[It occurs to him, through the cloudy disorientation of ache and arousal, that he really could just — let Tseng have this. Put himself wholly and thoroughly in the care of his Director of the Turks, this covetous hungry dream of him, and just see what happens when he does. It's an altogether foreign thought to entertain, even briefly. In the waking world, maybe he wouldn't.
In the waking world, Tseng wouldn't give him the gift of fingerprints on his skin. Of touching him like this, like it's his goal to render him incoherent — relishing him for his body as much as for his ambition.
Maybe it would feel good to let him have it, just for a little while.]
No.
[It's neither a protest nor a denial; the way he struggles to move back into Tseng's stilled fingers is proof enough of his interest, and his tone is smug enough that it escapes sounding like a plea. He sounds, of all things, like he knows a secret — or at the very least, like he's holding one last unplayed card when all his chips are otherwise down. That even if he lets Tseng take everything else, and enjoys it the whole way down, he'll keep his voice, his goading, his ability to speak at all.
That, or he'll see if Tseng can take even that from him. Somehow, either outcome feels like a win.]
If I wanted — cock I could — hhh, have it —
[He grates it out, echoing the unconfirmed enigma: has another man had him, or not? It's not like it matters. It'll get the same rise out of Tseng either way.]
no subject
In the waking world, Tseng wouldn't give him the gift of fingerprints on his skin. Of touching him like this, like it's his goal to render him incoherent — relishing him for his body as much as for his ambition.
Maybe it would feel good to let him have it, just for a little while.]
No.
[It's neither a protest nor a denial; the way he struggles to move back into Tseng's stilled fingers is proof enough of his interest, and his tone is smug enough that it escapes sounding like a plea. He sounds, of all things, like he knows a secret — or at the very least, like he's holding one last unplayed card when all his chips are otherwise down. That even if he lets Tseng take everything else, and enjoys it the whole way down, he'll keep his voice, his goading, his ability to speak at all.
That, or he'll see if Tseng can take even that from him. Somehow, either outcome feels like a win.]
If I wanted — cock I could — hhh, have it —
[He grates it out, echoing the unconfirmed enigma: has another man had him, or not? It's not like it matters. It'll get the same rise out of Tseng either way.]
Fucking — do it, I want you —