[ But… maybe she doesn't know where she's going with this either, only that it's surprisingly fun, and maybe more than just a little bit intriguing to push this particular set of buttons. ]
Maybe if you were less coy, your loins wouldn't burn so often.
bkst got exceedingly into that # of body parts captcha.. concerning
[ Tseng glances at her sidelong, suggesting her remark has landed somewhere within. ] Determination is an asset—when it's not working against me. [ This could pass for humor if it weren’t so meticulously subdued. Her request lingers, just so in a way that suggests Tseng might end up dismissing it outright once more. There's still a practiced stillness to him that, after everything, might still fool anyone not sitting in the car. ]
This isn't a leisurely drive, Aerith. [ He could very well leave it at that, but Tseng's tone tempers the potential finality of it. Stopping at the aforementioned bakery would seem small concession, but... ] Maybe another time.
[ Under different circumstances, like following unseen again. It’s not quite an apology, nor is it entirely an offer, but as if he's said all he can allow himself to, Tseng doesn't elaborate on the rules or remind her of who decided upon them in the first place, either. Of course, a ripple of intuition makes him wonder if her insistence is more than whim. A gut feeling, unspoken and unformed. The way the streets wind need no reminding of his that they're closer to her house than elsewhere, anyway. ]
my own top level? i just live in your open now i guess
[ It can, and does pass for humor – at least to Aerith, who responds to that comment about determination with a laugh and a self-satisfied smile. That expression hardly falters, even as Tseng follows up what she's choosing to take as a compliment with gently shutting her second suggestion of a stop down. ]
You're going to regret it when we have to go all the way back to the bar.
[ She's got to purse her lips a bit to stop from smirking as she turns to look at him, her shoulders rolling in an easy shrug as she fights the urge to narrow her eyes and end up looking too triumphant. ]
I forgot my scarf.
[ Aerith wants to believe he'll wave it off as her being a pest, rather than a deliberate move to spend more time riding around in his car and not going home. All things considered, Aerith almost wishes she could do the same. It's safer and more sensible than quietly pulling a shrewd stunt like this. ]
you do, do you want some slippers, something to drink?
[ Tseng's expression barely shifts, but there’s a subtle lift to his brow. He lets silence settle deliberately this time, moments during which Tseng thinks she's hoping to be dismissed by him as forgetful rather than calculating. Much kinder than a pest. Truthfully, he can’t say for certain which it is—he isn’t a mind reader. He doesn’t need to be. He knows her well enough, their history stretching far too long for her intentions to be entirely opaque. ]
You forgot your scarf.
[ He repeats it, dryly. He feels the corner tightening around him, and that's one of the hardest things to stand. The point of escorting her home was to ensure she stayed there—not to have her doubling back alone. Tseng pulls the car to the side of the road. The doors are still locked all around. His eyes shift to Aerith, less sharp and unmistakably weary. He doesn't bother concealing it. ]
Alright. [ There’s no fanfare in his response, resigned but firm. Tseng steers the car into a tight turn, heading back the way they came. His focus is on the road ahead...back, but from the corner of his eye, he watches her. ]
[ Indignance flares in the face of his exasperation, although for the time being Aerith manages to keep that rise of annoyance tamped down and tucked away, save for the newfound sharpness lingering at the corners of her eyes when she narrows them. The duality of her motivations is particularly odd one – the greedy want to stall, to prolong, to give herself another hour to steal glances in his direction, and the obstinance that begs to point out that if certain giant companies could just back off and let her have her own life, the whereabouts of her scarf wouldn't be anyone else's problem but her own.
However rankled, she still straightens in her seat after Tseng pulls the car over to send a tired, annoyed, look in her direction before turning the vehicle back around. The softer side of her decision dims like her sense of enjoyment from stealing more of his time, and Aerith huffs audibly as her gaze returns to the view ahead, aware he's still looking and grimacing doubly so because of it. She's the Ancient, the Asset, and Tseng is only here to make sure her value to Shinra doesn't depreciate on account of a little peril, not because he wants to be. ]
It's a safe trip.
[ They both know why she points that out, just like they both must know it's pointless. Tseng would never willingly drive away and leave her if he thought she would head right back out again once he did. Settling back against the seat, she crosses her arms, not bothering to meet his gaze in the rearview mirror. ]
[ He catches the edge in her narrowed eyes even at this angled view, obstinacy cloaked in politeness. Her huff is layered, and Tseng knows better than to dismiss it as simple annoyance. The air in the car thickens to something acrid quickly in their silence, even though it had just been made so sweet with the wind of her healing. His weariness seeps in, clouding his thoughts with half-buried truths. He wishes he could pretend her resistance is born of temporary frustration, something fleeting. Tseng stays silent for a long moment. ]
You know I can't ignore it.
[ His answer is just as redundant to be said out loud. He can't admit how often he tells himself it's not just Shinra who wants Aerith safe, or instead even claim that it is her mother's worry that drives him—tonight literally. That lie feels truly hollow and gives him no comfort. The line between concern and obligation blurs too easily when it comes to her. And the decision to speak next is also hers, as always.
His gaze drifts to the side more earnestly, but long enough to see the way she's crossed her arms against him. ]
[ A tart remark that's even more layered than the huff that preceded it, and twice as sharp. A comment she almost regrets making just as soon as the words leave her mouth. He'll see that in the mirror, should he elect to her look her way, how her eyes round, apprehensive and not without a generous dash of sadness. It's disconcerting to be upset by the thought that he's grown tired of being with her that evening, and it slips through the cracks enough to show.
Silence stretches long enough for her stomach to knot grimly as they pass beneath the long stop light without stopping. ]
Besides. [ An olive branch, not a white flag. ] You're acting like I have a curfew.
[ Her words bite, and though he's conditioned not to react outwardly, Tseng feels them lodge beneath his skin. Not readily seeking her out in the mirror, when he does, rounded eyes return him right to the moment before Aerith confessed her missing scarf. Thinking ahead, perhaps he should’ve delegated this task to Reno or Rude—to spare her his flash of frustration. Such a small thing to protect her from, but safeguarding her remains his duty in black and white
In the time he lets her remarks fully simmer, tension winds back across Tseng's shoulders. He's tired, but in a way sleep can fix, and wills the sullen look from his face as he catches his own reflection. He reaches for her olive branch. ]
You don't. [ No but, his hand, too, stays outstretched. ] Take your time to collect anything else you may have forgotten.
[ If it were anybody else, she wouldn't have been above not caring how exasperated she made him. Shinra has taken enough from Aerith that she's in the clear as far as being impolite goes. But, as he turns to face her, and she realizes how tired Tseng looks, Aerith feels just the slightest twinge of guilt drawing the evening out.
Her head bobs in a curt nod before the car door closes, and she disappears into the bar again.
Back in under five minutes with her scarf wrapped around her neck, she climbs into the car more carefully than she left. That extra note of care is explained as soon as she settles enough to pass him the cup of coffee. ] Because I bet you're not going to let me invite you to stay over and get some rest.
