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peacockstop2024-06-15 12:00 pm
goldmods) wrote in peacockstop2024-06-15 12:00 pm
TDM 04
【 Thank you for choosing the Golden Peacock, 5-star resort and casino. You are currently registered as a WILDCARD in our system.
Due to a high volume of check-ins, temporary accommodations have been made on our brand new beachfront for new guests. We will endeavor to have all guests moved into their reserved rooms as soon as possible. We apologize for any inconvenience. Affected guests may convene with the nearest lifeguard or reception for a complimentary swimsuit, at their earliest convenience.
Please remember that beach-appropriate attire is mandatory. Guests found breaking dress code may be escorted off the beach until they return in proper swimwear. We hope you enjoy your stay, and have a beachy keen experience. 】
BEACHFRONT PROPERTY
A BRAND NEW DEVELOPMENT
As the resort moves into what it claims is summer, the days grow longer. The sun is projected well into the evening, the heat of its warmth dialed up to a level some guests complain is unreasonable. Then there’s the most excessive transformation of all – half the Cloud Dwelling Gardens have been transformed into a sparkling beach of white sands and blue waves, seemingly overnight. Statues nearby have been dressed up with wide hats and stylish sarongs. Upbeat music fills the air without any discernible source.
A section of the beach has been reserved for a collection of bungalows. These cute pastel homes open straight onto the sand, and are comparable in size and amenity to a rank 7 or 8 suite. All screens within these bungalows are fixed to a channel that airs reruns of Boobwatch around the clock, a classic TV series about blue-footed boobys running in slow-motion across the beach. Staff and long-standing guests all agree — there’s no better summer programming than this!
A section of the beach has been reserved for a collection of bungalows. These cute pastel homes open straight onto the sand, and are comparable in size and amenity to a rank 7 or 8 suite. All screens within these bungalows are fixed to a channel that airs reruns of Boobwatch around the clock, a classic TV series about blue-footed boobys running in slow-motion across the beach. Staff and long-standing guests all agree — there’s no better summer programming than this!
FUN IN THE SUN
DON'T FORGET TO OIL UP
What’s a beach without fun and games? Dreadfully boring! That’s why all of the beach classics have been expertly set up by staff, including strip volleyball nets, giant boob-shaped beach balls, and plenty of floaties for use in the shallower areas of the temporary ocean. A row of parasols with paired lounge chairs underneath them are placed in some prime viewing areas for festivities. Any time you get thirsty, there’s always a cooler full of canned drinks conveniently nearby, courtesy of Cock-a-Doodle-Doo’s. Sometimes you can hear the staff whispering to each other, “What if it’s too perfect? We won’t be able to deal with the ratings dip once the beach ends!”
Seashells have been arbitrarily scattered along the shoreline, coming in both natural shapes and ones a little more... erotic. The sexiest ones of all are conch shells that let you hear the moans of another guest when held up to your ear; supposedly, if you hook up with the person on the other end of the shell, you’ll be extra lucky in the casino for the rest of the summer. All in all, it’s a carefully tailored creation that can be called nothing short of paradise.
Seashells have been arbitrarily scattered along the shoreline, coming in both natural shapes and ones a little more... erotic. The sexiest ones of all are conch shells that let you hear the moans of another guest when held up to your ear; supposedly, if you hook up with the person on the other end of the shell, you’ll be extra lucky in the casino for the rest of the summer. All in all, it’s a carefully tailored creation that can be called nothing short of paradise.
NOTES
▶ All new arrivals have been issued four food and four clothing vouchers. These vouchers are as good as money around the resort. The staff will strongly insist on characters picking out "summery" attire with it, though.
▶ Existing characters may be booted into the bungalows or locked out of their room against their will. We leave it up to player discretion if this happens and the degree to which they're removed from their normal suite.
▶ For the Daydream Parasols, wildcards may be afflicted by whichever suit their player prefers for the duration of the dream. This will have no bearing on their suit selection when applying, and suit effects should not manifest once back in the waking world. It's just a dream, after all!
