[Tseng holds back, asks permission; Rufus is the one with the privilege to take what he wants. But look at him, the way his advance isn't quite as smooth as his usual gait would be, the way his muscles are rigid like a string pulled taut and threatening to snap. Well-trained, he thinks, and the analogy is strangely warming to contemplate, simmering an odd sort of affection that seems to fill his chest like Tseng is filling out the front of his swim trunks.]
You don't have to ask me that.
[He sits up a little, putting Tseng's new proximity to good use, but it isn't the expanse of his bared chest that he goes for — it's that place just under his ear, where he can slide his fingers through thick dark hair and curl against the curve of his head, almost the way he would cup Darkstar's muzzle beneath her chin when he was feeling particularly indulgent.]
Well. Unless you like it when I keep you on a tight leash.
[Slowly, slowly, he pulls his hand back, and makes a subtle gesture in the air that Tseng is sure to recognize — it's one of his nonverbal commands, the precise sort that Darkstar knows to obey.]
no subject
You don't have to ask me that.
[He sits up a little, putting Tseng's new proximity to good use, but it isn't the expanse of his bared chest that he goes for — it's that place just under his ear, where he can slide his fingers through thick dark hair and curl against the curve of his head, almost the way he would cup Darkstar's muzzle beneath her chin when he was feeling particularly indulgent.]
Well. Unless you like it when I keep you on a tight leash.
[Slowly, slowly, he pulls his hand back, and makes a subtle gesture in the air that Tseng is sure to recognize — it's one of his nonverbal commands, the precise sort that Darkstar knows to obey.]
Go on. Speak.