[ Faint traces of Aerith's flower-sweet presence linger in the car. His gaze drifts out toward the bar's entrance. As the engine idles quietly beneath dim lights, Tseng's eyes fall shut for a breath too long. With his left hand light on the wheel, he covers the smooth face of his watch with his thumb, counting the quiet seconds by feel.
His gaze lifts the instant she reappears, sooner than anticipated, and he watches as she crosses the street with purposeful steps. Tseng accepts the cup without a word. He lets warmth seep into his fingers, rather than drinking it just yet. There's something faintly self-effacing in his expression when she says why. ]
Thank you. [ The coffee isn't necessary, strictly speaking—but Aerith always seems to know when practicality isn't the point. ] You didn't have to. [ It's not admonishment. The sharp edges of weariness are dulled, and Tseng's focus ebbs just enough to suggest that his mind isn't entirely occupied with the task at hand, of hurrying her home. ]
[ He lifts the coffee away, freeing her hand up to wave dismissively at him after Tseng tells her she wasn't obligated to bring him anything. ]
It's the least I can do, isn't it? Considering how I'm keeping you up late.
[ If Aerith stopped to think about it, she would notice her own sleepiness beginning to encroach, but she's too busy trying to push aside that pang of remorse that lingers on the edge of her consciousness, a reminder that he'll drive her home quickly, and that will be that.
Her efforts aren't good enough to stave off the tightness in her jaw, or the dour look in her eyes that contradicts the bright tone of voice she's been trying for ever since she returned to the car. The thought of how wrong she was to think he wanted to draw this out as much as she did sitting heavy on her mind, ignoring all attempts to push past it. ]
[ He puts the cup in the console holder. Keeping him up late isn’t the problem, he’d like to tell her. He should sound grateful and mild, but all that Tseng manages is factuality. ]
But you didn’t need to go out of your way. [ For the coffee. Or his, with the scarf.
As much as he tries to speak free of sentiment or reprimand, this is as redundant as telling her not to stay out late at all. There’s only so much he can (and will) do. Of course, she’ll cut a hole in the fence of her boundaries, only to fall back into the moat the Turks keep digging deeper and wider around her. It’s a small concession that this isn’t their first night to end like this, and Tseng has slept on an even more bitter conscience. ]
I’m taking you home now. [ He says, coinciding with her unsung awareness that the night needs to end here. He’ll bring her to Leaf House; Tseng takes the street with the long red light again. ]
[ For a few minutes after waking, Aerith is too focused on trying to wrap her mind around the gentle way she can feel the mattress sinking beneath his weight, and the steady uncommonly relaxed sound of his breathing to move. There's no surprise threading its way through the intricate, but no less bright feelings that seem to swirl around her heart, but that doesn't mean she ever expected this to happen, either. Slowly – carefully – Aerith rolls onto her side, facing him, as she inwardly considers whether it was naive of her to think they'd go on forever without a breaking point ever being found and pressed on or not.
She doesn't have to look at him too long to know the answer.
Pursing her lips in a short-lived show of hesitation, one hand reaches out and settles over his before she, pauses and waits to see if he'll stir. Despite their shared state of undress, that he's gloveless is the thing that really drives the point home that this is all uncharted territory, and the thrill of it takes the uncertainty out of her expression, softening it into a look of quiet, but markedly unabashed affection.
Her hand leaves his in favor of letting her fingertips brush along the ends of his hair, unconsciously shifting nearer, crowding his space without a second thought so she can stare up at his face, indulging the piece of herself that isn't shocked by this happening in the slightest. ]
Are you awake yet? [ As warm and gentle as her voice is, Aerith can't conceal the delight in her tone, and, more to the point – she doesn't want to. It would be as impossible as trying to get the smile off of her face while she stares at him.
At Tseng.
At Tseng, undressed, and asleep in a bed where she has also been sleeping while undressed.
It should feel like a heavier issue than it does. ]
[ At first Tseng doesn’t move, and Aerith can look at him away from consciousness shaping his expression into unreadable masks. A divided part of his mind still registers everything: the warmth of her body as she inches closer, and incidentally the way her weight shifts on the slope dug by his shoulder, the light touch of her fingers. When she brushes through the ends of his hair, subtly, Tseng's lashes flicker. It's not a sudden awakening, more like a quiet acknowledgment that he's been aware for some time. His breathing deepens, and with it, he opens his eyes. Dark, calm, and focused, they meet hers.
He, also, was too aware the night before to be surprised now.
Tseng has memorized every detail of her face, presently. His gaze lingers anyway. The unguarded smile on her lips, the warmth of her gaze, the way she fills the air between them with a quiet joy are all fragments that have been shown to him. He hadn't permitted himself to touch them before.
His hand, resting between them, flexes. The leather of his gloves is harder than the skin on his fingertips. ]
I am. [ His answer offers nothing to hide behind. They'd been even more direct with each other last night.
Where the sheets slide off of her shoulder, he can see how her breasts curve away from her chest. He touches her forearm, feeling tendons stiff with the strand of his hair pinched between her fingers.
Tseng knows what he should say. That this can't happen again. That they've crossed a line neither of them can even afford to acknowledge.
But he says none of it.
His thumb brushes over her pulse, his hand wraps around her wrist. ]
soz, but, we're too busy watering our own crops to water kevin's
[ There's almost no chance they'll make it without saying all the things both of them choose to ignore. This can't happen again. They've crossed a line and – her arm relaxes under his hand as her fingers flex and curl a long strand of his hair around one of them, indulging every stupid thought and observation she's spent years making, relishing how sweet everything is on the other side of that uncrossable line.
Silent as she watches him watch her, Aerith only looks away when his fingers curve around her wrist, catching it lightly, loosely enough to allow her to slip her hand lower, until her palm settles against his, and she can lace their fingers together. ]
You looked like you were having a good sleep. [ And who cares if he knows she was watching? She spent most of last night tangled up with him, proving how much attention she's always paid, no sense in trying to play it cool now.
It's quiet, peaceful enough to make it easy to believe reality won't ever come knocking on the door, but the pale light filtering in from her window tells Aerith it's early, that there's time.
The arm resting against the mattress bends at the elbow before she presses it to the bed and uses the leverage to move very close in very little time. In a heartbeat, she's drawn close enough to usher herself into his arms and against his chest, ducking her head so it rests on his shoulder. ] Always knew you would be warmer than you looked.
[ Warm, intimate, and soft—these are all things Tseng has never considered himself to be. In the present moment, the very spaces between those words seem to stretch with the spaces between his fingers, allowing Aerith to slip between them. His grip tightens slightly around hers, his fingers curling gently over the back of her hand.
His mind, usually sharp and calculating, is occupied with unfamiliar thoughts: how long she's been watching him like this, how much she's memorized of him in ways he hadn't realized until now. He's spent years cataloging every detail of her—small, imperceptible things—but never with the awareness that not all of those details were meant for a report, or for professional detachment. Once or twice, he's seen her asleep, but the difference between then and now haunts him more than he expected.