▶ The dreamscape has no explicit time limit, so feel free to make them as long or as short as desired. Dreams should also be sexy first and foremost. While you can include your mom dying in the background if you'd like, you have to be horny about it too.
▶ Existing characters may be booted into the bungalows or locked out of their room against their will. We leave it up to player discretion if this happens and the degree to which they're removed from their normal suite.
▶ For the Daydream Parasols, wildcards may be afflicted by whichever suit their player prefers for the duration of the dream. This will have no bearing on their suit selection when applying, and suit effects should not manifest once back in the waking world. It's just a dream, after all!
▶ The dreamscape has no explicit time limit, so feel free to make them as long or as short as desired. Dreams should also be sexy first and foremost. While you can include your mom dying in the background if you'd like, you have to be horny about it too.
TWINKLING CURRENTS
THE PARTY NEVER STOPS
As the sun sets in a cascade of colors over the water, lamps are lit and floating lights surface from the depths. Stars twinkle in the sky, and Steve is finally released from his smoky shackles. Though the daytime amenities have gone to sleep, the night promises its own set of beachy wonders sure to please even the most distinguished of vacationers.
Flyers posted in the lobby and in the hallways promise of a bar ran by the most enchanting mermaids you could ever want to fuck, as well as a fireworks show in every color, including ones you’ve never heard of. With the seagulls gone to bed, peace settles across the sands, tinted blue, yellow, and pink from the myriad of lights. For those seeking a more subdued, romantic air — this is the beach for you.
Flyers posted in the lobby and in the hallways promise of a bar ran by the most enchanting mermaids you could ever want to fuck, as well as a fireworks show in every color, including ones you’ve never heard of. With the seagulls gone to bed, peace settles across the sands, tinted blue, yellow, and pink from the myriad of lights. For those seeking a more subdued, romantic air — this is the beach for you.
SANDY SCAVENGING
A GAME OF BEACHES
It wouldn't be the Golden Peacock without a game for guests to play! All guests that wander into the beach area may find themselves receiving one of two Watch messages. Some very special guests may even receive both challenges — or continuously receive a new challenge when the last 24 hours is up. The resort just wants you to have the most fun possible!
NOTES
▶ All effects from the swim-up bar last around 2-3 hours, but may be extended by having another drink.
INTO THE DEPTHS
IT'S HIGH TIDE WE GET OUT OF HERE
Though the beach experience is perfect on the surface, things are less elegant behind the scenes. Wave-making machines pulse and rattle down below, shaking the ceiling of the basement suites. Water leaks from pipes, streaking across walls and pooling on the uneven floors. The maintenance levels are abuzz with staff setting out buckets and pans, shooing lost guests away with a heightened level of urgency. Someone got a little too enthusiastic with mopping, they claim. Nothing to worry about at all!
Even the ocean itself isn’t without its issues. Despite appearing as a boundless expanse from the shore, the walls of the Golden Peacock are a very real factor. To avoid any undue damage to the screens that comprise the sky, the sea stops abruptly before it reaches them, cascading into a waterfall all the way down to the depths of the resort. Gentle currents become swirling vortexes and choppy waves, sure to pull down any guests that aren’t careful about where they swim. A few gull-guards patrol the line of buoys that mark the end of the safe swimming area, but the primary line of defense the resort relies on is the utter disinterest most of its guests have.
Even the ocean itself isn’t without its issues. Despite appearing as a boundless expanse from the shore, the walls of the Golden Peacock are a very real factor. To avoid any undue damage to the screens that comprise the sky, the sea stops abruptly before it reaches them, cascading into a waterfall all the way down to the depths of the resort. Gentle currents become swirling vortexes and choppy waves, sure to pull down any guests that aren’t careful about where they swim. A few gull-guards patrol the line of buoys that mark the end of the safe swimming area, but the primary line of defense the resort relies on is the utter disinterest most of its guests have.
NOTES
▶ Any amount of standing water is a valid target for a character’s resurfacing, even something as minor as a glass of water. For situations where a character would not actively fit into the source of their arrival, they will be violently flung out of it, knocking over or spilling it in the process if that’s possible.
