the crotch of his jeans and it's not enough, it's not nearly enough.
But once — once should be sufficient, shouldn't it? They've met the slot machine's terms. The reward is his. He should be triumphant. He should be satisfied.
Only Tseng doesn't stop, and Rufus can't produce an answer of whether or not he even wants him to. It's as though half of him can't stand it, can't bear to let himself continue with this any further, and the other half would sooner rip every last misgiving out of himself with his bare hands before letting it come to an end. He's so hard it's dizzying, and the heat and pressure of it aren't going away; quite the contrary, every twist and flick of Tseng's tongue just brings him closer to the inevitable, has him biting his lip swollen to keep any untoward noises suppressed.
It couldn't have been anyone else, he thinks, scrabbling furiously for any scrap of composure he can find. Doing this, being like this — he could never have allowed it from anyone else.
He wouldn't have wanted it from anyone else.
I want it, he thinks treacherously, and before he can dwell on that thought any further he picks up one of his bracing hands and moves it to rest on Tseng's thigh instead, just touching the muscle and the texture of his jeans, like he's desperately in need of a lightning rod to divert the electricity of that realization before it can shock him from the inside out.]
[ 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. ]
[If he bites his lip bloody, Tseng will see it after. It would be better to get a hand free, to get a knuckle in his mouth and sink his teeth into that, but he needs the one braced on the mattress to keep himself from falling forward and the thought of lifting the one on Tseng's thigh, even for an instant, feels absolutely out of the question. There seems to be no good answer to keeping his irrepressible noises stifled, and maybe that shouldn't even matter at all, but — it just does, somehow. Worse still is how, with the way they're situated, the bulge in Tseng's jeans is right in the center of his natural gaze, maddening, and that'd certainly be a way to shut himself up, wouldn't it, to just work the zipper free and open his mouth and —
Fuck.
And in a way, Tseng gets his wish — about halfway so, all things considered. There's no missing the sight of his cock with the way they're positioned, and there's no denying the way the denim is straining. The part that doesn't come together, that Rufus is too far gone to connect, is why: why would Tseng be so aroused when he's barely touched him at all? It's understandable that he'd be this close to the brink himself, dappled in sweat and trembling even without the attentions of that damnable tongue, but that's because Tseng made sure this would work, he'd handled it, taking charge of the way this unfolds while Rufus, as ever, contributed comparatively little in return.
His fingers, the ones that were already familiar with the texture of Tseng's jeans, ghost over the shape of his cock before he quite realizes what he's doing — only then he does realize, and snatches it back before he can surrender to any temptation of doing it again. Tseng's pants didn't come off because they didn't need to come off; he'd had every opportunity to remove them, if that's what he'd wanted, yet here they are.
Fuck.
What he ought to be doing is touching himself, probably. Or at the very least focusing less on wondering how Tseng's arousal might swell if he were to fit it into the palm of his hand instead, if he'd somehow keep his composure even in the midst of petting like that or if his eyes would go dark and desiring from the sensations rolling over him, the same way that every flick of his tongue sends shockwaves up Rufus's spine.
He's thinking too much. He's thinking too much.
But fortunately Tseng's aims end up perfectly aligning with that desire to stop thinking, and as the sensations escalate he can feel his focus starting to melt away, taking all semblance of a filter along with it.]
[ by this point, tseng is dazed enough by the force of his own desire that he thinks he must have imagined the pressure of rufus’ touch against his cock—it must have been a hallucination, an artifact of wishful thinking. he’s dazed enough that he doesn’t quite manage to hold himself back entirely from his desire to twitch up into the ghost of that touch, his hips shifting slightly on the bed before he quells the need to move. gods, it’s just—it’s just—
tseng puts his thoughts away and redoubles his efforts. he wishes he’d brought lube, so he could slip a finger or two inside rufus and see what kind of noises he makes when tseng massages his prostate; he wishes he had even the faintest excuse for that, but he doesn’t, which is why his hands stay right where they are. the excuse for the fact that he’s still licking over rufus’ entrance, still fucking him with his tongue, is that there may be a clause of the slot machines that demands that one party reach orgasm. there’s no excuse for tseng wanting to finger rufus until he comes all over tseng’s chest.