Now the smooth glide of her skin against his ignites a quiet ache. Aerith's warmth in turn seeps deep, settling in places he didn't realize had grown cold. She fits too easily and perfectly against him, and it stirs a deep satisfaction within him. A low sound rumbles in Tseng's throat.
His free hand shifts to the small of her back, and his fingers trace up the length of her spine, ready to commit each subtle dip and curve to memory in a way that has nothing to do with duty. Tseng presses lightly, pulling her closer, letting her feel the growing tension in his body. ]
Aerith... [ Her name slips past his lips, almost like a confession. The muted glow cast across the room drapes over Aerith's skin, the morning held at bay by the gentle sway of her breathing. Tseng pauses just below her shoulder blades. ]
[ Later, she'll realize just how much of this she's committing to memory; from the soft spot below his collarbone where her cheek brushes against his skin, to the first little tingles of anticipation that ping over her senses once he pulls her close and makes it apparent he feels the same. The hands he maps her back with provide her with all the reason Aerith needs to mirror that attention, indulging the urge to run her fingers through his hair with one hand while the other curves over his shoulder blade.
He's as lean and strong to the touch as he looks, and her chest feels almost uncomfortably tight in the wake of all the affectionate warmth that seeps through it. After a moment spent flush against him and still enough to take in all the places they fit so well together, Aerith tilts her head up and lets her lips brush against his jaw, doing her best not to grin over the contact when his question shocks a laugh out of her. ]
Shouldn't you know that already? Tonight's the only time you were asleep while I looked. You couldn't have missed it every other time! [ And in the wake of his asking, Aerith can't deny that it's been many times indeed. ]
It's been a while. [ She declares gently after a moment of consideration as she draws back enough to steal a look up at his face. ] What about you, Tseng?
[ If her hands keep moving, she'll inevitably find some well-healed scar or another. Tseng’s lips press together as a subtle shift ripples through him under her caress, but there’s no trace of discomfort. His breath brushes her temple.
Tseng’s fingers touch the salted ends of her hair. His role has always demanded vigilance and restraint, but now he knows that the latter was never entirely honest. The way Aerith has changed over the years—grown into her womanhood—hasn’t gone unnoticed. Meanwhile, he’s seen and heard her laugh a dozen times, but never felt it so intently against his own skin. When she laughs he can’t help but still tighten his grip on her, his body reacts instinctively to the sound.
Tseng’s mind pulls back to every time he has watched her watch him. Was it just a consequence of noticing each other? He lingers where her waist curves under his hand. His thumb sweeps in a slow, deliberate arc beneath her breast. ]
I’ve always watched you. [ The dull explanation of his job. This isn’t what she means, though. Instead of stalling: ] Something changed that I wasn’t prepared for. Does that make sense?
[ He watches her through half-lidded eyes, sharp but softened in ways only she can manage. She should know... it’s harder to stop looking than she thinks. ]
[ Every detail etches itself deep into her memory. The warmth of his breath and the flutter of a few strands of hair tickling high on her cheekbone, what his skin feels like under her hands, all of it taking root in her imagination – a place this morning stands a high chance of living for a very long time. Aerith feels Tseng's hold tense at the sound of her laughter and almost melts into the gesture, ]
Yes. [ A hand finds its way to his face, where the pads of her fingers slowly trace over the gracefully high planes of his cheek. ] It makes sense. [ Even though when all is said and done, none of this has any business making sense, but right now the part of her that knows that doesn't seem to be present. Aerith's too preoccupied with the way his eyelashes fan out against his skin while he watches her like that, and the subsequent way her heart pounds in response. With her chest snug against his, there's no hiding that fact either.
Like common sense, it's unimportant.
The fingers against his jaw grow more sure in the way they touch him, until she's guiding his face down, as warmth creeps up the back of her neck, curving her lips into an anticipatory little smile. ]
If you keep me like this, you'll always know where I am.
[ Aerith's eyes narrow playfully before she lifts her head, drawing him into a kiss. ]
[ He left his question hanging on thin thread, Tseng realizes, after asking and just when her answer tangles it up and knots it around and around itself again, to make it seem like something more sturdy than it really is. Common sense can tug and pull and even wrench it, and still the complicated knots may never again come apart. Only every split thread of a rational thought about their case is snipped away from the tangle of their close held bodies, by her roaming touch.
Beneath half-lidded eyes, Tseng feels the thin calluses on her fingertips on his face. He has seen her work in gloves when stripping thorns or handling cuttings that ooze staining sap, and again other times when she wouldn’t wear them. He, instead, never puts his bare hands on anything or anyone while at work.
Aerith’s arm wedges his fingers between it and the side of her chest, heavy where her trace along his jawline is light. He’s sure that her thumb ghosts at his bottom lip.
Tseng tilts his chin down and at that angle gives Aerith the plain view of something both possessive and tender flitting across his features, at her nomination. The idea of holding her like this and keeping her near is startling and an undeniable want. Their relationship has become a paradox overnight.
Not only against his chest but past her clavicle, where his other hand slides up the side of her neck, he can feel Aerith’s heart beating. Behind her ear, his fingers dip into the roots of her hair and cradle her at the nape when she leans up along the pillow. Tseng’s mouth opens, his tongue warms against hers. Under the shared cover, his thigh presses firmly next to and would slip between hers. ]
[ His hand trapped against her side makes her shift, her body almost arching towards it like a lazily affectionate cat, her skin prickling in anticipation everywhere he's touched her. She can't lose herself like this forever, but she can let this moment catch hold of her as firmly as possible right now and make the present count tenfold for all she intends to wrest from it.
Tseng makes that selfish desire all too easy to long for. The soft possessiveness in his eyes is new, and vibrantly beautiful – so much so that all it takes is a look for Aerith to be sure she'll yearn to catch this exact light in his eyes forever. The line between being a Shinra asset, and being his, has never mattered less. She can want to be one and hate being the other, even if that does introduce layers and layers of complexity to an already intricate situation.
It's hard to puzzle over that when he's this close, the brush of his tongue and the nudge of his thigh lighting up her awareness, a sharp, sweet ache blossoming between her thighs. With a soft sigh, her thumb sweeps across his cheek as she parts her lips, her tongue light as it brushes against his, licking into his mouth with another soft, happy sigh.
Aerith wastes no time letting her thighs part, the want of him pairing too perfectly with the joy of touching and being touched to bother with restraint. She brackets him between her legs in one fluid motion, the hand on his cheek sinking into his hair with relish as she continues to let her mouth claim his in a voracious flood of kisses. ]
[ Trailing his hands over her body, Tseng draws a map, but it isn’t one that will help him find the way back. They’ve simply gotten lost together, not in an eerie or unpleasing place. Her words unmoor him, Tseng will be further lost if she lets him drift like that. His fingers thread deeper into her hair, he grounds himself against the tide. They might not actually be that much farther than on the outskirts of their previous relationship.
Tseng breaks the deluge of kisses, but only barely. ] Aerith... [ It’s soft and velvety to say without admonishment or warning or, in further depths, even concern attached. His voice is low, rough, and edged with the need to have her name on it. And his eyes are sharp and intent. She doesn’t know what she’s asking of him, or perhaps she does... She surely does. The kiss he returns to her is searing, possessive, a declaration of everything he’s been holding back in exchange for hundreds of hers.