▶ As always, players are free to control the level to which their individual characters are affected, and being flooded out of their space is not mandatory.
▶ As always, players are free to control the level to which their individual characters are affected, and being flooded out of their space is not mandatory.
OOC NOTES
▶ BLANKET CW: alcohol; altered states; aphrodisiacs; breeding urge; delusions; forced clotheswearing; hallucinations; harassment and bullying; jealousy; thalassophobia; transformation; unreality
▶ All 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 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 June event. The beach will ICly be present from June 15th - June 30th.
▶ Current characters may top level on the TDM. 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 prioritized and receive attention!
▶ If you aren't satisfied with these prompts, please feel free to check out our LOCATIONS to explore more of the resort! There are recent additions to the locations page as well, for those who have yet to see them!
▶ 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 regardless!
▶ 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.
▶ Don't forget your sunscreen! We'd hate for any chicken wings to come out burnt.
▶ All 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 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 June event. The beach will ICly be present from June 15th - June 30th.
▶ Current characters may top level on the TDM. 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 prioritized and receive attention!
▶ If you aren't satisfied with these prompts, please feel free to check out our LOCATIONS to explore more of the resort! There are recent additions to the locations page as well, for those who have yet to see them!
▶ 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 regardless!
▶ 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.
▶ Don't forget your sunscreen! We'd hate for any chicken wings to come out burnt.
opens my arms and his legs
It is surprising that Tseng turns up like this — dressed for the beach, barefoot, and looking at him like the sun's got him parched and Rufus is one of those frosty drinks from the swim-up bar. He likes that, he finds. Likes to be looked at like this. Everyone looks at him in one way or another, but no one, no one gets to look at him like this.
Not unless he wants it, and oh, does he want it.]
That's right.
[He can tell, on some level, that this isn't...right. That office desks don't just turn up on beaches, that the mood he's in is a lot more libertine than he would normally allow himself. There's a hazy element of it all that doesn't quite feel real, and yet he finds he's not eager to dwell too much on it. It's enough to feel as though what's unfolding here doesn't matter, and if he's being given no choice in the respite, then he might as well relish what he's got while it lasts.
He flicks his gaze over Tseng, from his toes to his eyes, slow and appraising. There are few people in the world more controlled than Tseng is; all of his tells are subtle when they're even there at all. But Rufus knows where to look, knows what it means that he's even seeing as much as he's able to see. There's a tension in Tseng that's fit to burst, and that — now that's interesting.]
I wonder what you'd do with it, if you could.
no subject
still, tseng doesn't look away. he holds rufus' gaze, steady, and tilts his head slightly to the side in consideration of the question. what would he do with the desk, if he could? nothing. that seat is not for him, not for anyone save rufus shinra himself—tseng could no more sit behind it than he could pluck meteor from the heavens with his bare fingers. surely rufus knows that, though, and so there must be another question within the question, the heart of what he's really asking.
synechdoche, tseng thinks. not what he would do with the desk, but what he would do with rufus, the boy-king whose empire the desk represents. ]
As much as you'll allow.
[ the heat in him is terrible. it swells up like storm surge, makes his throat tight with the desire to swallow rufus whole. he wants to put his hands in rufus' hair, wants to shove his face into the desk and find out what rufus sounds like when he comes. he wants to peel back the layers of rufus' skin and find out what makes his heart beat, his muscles twitch, what makes him tick. he wants, and the want burns a hole straight through him. ]
no subject
It makes him think all of a sudden — as he folds one elegant leg over the other knee and leans back a little on the desktop, the very graven image of the king of all he sees — that what he wants is to spoil Tseng in a manner that Tseng would never allow himself. Spoil him like he would spoil Darkstar, put a chain collar on him and wrap it about his fingers.
Tseng knows what he belongs to, who he belongs to. Rufus wants to revel in it.]
No, no. You're not getting off that easily.
[If he means it as a double entendre, it's a smooth and playfully cruel one. He stretches out one arm, expansively, beckoning Tseng to eliminate the respectful distance between them and come close enough to touch.]
