[Most people, if asked to identify the most romantic thing that had left Tseng's mouth just now, would gravitate towards that last vow, that tell me you want it and it's yours. Not so for Rufus, for whom hearing a phrase like that from Tseng just means that it's a day ending in Y; of course anything he wants is his, of course Tseng will give it to him. Tseng would deliver him the world, if Rufus weren't so personally invested in doing it himself.
No, the thing that gives him hazy pause is what comes before it. And maybe he's only saying so because of the influence of the dream, or maybe he's only saying so because Rufus told him to say that too, but the fact remains that — that Rufus gets to hear the words I would love it breathed into the sliver of space left between them, and gets to choose to believe it for just a little while.
That's what he wants, he realizes. Hearing it appeases something that's been boiling up inside of him, smooth as velvet in the way it strokes it back down into complacency. He wants to be loved in full view of the memory of the man who was supposed to and didn't.
His father would hate that. Tseng doesn't think about what the former President Shinra would hate, but Rufus does.]
Do it just like you said. With your hands on me. Holding me.
[...down, that phrase was supposed to be holding me down, but it's not like the nuance matters. Tseng knows how to finish his sentences for him, anyway.]
I want to see you love every minute of it. You understand, right? That love of yours, it's mine. You'll have this because you're mine.
[In dreams, at least, he can have it that way. Under the influence of a fully activated suit, he can act on it. It's such a rush, such an indulgence, that his pupils dilate and the color rises higher in his cheeks, a little breathless as he drags his fingers along Tseng's back and rocks in to press up flush against him.]
Consider this authorization of discretion. Now stop holding back; whatever you take is what I want.
no subject
No, the thing that gives him hazy pause is what comes before it. And maybe he's only saying so because of the influence of the dream, or maybe he's only saying so because Rufus told him to say that too, but the fact remains that — that Rufus gets to hear the words I would love it breathed into the sliver of space left between them, and gets to choose to believe it for just a little while.
That's what he wants, he realizes. Hearing it appeases something that's been boiling up inside of him, smooth as velvet in the way it strokes it back down into complacency. He wants to be loved in full view of the memory of the man who was supposed to and didn't.
His father would hate that. Tseng doesn't think about what the former President Shinra would hate, but Rufus does.]
Do it just like you said. With your hands on me. Holding me.
[...down, that phrase was supposed to be holding me down, but it's not like the nuance matters. Tseng knows how to finish his sentences for him, anyway.]
I want to see you love every minute of it. You understand, right? That love of yours, it's mine. You'll have this because you're mine.
[In dreams, at least, he can have it that way. Under the influence of a fully activated suit, he can act on it. It's such a rush, such an indulgence, that his pupils dilate and the color rises higher in his cheeks, a little breathless as he drags his fingers along Tseng's back and rocks in to press up flush against him.]
Consider this authorization of discretion. Now stop holding back; whatever you take is what I want.