Aerith, too, is in possession of him. She pulls him close by the hair and entraps him between her thighs, contracting any millimeter of space still gaping between them. Tseng’s breath shudders. She must feel him growing hard against her.
He answers her plea with action instead of hesitation. He pulls his hand out of her hair and slides his thumb back down her throat and to her breast. Squeezing hardly, her skin still dents in the shape of his fingertips. Keeping her beneath his palm other side, he runs it from her chest to her back, to the small of it, and to her buttock. And lower still. Slipping between her legs and his thigh, Tseng’s long fingers pass by her entrance. ]
[ They're very different people, but the longing Aerith can feel radiating from every touch and glance mirrors her own, and the way he says her name may say well be a tangible caress for the giddy effect it has on her. Out of space, and places to hide, he'll feel how her already thundering heart picks up another half step, just like it's deliciously obvious that he's growing harder by the second. Like a magnet, Aerith arches against the firming line of his length – because she does know what she's asking, and wants to make it very clear she intends to take everything he's got for her with both hands.
For years, she's found her ways to take more for herself. At first it was her way of undermining Shinra, of flexing what she had of muscle and finding ways to remind them that her compliance is a luxury, not a given. She could make every shift a nightmare for everyone assigned to tail her, but she doesn't. While Aerith might have felt a bit magnanimous about that at times, it's undermined spectacularly by all the looking she just admitted to doing, and the warm desire that rises through her as her awareness follows his hands as they curve over her backside before slipping low enough to graze her outer folds. Her inner thighs tremble against his hips, tightening around them when his other hand cups her breast, kneading firmly enough to send a pang of want working through her.
The heat of his body pulls at her like a magnet, keeping one hand tangled in his hair – too drawn to touching it after years of wondering what it would be like to stop now – the other finds his shoulders, his chest, his side, mapping him as she revels in this newfound closeness. Just like always, Aerith finds that everything she gets is still not enough. Reality will come for them sooner or later, she just wants to make sure they both have a damn fine reason for staying away from it.
Angling her hips as she arches up, Aerith presses against him, letting the hard weight of his shaft graze over where she wants to feel him most as she lets herself grind against him. ]
[ Tseng’s fingers graze the slick warmth at her core, coaxing soft gasps from her lips that he’s sure he’ll commit to memory. The way her body responds to his touch—arching, pressing, seeking—sends another pulse of heat through him, and he feels the faint tremor of Aerith’s thighs squeezing tighter around his hips. Tseng wonders what she thinks it might take to convince him to stay in this space, or whether she already knows. The idea takes root in a place that’s always been pragmatic, logical, controlled. But as her hands slide over his skin, her lips part with a softness that speaks of how much she’s already taken with an effortless grace.
The deliberate grind of her hips steals a guttural sound from Tseng’s throat. That small movement is his undoing. He’s no Turk in this moment; just a man consumed by the woman in his arms. His lips slide away from her mouth to nudge her jaw, before seeping into the crook of her neck where her pulse flutters wildly against his tongue. In a display of patience now followed by impatience, Tseng shifts his hips, and his cock aligns with the heat between Aerith’s thighs. He feels everything around him narrow to a single point—her. His breath catches, sharp and audible, landing against her collarbone as she surrounds him with her tight, yielding warmth. Her name escapes him as though it’s the only word he knows anymore.
Tseng’s eyes lift to hers, the green of them impossibly vibrant, lit with something that matches the sensation throbbing through his chest and pooling again low in his body in an instant, fuelling the way he moves. He braces one hand beneath her, cradling her back as though she’s something fragile. The other roams, mapping Aerith in ways no chart could capture. He runs his palm along the side of her chest, the curve of her waist, the dip of her hip, the soft, trembling expanse of her thigh.
Soon enough, even the thin barrier of air left between them is too much. Tseng draws her leg higher over his hip as he angles his body to hers, a slow, rolling motion that lets him slide deeper. He presses a series of searing, open-mouthed kisses against Aerith’s skin. The rhythm he sets is unhurried but consuming, rocking his thrusts into her. ]
[ To Aerith, it feels like every cell in her body is keyed up, hyperfocused on each detail and sensation, unwilling to let herself miss a single thing that passes between them. For all her heart pounds while they kiss, it's eclipsed in a heartbeat in the wake of that giddy, heady, swoop low in her stomach when his breath warms against the crook of her neck while the hard press of his cock achingly close to where she wants him most sets her awareness alight. She turns her head, hiding her face in the silk of his hair
His hips lift, and the first twinges of pleasure that roll through her as he sinks into her makes her gasp, the hand on his back pressing flat, holding him to her as her thighs tighten around him, seemingly trying to obliterate every last trace of space between their bodies. The sound of his name follows the sound of hers, soft and sweet, like he's everything she could ever want, and she's been kept waiting a painfully long time. Watching him through half-closed eyes as he lifts his head and meets her gaze, the color clinging to the apples of her cheeks goes a darker shade of pink, the dazed smile on her parted, kiss-swollen lips deepening, the portrait of astonished exhilaration. Both hands brush his hair out of his face as he moves over her, his draw too strong to deny, urging her to half sit up so she can meet that kiss halfway.
A soft gasp is stifled against his mouth as she feels him move, her own hips tipping forward, finding the right degree of tilt that allows her to roll up and meet his thrusts with the same eagerness she kisses him with. It's only once she's breathless that Aerith draws away, and even then it's minimal, just far enough to catch her breath and whisper his name while close enough to let her lips brush against his as she does.
As if saying it drove some point home for her, Aerith's arm wraps around his back, possessive and almost dizzy with delight as she holds him closer, the slick walls of her cunt trembling in time with her racing pulse, holding onto him with everything, wrapping around him as she gives herself over to the moment. ]
[ Tseng moves to savor the way she arches into him, meeting his intensity and demanding yet more. They're somewhere between fucking and making love, just as they were last night. The faint stillness of morning makes Tseng feel both more dazed and more lucid in comparison. He cinches her in his grasp, both hands sliding down to her hips.
Her grip on him, possessive as it is soft, sends a thrill through him. The way she says his name, paired with the startled delight in her wide, dark eyes, makes his chest tighten, a warmth blooming there that feels as new as it does familiar. He watches her closely, those wide eyes dark with desire and that smile, one that's both startled and delighted. Clearly, it's impossible to focus on anything but her with the way her body shifts and rolls. Something that he not so much thinks he'd buried, but just never unearthed fully, draws another hushed, needy rasp from him against her mouth. Her thighs squeeze him at the waist. With a little jutting thrust, Tseng's hips snap against hers, burying himself this time.
That seems to wake him up. As she tries to pull him even nearer, as if they aren't already as close as two people can be, he can feel her fingernails tap lightly on his skin. It sends a faint shiver through him that ultimately fuels his fervor. He keeps kissing her, favoring Aerith's puffed lips, but trailing down to her jaw and the front of her throat, too. Prying himself from her needy cunt only to plunge his cock back into her depths with a matching yearning and desire, he slides in and out.