I want specifics.
[I want you, says every bit of him except his lips themselves.]
no subject
Sir. [ tseng takes a step closer, and then another, until he's slightly to the left of rufus' crossed legs. close enough that rufus could reach out and press the palm of his hand flat to tseng's chest if he wanted to.
at this distance, and in this light, it would be impossible for rufus to miss the way that tseng's eyes blown dark with arousal. he fixes his gaze on rufus, and then allows it to trail slowly down the long, pale line of rufus' throat, over the dip where his clavicles meet, over the exposed plane of his chest and stomach—and then up again to meet his eyes again. ]
Permission to speak freely?
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.
no subject
this is a dream, tseng thinks. this isn't real. rufus can't possibly hold any of this against him. but dream rufus asked for specifics, and tseng is not one to disobey. ]
I would pin you against it, [ tseng says. his need is a roiling furnace inside him, words spilling molten hot from his lips. his eyes land on rufus' mouth, the faint shine of his lower lip; tseng wonders if he tastes as good as he looks. ] Face down, right where your father used to sit. I would put one hand in your hair and one around your wrist, hold you there while I fuck you.
[ his cock throbs between his thighs, a flicker of muscle in his lower stomach. pleasure is a brand against his skin. tseng thinks rufus must be able to read it. ]
I would make you come like that, and then turn you on your back and fuck you again. I would leave you wrecked and dripping, so full of me you can't think straight. I would worship you on this desk, so every time you sit behind it you think about me between your legs.
[ is that specific enough? tseng wonders. ]
no subject
Setting aside the question of how Tseng could've possibly known exactly, exactly what he wants — it begs the question, still, are they just that much in alignment? Or is Tseng somehow trying to give him what he wants, and still hiding his own interests even now?
He's not about to ask. But he still thinks he's got a few ways of finding out, regardless.]
Dad would roll in his grave, wouldn't he. Precious me, bent over for a Turk.
[He unfolds himself languidly, sliding off the desk so that he's standing right up in the circle of Tseng's personal space, and drapes his arms over Tseng's shoulders without preamble. His cheeks are still lightly pink, his eyes still dark and hungry; the difference between them is that Tseng looks like he's holding himself back within the cage of his own body, and Rufus is slipping through the bars because he can't stand the thought of that barrier between them.]
But I don't want you to do it just because he'd hate it. I want you to do it because you'd love it.
[This was a risky move, getting this close. He'd meant to tempt Tseng with it, but the backlash hits him harder than he'd thought it would — wanting that promise of worship, that indelible connection, wanting to be wanted so bad he might go a little crazy from it.
He leans in a little desperately, drawn like a magnet, pausing before claiming a kiss from Tseng's lips only long enough to murmur against his mouth: ]
So tell me you'd love it.
no subject
rufus slips off the desk and crowds into tseng's personal space. his body radiates heat like a small sun, and tseng's nails bite into his palms for the effort it takes not to reach out and put his hands all over rufus' body, at his waist, up his sides, his chest, his back. once he allows himself that indulgence, tseng knows it's over for him—that will be the drop of water that breaks the dam.
he cannot, however, stop himself from tilting his head just enough that rufus' nose slots against his perfectly, that their lips brush when rufus speaks, the contact a wildfire threatening to consume tseng whole. ]
I don't think about what he would hate, [ he murmurs back. he can feel the heat of rufus' breath against his mouth, can all but hear the thud of rufus' heartbeat in his ribcage. ] I want it. I would love it.
[ the thread of tseng's self-control stretches thin, strains under the pressure of holding him back. he swallows hard. ]
Tell me you want it too and it's yours.
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.
no subject
Yes, sir.