(fuck.)
it’s clear that rufus is getting closer to climax, at least judging by the way his noises are growing a little freer and the way the his thighs keep twitching against tseng’s shoulders. the wet place on tseng’s collarbones must be precum, and the thought alone is enough to send a fresh surge of heat through his body. if he was going to stop at all, tseng should have stopped minutes ago, after the first pass of his tongue against rufus’ entrance; that chance has long since passed, and now a herd of wild chocobos couldn’t pull him away from his task of getting to hear what rufus sounds like when he comes. ]
[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.]
[ tseng is so attuned to rufus that it would be impossible for him to miss the way rufus’ hips shift slightly, like he wants to ride tseng’s tongue and is holding himself back from all but the faintest ghost of the movement. impossible for him to miss, too, the way rufus’ cock brushes against his chest and the answering way rufus’ thighs tremble with sensation.
he’s also so attuned to rufus that it would be impossible for him to miss that hitched breath, that murmur, that half a word that’s barely anything at all and is yet, paradoxically, everything.
please.
after the fact, he’ll be able to point to this as the moment he knew he was fucked. in the moment, though, he has no idea what it is about that half-syllable that hooks its white-hot claws in him, has no idea what hearing even the ghost of such a plea on rufus’ tongue would be enough to send pleasure crashing through him like a tidal wave. but it does. it does, it takes him apart from the inside out.
tseng’s fingers spasm against rufus’ waist. his own hips jolt, and he muffles an audible noise of pleasure directly against rufus’ entrance. the muscles in his thighs and stomach tense and tseng comes hard in his jeans, without being touched once, save for that barely-there caress that he’s still sure he hallucinated.
a lesser man would be undone by the intensity of the orgasm; tseng, however, has a job to finish. he slides his hands down from rufus’ waist to his hips, then down right to the crease where his hips meet his thighs, fingers curling inward and pressing just shy of his cock. he moans against rufus’ hole, lets the vibrations run through him, and hopes against hope that he won’t be the only one making a mess of himself tonight. ]
And yet the moan that resonates throughout the bridal suite isn't one of the ones that Rufus himself has been stifling, isn't one of the noises he's tried to hard to keep swallowed and constrained. That's Tseng — that's what Tseng sounds like when he's not quiet, when something finally made him surrender his composure to the inevitable.
Maybe that's what tips him over the edge. It could be the stimulation, of course, redoubled in its enthusiasm while the sound is still lingering in the air. It could be the strong grip of hands on him, the way it adjusts from something stabilizing to something unmistakably possessive. It could be anything, really, but the triumph and the fascination certainly don't hurt anything, and nor does the fact that he's certain he didn't imagine the feeling of Tseng tensing up beneath him or the tremor that ran through him in the wake of what sounded very much like satisfaction of his own.
It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, because Tseng isn't the only one making a mess of Tseng tonight, not when that clever tongue swipes over him just one time too many and whatever last thread of resolve he'd been maintaining finally snaps. Cum spills filthy between them, spattering against Tseng's skin, and the fact that Rufus rolls off of him to half-collapse on the mattress probably has more to do with not wanting to land it in than out of any courtesy not to crush him when he goes down.]
[ the heat of rufus' spend on his chest is unmistakeable, as is the bitten-off little sound rufus makes as his body goes tense above tseng. his thighs tighten on tseng’s shoulders and his hips jerk a little, every one of his responses restrained, and somehow the fact that tseng can still tell makes everything that much hotter. he coaxes rufus through it, keeps his mouth working until rufus slumps forward and rolls away from him—most likely, tseng thinks wryly, from a desire not to land in his own mess than out of consideration for tseng’s ability to catch his weight.
for a moment there’s silence, broken only by the sound of their mutual panting. little tremors are still running through tseng’s body, the aftermath of his own orgasm—he puts a pin in that, mentally, something to come back to later—and he doesn’t dare look over at rufus, too afraid of what it might do to him to see what rufus shinra looks like in the immediate aftermath of orgasm.
the tingling in tseng’s fingertips fades. he draws a slow breath, steadying, and then pushes himself up, slowly so as not to let his own hair fall into the mess of rufus’ cum on his chest. ]
I’ll get a towel.