The strands she'd brushed back fall forward again loosely, weaving with her flaxen locks fanned out on the pillow. Tseng presses his nose next to her ear. Her name once more vibrates against her skin, along with divulging her perfection. Her faintly floral scent makes his head spin when he breathes in, in a way to explain the loss of his inhibitions. Tseng slips a hand between their bodies, his touch intent on making her tremble even more. ]
[ Breathing his name in the moments between endless, beautiful kisses when his mouth travels over her neck, and she's left to catch her breath, but can't because it all feels so radiantly, hungrily, perfect. As perfect as he tells her she is in that low murmur that Aerith would be happy to believe is reserved only for her, just as the stunned, bright moan he pulls past her lips when his hips roll forward, and he's filling her again, is all for him. Her hands adore him, from the light drag of her nails as they leave faint trails down the planes of his back, to the way her palms sweep up, pressed flat against his sides and his chest like she means to touch everything she possibly can at once. ]
Tseng– [ A soft sigh gives her pause, bright eyes barely concealed beneath the dense fans of her eyelashes as she drinks in every view of him she can. ] I'm, it's so. [ Words fail, but the way her walls tighten and flutter around his cock speaks volumes, about the way every driving thrust of his cock erodes her composure, leaving her perilously close to coming undone, even as she never wants this to end.
Her inner thighs tremble as fresh heat runs through her body, urging her to chase his mouth with her own, capturing him in another kiss as she shudders beneath and around him, her body clutching at his from her limbs to the slick clutch of her cunt. Aerith gasps his name as she comes, arching against him as she keeps him close. ]
[ Tseng's jaw is tight as his hands roam, mapping her without thought—not mirroring, but meant to match the way her fingers rake over his body. When Aerith's breath catches with the sweet, quiet sound of his name, it's all the invitation he needs even before she tilts her hips just so, dragging herself over the length of his cock. His vision blurs at the edges. Her climax crashes over her in shuddering waves, her cunt clenching around him so hard he nearly loses himself in the heat, the pressure, the way she moans his name. Tseng exhales sharply through his nose, muscles wound taut, when her thighs tighten around his hips, as if she means to keep him there forever.
He holds still for a moment, struggling to thrust through the vise of her orgasm, to his own. Then, with a rough, driving snap of his hips, he moves again, pushing through the aftershocks. His pace grows deeper, more insistent, pressing her into the sheets. Tseng covers her kisses with his lips, swallowing every sound she makes until it's too much—until he's shuddering against her, buried so deep. His rhythm falters, stuttering then desperate, grows ragged, and then—fuck—he follows, pleasure surges from and into him like a white-hot flood. A moans breaks from his throat before he can bite it down—this one undeniably Aerith's, stamped with her name.
His forehead drops against her shoulder. He stays like that for a moment, still buried inside her, his body taut with the vestiges of pleasure rolling through him. The aftershocks pulse between them, her cunt still fluttering around him, his muscles trembling in the wake of release. Tseng's fingers curl at her thigh. His breath stirs against her skin, uneven and warm, his lips press against her collarbone. ]
[ By the time he goes slack against her, Aerith's too blissed out to do anything but laugh dazedly as she lets both her arms wrap loosely around his upper back, holding him to her, as her heartbeat gradually starts to slow and the world softens. The morning light grows less pale as the minutes tick by, signifying the passage of a time Aerith chooses to not acknowledge while she's too busy memorizing the feeling of him spent and flush against her in the afterglow. ]
Morning, Tseng.
[ There's a note of music hanging on the end of his name that Aerith rounds into a gentle, giddy giggle. This is good. It's been so long since Aerith has had somewhere to direct all the love she carries around. The garden and Leaf House are wonderful outlets, but the satisfaction she gets from all the noble ways she's found to pass the time doesn't compare to how revivifying, how engrossing, it is, to have her body curved up against his shape while her fingers drift between drawing absent patterns on his back, and idly playing with his hair. ]
[ The sound of her laughter, a soft thing, reverberates through him. A small shift of his hips has him realizing just how deeply they're still pressed together, and that neither of them have moved to break the connection yet. Tseng exhales, dragging his mouth over hers in a slow kiss. A lazy kind of indulgence settles in him, something not completely familiar. It's been a while for him, too. There's always something else to occupy his mind, something more immediate. That kind of focus has served him well, kept things simple and in order. There have been no noble outlets. It'd been unnecessary. Or perhaps, more truthfully, impossible.
He's certainly never thought about how it would feel to have her fingers in his hair, either. Now that she's doing it, though, idly twining strands between her fingers, smoothing them back only for them to fall across his back again, Tseng finds it difficult to think about anything else. Except for the fact that he's always watched her. Duty demanded he memorized the way Aerith smiles, the way her eyes flicker with mischief or steel. But he's never touched her, not with both hands on her. Tseng lifts his head. ]
Good morning. [ His dark eyes hold onto hers with an intent that feels different from the way he usually looks at her. His usually clipped tone has slipped away . ]
[ If she could, she would freeze this moment and give herself the luxury of endless time to memorize every facet. She wants to be able to recall his skin and the smooth silk of his hair against his hands, how the moisture of his breath clings to her kiss-swollen lips as he exhales against her mouth before claiming it in another kiss.
Aerith can feel herself relaxing into the bed, but she keeps her limbs wrapped around him, her legs loose but still settled on his hips with no sign of inclination to shift and let him move. She's watched him for too long not to treasure being able to touch all the places she's studied, to let this little pocket in the universe where the complications waiting outside her door don't matter exist for as long as it can.
He lifts his head, and her eyes widen ever so slightly. He's always been beautiful, but taking it in while they're like this is almost startling. Her eyes are bright as the fingers in his hair lift, pushing it over his shoulder to reveal his collarbone, letting her gaze follow before it meets his again. ]
[ Ah, "good," he's said. A greeting exchanged not without some level of detachment, but when he says it to her, it's different. Tseng's lips curve, letting his eyes trace over her face. He agrees, it is.
Then he wonders if this is how Aerith has felt all this time. If the way he's looked at her has had the same effect on her as it's having on him now. His chest tightens, a realization that he's never really known what it feels like to be on the receiving end of that gaze, and it's a strange, humbling thought. To even make that comparison means he's been looking at her like this for a long, long time, and makes Tseng's claim of his ever professional distance a new falsehood.
Aerith brushes through his hair, her fingernails graze his skin, able to roam over his naked body in places she shouldn't be privy to. Tseng lays in the morning light reflected in her verdant eyes. After his mind has stopped swirling around the idea, he's decided to let her keep looking. Half under the sheets, he strokes her leg, hip to knee. ]
putting a bow on tseng's apartment door, another way for her to besiege him is totally aerith's gift
[ The temperature has dropped enough in due time to produce large, falling snowflakes. A white Christmas, yet, because of the pipes and ducts winding on the plates' underside, the ground is too warm to let them hold their shape. Festive, scenic snowfall only leaves the asphalt wet, reflecting the lights strung across every street. Their warm, yellow beads compete with the pale green glow emanating from the reactors, adding a rare warmth to the mechanical city.