[ there is no mistaking the way that tseng kisses him. it's no careful exploration, no delicate, tender affection—tseng kisses rufus like he's determined to bring rufus to his knees. their lips slide together, wet and messy, all tongue, too much teeth, and it's so fucking good it scrapes tseng raw inside, hollows out a place inside him that only rufus' pleasure can fill. his hands slip up inside the open shirt rufus is wearing; his fingers curl and his nails drag down rufus' spine to the sway of his back, just to feel the way his back arches and presses more firmly against tseng.
he's not thinking about rufus' father. he can't think of anything but the way rufus tastes, sweet, a little tart, or the way his breath sounds when he draws it in through his nose. a thought: are there rules in the general affairs employee handbook about conduct unbecoming, and if so, does fucking the president over his desk fall under them?
one hand comes up to lace through the back of rufus' hair, and tseng pulls firmly, enough so that when he pulls away from rufus' mouth, rufus can neither chase nor withdraw. for a moment, he holds rufus' gaze with singleminded intensity, the dark amber of his own eyes a contrast to the stormy blue of rufus'. tseng couldn't say what he's looking for, but whatever it is, he finds it in the expression on rufus' face—moments later he presses rufus back against the desk, tugs his swim trunks down, and then spins him around to press him face first into the surface of the desk. ]
If you tell me to stop, I will stop, [ he says. ] Short of that, nothing in the world will keep me from making you come.
no subject
But so much the better that it is a dream, because that just means he's free to enjoy it as much as he wants, irrespective of consequences. Tseng kisses him like he's going to devour him and he's free to bend to it, relishing the demonstration of power for what it is without having to spare a thought for what it makes him in the process. And if that wasn't enough — sweet Shiva, if he wasn't turned on already, he would be in an instant the moment he's dragged off by his own hair, the moment Tseng just looks at him, all wild-eyed and disheveled with his lips still parted and wet —
It's not that Tseng's stronger than he looks. It's there, if you know where to look for it. But he is stronger than he lets on, which is why it's all the better to feel it firsthand like this, swept back and turned about and manhandled in what feels like one singular fluid movement.
The noise he makes is low and ragged. It's so good, what the hell, it's so good.]
Don't call me "sir" —
[With his cheek pressed against the tabletop, his attempts at responding are a little less comfortable than usual, but his thoughts are still sharp enough to leave Tseng a nice wide loophole with that insistence. Sir doesn't quite suit his purposes in a position like this, but it's far from his only title. It's Tseng's play, really, to decide which one he uses.
He shifts his feet a little, testing how much he can wiggle against how securely Tseng is holding him down. As expected, it isn't much.]
And keep, hhh, talking —
no subject
because this is a dream, tseng doesn't worry too much about the fact that when he brings his hand up between rufus' thighs, he finds his fingers already slick with just the right amount of lube. all it means is that it's even easier for him to slide a finger slowly, purposefully into rufus' body, past the tight, sensitive ring of muscle at his hole and into the hot clutch of his ass. ]
Tell me, Rufus. [ of all the choices, it's oddly rufus' given name that strikes tseng as the most intimate. no distance between them, like this. ] When was the last time you had a man inside you?
[ his grip in rufus' hair is more steadying than it is punishing. he keeps rufus where he is, sprawled out on the desk's surface, but it's not necessarily a degrading touch—or, well, maybe a little. mostly, it just makes it easy for tseng to treat rufus the way he wants to treat rufus, to take him apart little by little, stoke pleasure in his body until he begs tseng to make him come.
tseng's finger curls downward and presses against the soft give of muscle, stretching rufus' hole a little wider. he crooks his finger in soft beckoning motions, rubbing over his walls, just shy of his prostate. ]
Did you like it?
no subject
The thing about the question Tseng poses him is that it's an open question how serious he is about it. There are, ostensibly, reasons rooted in genuine concern that he might ask. There are also reasons that have nothing to do with concern and everything to do with the tension of the moment, the power he's exerting and maintaining with every least little movement.
And, well. He might be pinned, and he might be relishing this, but he's certainly not going to be mistaken for docile.]
Worried about how you'll measure up?
[Like that's even a question, when he's already preoccupied with how talented this dream-Tseng is at working him up, how good it already feels when they've barely even begun to do anything at all. He squeezes his eyes shut, breath condensing on the tabletop as he exhales roughly, and shifts his feet again to rock his hips back a little, for all that there isn't much room to move to begin with.]