[ even just the glimpse of rufus he gets from the corner of his eye is enough to send a jolt through him like a fucking thundaga spell. the sweat at his temples, the flush in his pale cheeks—tseng tears his eyes away before he can internalize much more, forces himself to stand on shivery legs to make his way to the adjoining bathroom.
ostensibly, he’s there to get washcloths. really, he’s there to stare at himself in the mirror (blessedly obscured from the bed) and ask himself, what the fuck?
tseng affords himself ten seconds to question his entire set of life choices before he picks up a washcloth from the rack and wets it under the sink. he makes quick work of cleaning himself up, but lingers a little when he’s done—giving rufus a chance to put himself slightly back in order, before tseng re-emerges from the bathroom with a fresh, warm washcloth in hand. ]
Here, sir. [ tseng hands it over. this time, his gaze is steady and unembarrassed as he looks over at rufus. ]
[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.]
[ the power structure between them slots into place again, and the ground solidifies beneath tseng’s feet. it’s easier to understand what to do when he understands each of their roles. by the time he re-emerges, chest clean and teeth brushed, the shield of his professionalism is back in place, as is the armor of rufus’ station.
even before the events of the last few weeks, the series of circumstances that culminated in tseng pledging his loyalty and that of the turks to rufus shinra in lieu of their loyalty to the president, things between them had always been fairly simple to understand. rufus shinra was the lever that would move the world, and tseng was the fulcrum upon which that lever rested. leverage, for rufus’ designs. it’s that pattern into which tseng settles now, once he sees that gleam in rufus’ eyes that means he’s collected himself. easy.
easy, until rufus curls his fingers in a way that’s unmistakably beckoning tseng closer, and tseng, damn him, leans right down into it. ]
Thank you, sir.
[ maybe the words come out perfectly steady. to tseng’s ears they sound softer than they should, as soft as the drag of rufus’ fingertips through the length of his hair. tseng’s hair rarely tangles, a blessing of genetics, and he doesn’t feel rufus’ fingers catch on anything as they pass through the strands.
which means either—
either rufus was so gentle that tseng didn’t feel him untangle it, or rufus invented a tangle for the purpose of putting his fingers in tseng’s hair. both of those options feel impossible, overwhelming. tseng can’t let his mind linger on either, for now; he locks them both away in the same place that he’s storing the fact that hearing rufus say please was enough to make him come in his jeans. ]
I’m going to find new clothes, [ tseng says, and does not explain why they’re needed. ] The room is secure. I won’t be long.
[ he doesn’t give rufus orders, so he doesn’t say stay here until i return, but rufus is no idiot, so tseng is sure he hears the request.
either way, tseng is out the door before he can think too hard on it, before the mess in his underwear starts leaking through the thicker fabric of the denim. ]
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peacockstop2024-02-10 11:29 am
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But then —
Lower your hips, he says, and the silence that follows after it is deafening. The respect is precisely the same as always; the lack of the word sir has Rufus's chest going tight from how he forgets to breathe. Maybe that's why he obe— why he acquiesces without question; he's too busy thinking to think better of it, too preoccupied to resist the way Tseng's hands stroke over his hips and settle on his sides to show him exactly where and what he needs to be.
His lungs quickly remember their function at the first pass of Tseng's tongue. It's like the breath has been punched out of him with the way it rasps, hard and blunt like a gasp in reverse. All of a sudden his arms seem to have to work harder to bear his own weight, where they're braced against the mattress; all he can see from this vantage is a slim strip of Tseng's bared abdomen and the crotch of his jeans and it's not enough, it's not nearly enough.
But once — once should be sufficient, shouldn't it? They've met the slot machine's terms. The reward is his. He should be triumphant. He should be satisfied.
Only Tseng doesn't stop, and Rufus can't produce an answer of whether or not he even wants him to. It's as though half of him can't stand it, can't bear to let himself continue with this any further, and the other half would sooner rip every last misgiving out of himself with his bare hands before letting it come to an end. He's so hard it's dizzying, and the heat and pressure of it aren't going away; quite the contrary, every twist and flick of Tseng's tongue just brings him closer to the inevitable, has him biting his lip swollen to keep any untoward noises suppressed.