Aerith stopped, stood rocking on her heels and asked if this is it, standing in front of the building entrance that is, in fact, it. The entire house isn’t older, or even as old as the Gainsborough estate, and simply nestled into a street in Sector 8. Anyone might live here, like the residents in the other apartments do—like Tseng does.
Bundled in her worn but warm coat, she doesn’t look nearly so chilled as on that rainy evening. Still, Tseng can’t quite tell whether the rosy color on her cheeks results from her standing outside, or from the roguish excitement at stepping into such a reticent part of his life. He stands next to her, letting her look at the facade or guessing which windows belong to his view, or wondering if she’s just imagined something more “like him.” Or perhaps waiting for the usual stoic version of him to break into some unexpected gesture. She finally prompts him through apparent curiosity.
Tseng pushes the heavy, tall door open into a hallway where lights flicker on with motion sensors. Stairs wind up to the next floor in a semi-circle and at the far back of the hall is an elevator. Footfalls echo between plastered brick walls and the tile floor. ]
This is it. [ He says. How ordinary and unremarkable. ]
[ He didn't imply that she was spending the night, but there's a bag slung over Aerith's shoulder that's large enough to contain a change of clothes, among other thing. Then again, there's a good chance she's got nothing more on her than an assortment of festive odds and ends, ready to be placed all over his apartment – it's a matter of how far Aerith thinks she can press her luck.
Given the conspiratorially smug smile she gives him after the door swings open, allowing Aerith her first look around the inside of the place, it might be safe to say she's under the impression she can continue gaining distance from the line that's always been between them. ]
You haven't even given me a tour! How can this be it?
[ Barely suppressed amusement lights up her face when she meets his eye, smiling brightly before her attention diverts to her bag instead. She's definitely got a wreath, or a large glittery ribbon for his front door in here somewhere among the fairy lights, mistletoe, and other festive bits and pieces she's brought to stick all over his apartment. ]
What are we having for dinner tonight? [ She's already stopped to hang the wreath on his door, why not continue her tirade of audacity? ]
[ Tseng’s brow twitches, the barely noticeable reaction to her pertness, and the prospect of turning his apartment into a wonderland. Naturally, he looked in the bag, the wreath now fully in view rather than just at the edge of his vision. Up until her adorning his door with it, nothing set it apart from the others on the floor either, except for the double lock and keypad.
His fingers brush over the numbers and letters to enter the code, and a quiet click disables lock and alarm both. With a normal key, Tseng unbars the second, ordinary lock. The door itself is heavier to push open, too, if Aerith were to try it. She was right, it’s secure. A sense of obligation overrules his discomfort, and Tseng stifles a scoff very well. ] I’ll show you, then. Take your shoes off. [ He has done so. He’s set out those thin guest slippers for her.
But Tseng is a bad tour guide, and points without walking her around much. ] The bathroom and two bedrooms are on this side. The kitchen is there. Here, [ He only walks up to the largest but open door, and stands near the doorframe, hands clasped behind his back. Letting Aerith take in the space, he doesn’t quite pause his commentary, but does wait for her to catch up. ] is the living room. [ And, ] You’re welcome to look around.
[ Imagining that she would anyway, it feels better to say it first. The place is spacious and sleek, with modern appliances, and furniture in neutral colors, where the darker end of the spectrum dominates. The parquet floors help to leaven the picture. Everything looks ready to be lived in, but it’s just that. ]
You didn’t eat earlier? [ Tseng pulls an eyebrow back up and feigns the mildest case of bewilderment at her second question. They’ll have something together. ]
[ After making short work of swapping those practical boots for the cute house slippers he had waiting for her, Aerith is all too pleased to hang on every word of what might be the most concise tour in the world. Times like these, she has to wonder if he's doing it on purpose, confident in the knowledge that the more he leaves out, the more she'll want to snoop.
It's a sweet thought that she wants to be true, a notion that his invitation to look around makes easier to entertain. Already she's flipped the top of her bag open, surveying the windows of the living room like she's looking for a starting point while she shakes her head at Tseng's question. ]
Just a little snack. I'm baking you cookies later. [ Stop her. ] So I didn't eat too much. [ Well, making cookies and the cheeky, selfish urge to have dinner with him.
As she speaks, Aerith strings lights around the frame of the closest window, a bit of piney garland looped around her forearm, waiting in the wings to further adorn the space. ]
[ Tseng looks at her with his hands still clasped behind his back, already unpacking and decorating—barely waiting to finish the so-called tour. His apartment, the spartan sanctuary, is being invaded by twinkling lights and greenery. And Aerith, with a zeal he didn’t think could manifest so quickly for anyone. ]
I hope you didn’t bring a tree. [ The words come out dry, but far too late to offer up real resistance. His own curiosity comes tempered with wariness. Seeing his apartment “through her eyes” inevitably involves her sharing that vision in ways far more tangible than words. Tseng looks inside the emptying bag, confirming his suspicions. Countless times, he’s left pictures and reports of her garden and house sitting in black and white on his desk, detached and distant, before retreating here. Now, she’s brought that vibrancy along. ]
Baking? [ His tone is still even, but his expression tenses again. ] I wasn’t aware I agreed to that. [ Meaning, he didn’t. She might have mentioned it. His kitchen is intentionally understocked, yet, as ever, Tseng has a contingency plan in place. ]
Why? [ Pausing in the middle of her garland hanging, she looks over her shoulder, playfully wide-eyed despite the distinct slyness curving her smile. ] Because you want to go pick out a tree together?
[ Just as her eyes start to narrow smugly, Aerith turns and gets back to the business of decorating, returning to her bag for a coiled strand of lights destined to join the garland in his window. ]
You're better in the kitchen than I am, of course you'll have to do it. I'll supervise.
[ She plugs in the rainbow lights and steps back to admire her work, her head nodding approvingly as she hums in satisfaction. ]
I bought everything we need for cookies, and for hot cocoa. [ In true Aerith fashion, she's all too happy to keep piling things on, bit by bit. First the decor, then the cookies, then the cocoa – as much as she can get from him before Tseng puts his foot down (and potentially even after that). ]
There are lots of festive movies on the television, we could put one on after and not watch it. [ And she's off, heading to the kitchen to give the window in there the same treatment. ]
[ Tseng’s gaze sweeps over the bag again, and though he couldn’t be sure there wasn’t a tree in there. The dubious look on his face carries over to viewing the lights in the window—how would that look from down in the street?—and back to baking. ]
So, none of this was planned with my input. [ He points out, a stopgap. Tseng crosses his arms. He’s given her free rein, and that might have been premature. As she swiftly moves on from the living room, Tseng is still looking at the newly done-up space. The decorations clash with the minimalism of this place.
He watches her accessorize with a deftness that suggests she’s done it a hundred times before– She has. His pulse pitches protest to the aversion bubbling up in him, about it being done at his apartment, instead. But he thinks about the dozen or so sprigs of mistletoe hung up around her house and feels a heat climbing up the back of his neck.