Or could it be that you're jealous?
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. ]
no subject
Oh, no? You wouldn't hate to find out someone else got to me first?
[Impressive, how he manages to get a whole sentence out — tight and labored though it may be — when his breathing is starting to rasp in time with the cadence of Tseng's fingers, and the lip of the desk is cutting into his stomach from how his rocking keeps pressing him up against it. It's tempting to shift a hand off the desktop to reach down and touch himself, hard and aching as he is; when he ultimately decides to do it, it's not subtle, because isn't that what Tseng had described, one hand in his hair and one on his wrist?
Well. He hasn't got enough hands for it, with one occupied with fucking him so well. And it would be such a shame to lose the tension on his hair, but it'd be so good to come so close to having his hand held —
Held down. Held down, that's what he wants, obviously.]
no subject
[ at this distance, as closely attuned as tseng is to every single straining inch of rufus' body, he practically sees the decision before it's made, reading the twitch of muscle fiber that precedes the movement of rufus' hand from the surface of the desk. he moves the hand tseng can grab, and tseng knows that's intentional—rufus could get away with this, if he moved the other hand, so the fact that he doesn't tells tseng that rufus wants something.
wants this, probably: tseng letting go of rufus' hair and instead gripping his wrist, tight enough leave marks but just shy of tight enough to bruise. he pins the fine bones of rufus' hand down against the desk and leans forward over him, so that when he speaks, his low voice will carry. ]
Don't. [ it is, perhaps, the first time tseng has ever given rufus an order. in the waking world, he would sooner die. ] Let me. ]
no subject
Of course I would hate it, and that's good, it's so good. Of course Tseng should hate the thought of him being with anyone else, even if he's the one who raised the question to begin with. He should hate it because that's how this is supposed to work, because that's what it's supposed to mean when Rufus Shinra owns someone.
It is, as expected, a shame to lose that tension in his hair in favor of having his wrist gripped, but it's hard to feel too bad about it when the new sensation is just as thrilling. He can feel the bite of fingers into his skin; even without looking he knows exactly how perfect Tseng's control is, how the prints of his fingers will linger but not last, red for a while before fading back into obscurity. Just that recognition alone has him choking on a sudden mouthful of saliva, flooded with the realization of it. He's always known that Tseng is a weapon; he's never seen that exacting control turned on him like this.]
Tseng.
[It's a reward, the sound of his name dragged out ragged and hot in a tone like the one he uses. He'd say it a hundred times if it meant holding on to that one perfect moment a little while longer, when he's trapped between the desk beneath him and the wall of Tseng's body behind him, and strangely never safer in the world.
It's so strange, to have lost control of his body even on as minor a level as this, but with the way Tseng's fingers are pushed so deep, are stroking him inside, he can't help the way his body reacts with tremors, his throat with strangled sounds.]
You — sound like y— ! [Now his ability to hold a sentence is falling apart. He gasps, hitching over the lost syllables, and tries again.] — you're. Having fun —
[And isn't that something. Tseng of the Turks, having fun.]
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he curls his fingers right down against rufus' prostate, applying steady and unchanging pressure. it's a stillness tseng hopes will ache, because while tseng doubts he has a hope of leaving as permanent a mark inside rufus as rufus has left on him, he can at the very least make rufus squirm. ]
Is that so? [ tseng's not sure "fun" is the word for what he's feeling. immense satisfaction, maybe. enjoyment, base and instinctive and erotic. fun sounds too juvenile for the magnitude of what he's carrying inside himself. (but if he were pressed—yes, tseng might admit that this is, in fact, fun.) ] You sound like you want to be fucked.