It couldn't have been anyone else, he thinks, scrabbling furiously for any scrap of composure he can find. Doing this, being like this — he could never have allowed it from anyone else.
He wouldn't have wanted it from anyone else.
I want it, he thinks treacherously, and before he can dwell on that thought any further he picks up one of his bracing hands and moves it to rest on Tseng's thigh instead, just touching the muscle and the texture of his jeans, like he's desperately in need of a lightning rod to divert the electricity of that realization before it can shock him from the inside out.]
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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. ]
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Fuck.
And in a way, Tseng gets his wish — about halfway so, all things considered. There's no missing the sight of his cock with the way they're positioned, and there's no denying the way the denim is straining. The part that doesn't come together, that Rufus is too far gone to connect, is why: why would Tseng be so aroused when he's barely touched him at all? It's understandable that he'd be this close to the brink himself, dappled in sweat and trembling even without the attentions of that damnable tongue, but that's because Tseng made sure this would work, he'd handled it, taking charge of the way this unfolds while Rufus, as ever, contributed comparatively little in return.
His fingers, the ones that were already familiar with the texture of Tseng's jeans, ghost over the shape of his cock before he quite realizes what he's doing — only then he does realize, and snatches it back before he can surrender to any temptation of doing it again. Tseng's pants didn't come off because they didn't need to come off; he'd had every opportunity to remove them, if that's what he'd wanted, yet here they are.
Fuck.
What he ought to be doing is touching himself, probably. Or at the very least focusing less on wondering how Tseng's arousal might swell if he were to fit it into the palm of his hand instead, if he'd somehow keep his composure even in the midst of petting like that or if his eyes would go dark and desiring from the sensations rolling over him, the same way that every flick of his tongue sends shockwaves up Rufus's spine.
He's thinking too much. He's thinking too much.
But fortunately Tseng's aims end up perfectly aligning with that desire to stop thinking, and as the sensations escalate he can feel his focus starting to melt away, taking all semblance of a filter along with it.]
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tseng puts his thoughts away and redoubles his efforts. he wishes he’d brought lube, so he could slip a finger or two inside rufus and see what kind of noises he makes when tseng massages his prostate; he wishes he had even the faintest excuse for that, but he doesn’t, which is why his hands stay right where they are. the excuse for the fact that he’s still licking over rufus’ entrance, still fucking him with his tongue, is that there may be a clause of the slot machines that demands that one party reach orgasm. there’s no excuse for tseng wanting to finger rufus until he comes all over tseng’s chest.
(fuck.)
it’s clear that rufus is getting closer to climax, at least judging by the way his noises are growing a little freer and the way the his thighs keep twitching against tseng’s shoulders. the wet place on tseng’s collarbones must be precum, and the thought alone is enough to send a fresh surge of heat through his body. if he was going to stop at all, tseng should have stopped minutes ago, after the first pass of his tongue against rufus’ entrance; that chance has long since passed, and now a herd of wild chocobos couldn’t pull him away from his task of getting to hear what rufus sounds like when he comes. ]
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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.]
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he’s also so attuned to rufus that it would be impossible for him to miss that hitched breath, that murmur, that half a word that’s barely anything at all and is yet, paradoxically, everything.
please.
after the fact, he’ll be able to point to this as the moment he knew he was fucked. in the moment, though, he has no idea what it is about that half-syllable that hooks its white-hot claws in him, has no idea what hearing even the ghost of such a plea on rufus’ tongue would be enough to send pleasure crashing through him like a tidal wave. but it does. it does, it takes him apart from the inside out.
tseng’s fingers spasm against rufus’ waist. his own hips jolt, and he muffles an audible noise of pleasure directly against rufus’ entrance. the muscles in his thighs and stomach tense and tseng comes hard in his jeans, without being touched once, save for that barely-there caress that he’s still sure he hallucinated.
a lesser man would be undone by the intensity of the orgasm; tseng, however, has a job to finish. he slides his hands down from rufus’ waist to his hips, then down right to the crease where his hips meet his thighs, fingers curling inward and pressing just shy of his cock. he moans against rufus’ hole, lets the vibrations run through him, and hopes against hope that he won’t be the only one making a mess of himself tonight. ]
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And yet the moan that resonates throughout the bridal suite isn't one of the ones that Rufus himself has been stifling, isn't one of the noises he's tried to hard to keep swallowed and constrained. That's Tseng — that's what Tseng sounds like when he's not quiet, when something finally made him surrender his composure to the inevitable.