Tseng’s mind, usually so focused, is now the traitor. It conjures up the image of them standing beneath one of those sprigs, a single breath away from each other, and her playful implication of “not watching” a movie, too. Waiting under the doorframe of the kitchen, his lips press into a faint line. How long can he keep up his pretense? ] Fine, I’ll grant you that.
[ His comfort and composure lie in delegating. ] You’re responsible for the cocoa, though.
Of course it was. Do you tell people what you're going to buy them when you get them gifts? [ Aerith blinks at him in surprise before dismissing the question with a gentle shake of her head. ] This is just part of your gift, Tseng.
[ Still, she can tell he's still relaxing into the idea she's all but burst into his home and began enacting, so she nods more than amiably when he tasks her with the cocoa, bouncing on the balls of her feet once as her hands clasp in front of her. ] You're on. Let's do cocoa and a movie first, then cookies later. [ It hurts her ego that he seems almost threatened by the prospect of her taking over his kitchen, but privately she'll admit her last few attempts at making something could have gone a little bit better than they had.
Besides, even she's drawn in by the idea of not watching a movie with him. It seems like just the right kind of positive reinforcement to help Tseng warm to all the holiday cheer she's brought with her, and it's not like close to him isn't becoming one of her favorite places to be. It's been a while since she felt that way, and this time of year makes her want to lean into it and enjoy the new spot in her life he's begun to occupy. ]
Want to show me where your mugs and pots are? [ She pulls the hot chocolate from her bag, along with another bag, this one bearing marshmallows, looking at him in that soft, playfully anticipatory way that's become so common between them. ]
[ That she settles into his space so naturally is troubling to Tseng, but not in the way he anticipated. Rather, it's because he knows his own gaze to soften a little as she moves. His lips puff from their hard line with a laugh that aims to be cynical but... isn't. ] My gift? [ His tension dissolves into contemplation. Rather than hard and strict, Tseng's expression morphs into something unclear as he watches her. More obviously, his drifts down to the marshmallows and cocoa bags.
When she asks about the mugs and pots, Tseng nods, stepping further into the kitchen. He crouches down to one of the cabinets to take out a pot, putting it on the counter. Then, almost as though he's giving her permission to take over the space after all: ] Mugs are above the sink.
[ Tseng opens the wall cabinet, where matching cups are stacked in sets of two on the bottom-most shelf. On the shelf above is a flower vase—empty, but lined up to the front because it was recently used. He'll do anything but point it out. ] I'll be in the living room, setting up. [ He excuses himself. There's a beat, a pause that lingers, just like Tseng does. ] I'm going to leave you to it.
Perfect! [ It's not that she wants him to leave the kitchen, but it seems like he's going along with this, and that boosts her spirits tremendously. Pleased and laughing softly, Aerith goes so far as to set her hands on Tseng's shoulders, playfully steering him past the doorway and into the rest of the apartment regardless of the fact that he was heading that way anyway.
About fifteen minutes later, after the scent of chocolate fills the room and the clatter of dishes can be heard as she gets their mugs (and a vase with a pair of flowers in it for him to find later) ready. Using the reflection in the window to fix her hair, Aerith finds herself impulsively tugging it free of the plait it's almost always bound back in, before smoothing it back into place. It almost makes her look right at home when she steps out, smiling to herself as she heads towards the couch. Thankfully, the coco was fairly easy to assemble, the contents of the mug she carefully passes Tseng once she reaches him surprisingly normal in appearance. ]
Find us a good movie to not watch? [ She asks as she cocks her head to the side and flashes him an impish wink. ]
[ He's aware enough of her nudging him out, but Tseng isn't sure if she's just taking control or if he’s letting her. It doesn’t matter, he realizes. Despite himself, he finds the hesitation he'd felt a moment before is lessening.
When he steps back into the living room, it's only natural that his gaze drifts toward the window again—toward the decorations draped around the frame, lights twinkling softly against the glass. Tseng steps up to see the street below and wonders what it looks like from down there. The contrast between the warm lights and the cold night, as unfamiliar as it is to have in his own apartment, must look festive. He turns away, dismissing the thought without concluding how he feels about it.
Tseng starts flipping through the TV channels. If he were honest with himself, he's only half paying attention. The sounds of Aerith moving about in the kitchen drift toward him. It should be distracting; instead, it settles into the space. His thumb slows when he lands on one of the predictable holiday films. It's not his first choice, not even his tenth. Being handed the mug, his fingers brush Aerith's. The cup is warm in his hand—the cocoa smells warm and sweet. Tseng stares down at the drink for a beat too long without taking a sip. He offers her an agreeably dry look. ]
It's good for not watching.[ Tseng sits down. He doesn't pat beside him, simply putting his hand on the seat cushion instead. He may be a useless tour guide here, but he won't make himself a terrible host on top of it. A glance up at Aerith, and he shifts slightly toward one end of the couch to make more room for her: ] Do you want to sit?
[ Cradling her mug of cocoa as he touches the seat beside him and then scoots away to give her space, Aerith lets her mug sit on a coaster on the low coffee table in front of the sofa, before she takes him up on that offered seat.
She also chases after him a split second later, shifting herself sideways until her hip touches his, and she's almost snuggled up against his side, a feeling that has her breathing out a contented sigh before she reaches for her mug again. As she carefully drinks, the movie on the screen unfolds. It's the standard; big city woman teams up with small town man to save her rural hometown while finding love along the way kind of story. Perfect for not watching, and seemingly in acknowledgement of that, Aerith's shoulder bumps against Tseng's arm, not so subtly trying to telegraph that she wants it around her.
Lowering her mug, she licks the chocolate off her lips, a lingering sweetness still hanging there when she turns to kiss his jaw, chuckling fondly against his skin before she draws away. ]
[ He's set the mug down just in time, it seems. Tseng registers the warmth against his side, her tucking herself in beside him. People exist around him in one of two ways: professional deference or measured distance—both of which Tseng maintains by design. Aerith should fit into one of those categories, too. But as much as there was ever a clear space between them, it has eroded long before this moment. Against all logic, he doesn't mind its current reshaping, either.
His arm is too still against the couch, and he knows what she's waiting for—the nudge of her shoulder is hardly subtle about it. Tseng moves his arm to resting it along the back of the couch. Then he lets it drop, fingers grazing the curve of her shoulder. With the predictable script playing out on screen, the movie is more or less white noise already. He can feel the barely there trace of cocoa on his skin. Or this is just Tseng choosing to let the moment linger beyond the actual kiss—like under the mistletoe. He lets a pause settle between them, as though ensuring he doesn't answer too quickly somehow. ]
It's not so bad. [ But he shifts. Tseng reaches for the folded blanket draped over the arm of the couch he's leaning against. It's called practical because he can't call it a decoration, but he never uses it. Without looking at her, he shakes it out with one hand, then drapes it over Aerith's legs. His arm returns around her after, settling more fully this time. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. ] Warm enough?