[ like he wants tseng to fuck him. the demanding, possessive, animal nature of tseng's suit needs to make that distinction: that tseng belongs to rufus always, but at least for the duration of this moment, handspan though it is, rufus also belongs to tseng.
his fingers spread wide inside rufus before resuming their more regular thrusting. by now, rufus is loose enough around his fingers that tseng wouldn't be worried about hurting him with his cock, but he also rather likes the idea of making rufus come on his fingers and then fucking him through the lassitude of orgasm, and while he's trying to make a decision, he's going to see how close he can get rufus to that edge. ]
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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 —
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he pulls his fingers out of rufus. despite the urgency roiling inside him tseng tries to be careful, but he can't help moving quickly, nor the way that the suddenness of the gesture is likely to leave rufus feeling empty. all tseng can do is search again for the lube and use it to slick himself, not bothering to remove either rufus' swim trunks or his own—those would be precious seconds wasted, between himself and what he does next, which is to rest a palm at the sway of rufus' lower back and then fuck into him in one long, deep thrust. ]
Fuck, [ tseng breathes out, almost inaudible except that he knows rufus will hear. it's fine. rufus should hear, should know what he does to tseng.
when he's all the way buried inside, surrounded by the tight twitching heat of rufus' body, tseng pauses and exhales a shaky breath. in fourteen years tseng has allowed himself to imagine this exactly once, in a moment of weakness at age seventeen; his wildest dreams were nothing in comparison to the reality of having rufus underneath him, around him. ]
Breathe, [ tseng says, and when rufus does he pulls back to start fucking him in earnest. it's not gentle, but neither is it punishing—they're the precise, determined thrusts of someone who knows this is an experience he'll only ever have once, and who is used to reading every inch of rufus' body for reactions he can use to guide the way he moves. ]
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It's such a strikingly odd reversal of the norm. Tseng denying him. Tseng leaving him deprived. It'd be hotter than Ifrit's fires to contemplate if he weren't so preoccupied with how badly he wants to come. It'll be dizzying later when he thinks back on it in the shower or beneath his comforter, unable to stop thinking about a killer's fingers biting into his wrist and a low imperative not to touch himself at all.
He's still drifting on that thought when that same hand comes down heavy on his back like a weight — hells below, how many different ways will Tseng find to pin him, and all of them absolutely intoxicating? — and it's the only warning he gets before suddenly he's penetrated in one swift movement that leaves him no time to react or respond.
He almost doesn't hear the word on Tseng's breath past the pounding of blood in his ears and the overwhelmed noise he only just barely manages to swallow. Almost — except that it's so rare for Tseng to make a sound at all, so rare that he's resonant with each and every one, and he's never in his life heard Tseng's breath tremble before.]
Tseng —
[It's hard to say in that moment what he actually wants more: to come, or to know that Tseng came because of him. His body has one very emphatic opinion on it. The ache in his chest holds the other. But what follows, in a whisper of his own, is perhaps telling: ]
Let me — hear you —
[The fact that he doesn't move at first has nothing to do with lack of interest and everything to do with wanting to savor this. Maybe it makes him a brat, to squeeze his eyes shut and hold still and let Tseng do all the world while he preoccupies himself with memorizing the white lightning of pleasure across every nerve, and the radiant heat their bodies produce, and what he aches to believe is the brush of the tips of Tseng's hair against his sweat-beaded skin. It doesn't take long, though, before they come together at an angle that he wants to feel again and again, and that's when he starts rocking back as best he can, adding his own force to the determined clash of their hips.]
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not to come himself, although inevitably that will be a consequence of what they're doing here. no—at the root of it this dream has always been about rufus. in the privacy of his own subconscious tseng will make demands of him, yes, will be harsh and demeaning and a little bit of a bully, but it has always been and always will be in service of rufus' pleasure. ]
Hah— [ tseng grits a breath out between clenched teeth, a sound that's half moan, half breathless laugh. even like this, rufus has it in him to give orders. ] Say please.