Maybe that's what tips him over the edge. It could be the stimulation, of course, redoubled in its enthusiasm while the sound is still lingering in the air. It could be the strong grip of hands on him, the way it adjusts from something stabilizing to something unmistakably possessive. It could be anything, really, but the triumph and the fascination certainly don't hurt anything, and nor does the fact that he's certain he didn't imagine the feeling of Tseng tensing up beneath him or the tremor that ran through him in the wake of what sounded very much like satisfaction of his own.
It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, because Tseng isn't the only one making a mess of Tseng tonight, not when that clever tongue swipes over him just one time too many and whatever last thread of resolve he'd been maintaining finally snaps. Cum spills filthy between them, spattering against Tseng's skin, and the fact that Rufus rolls off of him to half-collapse on the mattress probably has more to do with not wanting to land it in than out of any courtesy not to crush him when he goes down.]
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for a moment there’s silence, broken only by the sound of their mutual panting. little tremors are still running through tseng’s body, the aftermath of his own orgasm—he puts a pin in that, mentally, something to come back to later—and he doesn’t dare look over at rufus, too afraid of what it might do to him to see what rufus shinra looks like in the immediate aftermath of orgasm.
the tingling in tseng’s fingertips fades. he draws a slow breath, steadying, and then pushes himself up, slowly so as not to let his own hair fall into the mess of rufus’ cum on his chest. ]
I’ll get a towel.
[ even just the glimpse of rufus he gets from the corner of his eye is enough to send a jolt through him like a fucking thundaga spell. the sweat at his temples, the flush in his pale cheeks—tseng tears his eyes away before he can internalize much more, forces himself to stand on shivery legs to make his way to the adjoining bathroom.
ostensibly, he’s there to get washcloths. really, he’s there to stare at himself in the mirror (blessedly obscured from the bed) and ask himself, what the fuck?
tseng affords himself ten seconds to question his entire set of life choices before he picks up a washcloth from the rack and wets it under the sink. he makes quick work of cleaning himself up, but lingers a little when he’s done—giving rufus a chance to put himself slightly back in order, before tseng re-emerges from the bathroom with a fresh, warm washcloth in hand. ]
Here, sir. [ tseng hands it over. this time, his gaze is steady and unembarrassed as he looks over at rufus. ]
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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.]
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even before the events of the last few weeks, the series of circumstances that culminated in tseng pledging his loyalty and that of the turks to rufus shinra in lieu of their loyalty to the president, things between them had always been fairly simple to understand. rufus shinra was the lever that would move the world, and tseng was the fulcrum upon which that lever rested. leverage, for rufus’ designs. it’s that pattern into which tseng settles now, once he sees that gleam in rufus’ eyes that means he’s collected himself. easy.
easy, until rufus curls his fingers in a way that’s unmistakably beckoning tseng closer, and tseng, damn him, leans right down into it. ]
Thank you, sir.
[ maybe the words come out perfectly steady. to tseng’s ears they sound softer than they should, as soft as the drag of rufus’ fingertips through the length of his hair. tseng’s hair rarely tangles, a blessing of genetics, and he doesn’t feel rufus’ fingers catch on anything as they pass through the strands.
which means either—
either rufus was so gentle that tseng didn’t feel him untangle it, or rufus invented a tangle for the purpose of putting his fingers in tseng’s hair. both of those options feel impossible, overwhelming. tseng can’t let his mind linger on either, for now; he locks them both away in the same place that he’s storing the fact that hearing rufus say please was enough to make him come in his jeans. ]
I’m going to find new clothes, [ tseng says, and does not explain why they’re needed. ] The room is secure. I won’t be long.
[ he doesn’t give rufus orders, so he doesn’t say stay here until i return, but rufus is no idiot, so tseng is sure he hears the request.
either way, tseng is out the door before he can think too hard on it, before the mess in his underwear starts leaking through the thicker fabric of the denim. ]