[ pity the fool who mistakes rufus for docile. even in a dream, tseng can't imagine him any other way than how he is: dangerous as a coiled snake even when he allows someone to lay their hands on him, using his fangs sparingly, ever cognizant of how sharp his venom can be. it's perhaps what tseng likes so much about this moment, this fantasy. he can treat rufus this way because rufus has allowed it, because he has decided that tseng may touch him. even like this, with his cheekbone pressed to the hard surface of the president's desk and tseng's finger buried inside him, rufus still has most of the power.
but tseng, at least, has some. he has the power to rock his hand forward into that backward shift of rufus' hips, to fuck him a little deeper. to slide a second finger into that tight hole, to spread his fingers wide and press them down on either side of the smooth shape of his prostate. rufus is goading him, tseng knows, and the worst part is it's fucking working, even though rufus' hole is so tight around his fingers that tseng knows no one else has been there in months, maybe years.
his teeth feel sharp with the desire to bite down on the back of rufus' neck, to mark him indelibly. he has no right, because rufus shinra belongs to no one despite the best efforts of many—but gods if he doesn't want. ]
I'm not worried. [ one statement, more or less true. ] And I'm not jealous. [ a second statement, less true than the first. tseng isn't accustomed to feeling jealousy and so he isn't sure if this is what it feels like, this burning in his lungs, this need to dig his fingers into the layer of muscle under rufus' skin so he can't move without thinking of tseng.
maybe it's just that tseng wants to know how many other men he's going to be better than, when he fucks rufus useless. he presses his fingers deeper, his hand beginning to move in quicker, steady thrusts, the sound of lube and skin on skin loud and indecent even over the swell of waves on the shore below them. ]
no subject
but tseng, at least, has some. he has the power to rock his hand forward into that backward shift of rufus' hips, to fuck him a little deeper. to slide a second finger into that tight hole, to spread his fingers wide and press them down on either side of the smooth shape of his prostate. rufus is goading him, tseng knows, and the worst part is it's fucking working, even though rufus' hole is so tight around his fingers that tseng knows no one else has been there in months, maybe years.
his teeth feel sharp with the desire to bite down on the back of rufus' neck, to mark him indelibly. he has no right, because rufus shinra belongs to no one despite the best efforts of many—but gods if he doesn't want. ]
I'm not worried. [ one statement, more or less true. ] And I'm not jealous. [ a second statement, less true than the first. tseng isn't accustomed to feeling jealousy and so he isn't sure if this is what it feels like, this burning in his lungs, this need to dig his fingers into the layer of muscle under rufus' skin so he can't move without thinking of tseng.
maybe it's just that tseng wants to know how many other men he's going to be better than, when he fucks rufus useless. he presses his fingers deeper, his hand beginning to move in quicker, steady thrusts, the sound of lube and skin on skin loud and indecent even over the swell of waves on the shore below them. ]