[ not that he has any control over it, now. tseng couldn't stop himself moaning if he tried, and no matter how much he tries to swallow them down, to bite them back, he can't help the way they spill from his throat, staccato little noises of pleasure as he fucks rufus like nothing else exists. he leans forward over rufus, his hair sliding over his shoulder to drag over the pale, bare skin of his back, a contrast of color that hits tseng in the solar plexus and leaves him momentarily breathless.
it's a supernova all over again when rufus finds purchase on the surface of the desk and begins to rock his hip back to meet tseng's. so that's the angle, then—tseng holds it, precise and steady, his cock rubbing directly over that same place inside rufus again and again. ]
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Tseng feels big inside him — more than he's ever done to himself, and hotter, and more forceful — and each shove drives his stomach into the lip of the desk, conspicuous bruises that will leave nothing to the imagination when it comes to how he'd incurred them.
If you'd asked him an hour before this very moment, he would've said with certainty that he'd be thinking about appearances at a moment like this, and perhaps lingering over thoughts of what old Daddy dearest would have to say about his conduct. The Rufus of an hour ago hadn't anticipated how impossible it is to think of anything else but Tseng at a time like this, as he feels himself hurtling towards climax and bites his lip to try to stave it off as long as he can — in part to make it last, and in part to force Tseng to make him come, as much a challenge as anything else between them.]
Why —
[His fingers slide against the smooth plane of the desktop. Sparks fly behind his eyes as Tseng settles into the angle he wants and holds it mercilessly, again and again until the white-hot pleasure follows a predictable cadence, until he's already holding his breath against each next flash of it, already cognizant of when the remainder will hit.
(He's almost at his own breaking point; orgasm isn't far off, now. He wants it like he wants the world: either to take it himself, or to have Tseng hand it to him.)
If only, he thinks. If only he could see the look on Tseng's face, right now; it would be more than enough, though enough of what he isn't altogether sure.]
You'll — do it either way —
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there's a certain temptation to stop. to shove his cock as deep as it will go into rufus' body and hold it there, force him to stretch around it, to savor the twitching heat of his body until rufus breaks and does as he's told. it's what tseng would do if rufus were anyone else, probably—stop, and make them beg, and then turn them over onto their back and fuck them until they make a mess of their own stomach and chest.
but rufus isn't just any partner, and the thought of watching his face when he comes feels ruinous. feels like something that would etch itself on the insides of tseng's skull, the back of his throat, something he would never again be able to stop seeing or stop tasting.
he still says, ] Because I said to, [ but he knows rufus won't do it. and the next best thing is this: like he promised minutes ago, tseng reaches around to wrap his hand firmly around the hot, slick length of rufus' cock, stroking him mercilessly in time with tseng's thrusts. rufus might be keeping this little corner of control for himself, but it's still tseng who has a grip on his pleasure. ]
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Because I said to rolls off him like water; the laugh he chokes out at the absurd delight of it melts quickly into a moan as Tseng's fingers grasp him, pinning him between pleasure on two separate fronts. There's nowhere left to go that doesn't push him closer to shattering: every thrust strikes his prostate at a satisfying angle, and every loss of Tseng's cock on the backswing is mitigated by the slick stroke of his hand.
If he had the semblance of coherence to care, he might spare a passing thought for whether it's enough, whether he's lasted sufficiently long to not make an embarrassment of himself. What a rush it is that he doesn't, and frankly satisfaction can't come fast enough.]
Then make me —
[And maybe Tseng could, but the window of opportunity slams shut well before he has the ability to try; the tension builds and builds until every bit of sensation feels like it's adding to the deluge, from the hardy desk to the ephemeral caress of Tseng's hair, the sticky sweat and the shuddering breath and the cadence of noise that comes from a world-class fucking.
But then he breaks, and all notions of bravado leave him in the same rush that has him spilling over Tseng's fingers, a climax that feels immense with the weight of years of accumulated desire. The strength saps from his limbs and he slumps a little more heavy over the desktop, a little more pliant for Tseng's thrusts to push around. There's fire in his lungs and he can't seem to get enough air in them to extinguish it. His hair has long since fallen out of its usual style from the exertion, and it tumbles across his eyes and obscures his vision with hazy blurs of gold — a curtain he's unable to clear away, for how heavy and clumsy his own arms have gone.
There are no words for how good it feels, and Tseng seems unwilling to let it end for him anytime soon, keeping him suspended in that tempestuous pleasure with every additional thrust.]
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