[ If she wasn't absolutely radiating self-satisfaction already, the gentle weight of the blanket he shakes out across her lap, leaves her beaming against the rim of her mug, grinning too widely to conceal. Maybe they'll never have something normal between them, but Aerith relishes the times when Tseng lets her get closer in this minute ways. Giving her space to hang lights in his windows because it'll make her happy before indulging her with this movie idea and a cozy blanket.
She sets her mug down before his arm settles around her again, and watches him from her periphery, much as he does with her, humming pensively at the question despite the stupid smile settled firmly on her face. ]
Getting there.
[ Aerith shifts closer and draws her legs up, tucking them up as she situates herself snugly against his side and adjusts the blanket so it's covering them both. ] How's this? [ Her head tilts back as she asks, delighting in the way her cheek rests against his collarbone, letting her gaze up at his face, her eyes lingering on his lips while the thought of kissing him crosses her mind for what must be the tenth time tonight. ] Comfy?
[ The tiny bulbs of the string lights cast their golden reflection on the glass and Tseng wonders how long she expects him to keep them up—for the season, into the new year? Despite that rigid thought, he doesn't stiffen up when she shuffles underneath the blanket and against the seat cushions, close against him. His apartment has the heating on, yet warmth seeps newly into his skin. ]
Getting there. [ Tseng mirrors.
He exhales slowly and realizes only after the fact that he'd been holding his breath. The soft rise and fall of her chest aligns with his, and wisps of Aerith's hair catch on the fabric of his shirt. He's certain she already knows her answers before she even pretends to think of one. He decides the distance between them and she how to close it.
Tseng doesn't know what she sees when she looks at him like that, but he does know what she's waiting for. His hand grazes the curve of her shoulder. His lips press together. He glides his hand along the side of her neck. He tilts her chin up, thumb lingering just below her jaw. The soft glow of the TV screen flickers against Aerith's skin, but any pretense of Tseng's hesitation dissolves in her breath fanning against his lips. ]
[ By the time their lips touch, Aerith is smiling hard against his mouth, his sigh warm as it passes between them. In truth, she might struggle to put into words what she sees, if he ever asked, (and she's confident he probably won't), but she knows what happiness feels like, and it's been such a long time since she's experienced this kind of happiness, she doesn't want to examine anything further. When they're alone like this, it isn't difficult to imagine that just caring about him could be enough.
Tseng doesn't do logic any favors, and the fact that he seems so willing to lean into this spurs her along almost as much as the pull of these feelings she's only just begun to own. A soft, fleeting laugh gets smothered in that kiss before she brings her hand up to cradle the side of his face and hold him to it. ]
I can't tell if this is my present or yours. [ She teases after drawing back just far enough to catch her breath, the movie flickering on in the background, past the field of Aerith's awareness. ]
[ The concession lingers in the space between them. His thumb stays against the delicate curve of her jaw. Even if Tseng isn't sure what to make of the smile that curves against his lips—so sure and effortlessly bright—he is sure to enjoy it. The clarity of his carefully maintained distance seems to erode quicker the longer they remain in this quiet intimacy. It's hard to recognize the inevitable messiness of this when she's tucked so neatly against his side. He feels his own silence as something too weighty.
Her musing is rhetorical, he knows that, but Aerith's expression dares him to engage anyway. There's something undeniably inviting in her gaze, and something that unmistakably accepts in the way his hand drifts from her jaw before letting it fall once more to her shoulder.
Tseng pulls back, just enough to meet her gaze properly. His eyes flicker down to where the blanket pools over their legs, then back up. He tilts his head slightly as if to clear a sudden thought, and only ends up leaning into her palm. His thumb continues a path along the curve of her arm. ] It's generous of you to assume it isn't both. [ What, with them both being so indulgent. ]
[ By the time he draws back her eyes have narrowed fondly, until she's gazing at him through the fans of her eyelashes at first, the smiling curve of her mouth deepening. ]
I think it's alright that it's both. It's the holidays, isn't it? We should be unwrapping presents, and indulging.
[ She doesn't bother to act like those words aren't pointed, and while Aerith knows Tseng doesn't miss a single clue, she shifts smoothly into his lap right after she says it. There's mischief in those rounded, earnest eyes, and butterflies in her stomach. Part of her suspects she'll always be just a little bit giddy about him. He's important to her in ways few people could be, a fact that's equally complicated and beautiful, and for now just getting to treasure it is enough, without a need to look too far ahead or deeper than right now.
Green eyes drink in his face as Aerith lets her arm drape around his shoulders, her gaze flicking from his eyes to his mouth and back again as she leans close enough to let her lowered voice be heard. ]
Do you want to show me the rest of your apartment? [ Aerith's hand settles on his chest as she asks, her thumb sweeping over the fabric of his shirt in a lazy arc. ] Or should we stay right here?
[ Her words do have the quality of something carefully wrapped, fittingly. A shift in the way she speaks to him matches how at home she is in his space. Tseng's breath stills, the smallest pause but no overarching reaction, when she settles into his lap like that. His hand instinctively steadies at Aerith's waist. His fingers flex, giving away more than he intends—she's completely unbothered by the things that make him hesitate. He can be blunt or covert; meanwhile, she hasn't asked him to want easily, only honestly.
The way she talks about 'unwrapping presents' and 'indulging' isn't lost on him at all. He suspects her definition of indulging is going to be very difficult to refrain from, unlike eating too many cookies or drinking too much spiced wine. Her fingers brush over his chest, where her closeness sets Tseng's pulse to a rhythm she can feel. ]
It is the holidays. [ Tseng concedes further. At once, he's past pretending he doesn't want the same. His gaze lingers on her for a long beat, then dips briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes. ] The rest isn't decorated the way you'd like. Do you intend to change that first?
[ He doesn't mean just pine garland or a throw blanket. ]
[ From the familiar way his hand settles on her waist, it could almost seem like honest want comes naturally to him, and deep down, in her greediest, most infatuated moments, Aerith suspects it might, if Tseng let it, if their circumstances allowed it. Because here and now there's nothing but honest want, a desire that's glaringly apparent and worth drawing out with these teasing double entendres they exchange. If she had it her way, there'd be nothing but seconds worth treasuring between them. ]
You're in luck. I brought the perfect thing for your bedroom. [ The arms around him tighten in a brief little hug as she speaks, her tone obviously delighted, as though he'd finally brought up something she'd been waiting all night to share.
And, in a way, that's not entirely untrue.
Aerith doesn't want to, but she slides off Tseng's lap a moment later, stepping backwards towards the door as she keeps her gaze on his face, the color rising to the apples of her cheeks not at all from the winter air. With a little laugh, she turns and moves further into his apartment, not bothering to wait for him to catch up as she heads towards his bedroom, unbuttoning the front of her dress as she moves. The red lacy set of underwear she picked out, as festive as everything else Aerith's brought with her today, bright against her skin as she eases the straps of her dress off her shoulders just as soon as she makes it into his room.
Once again Aerith pivots on her heel, although this time it's not to back away and put space between them, but rather to do away with it entirely, her arms wrapping back around him just as soon as he's close enough to hold. ]
[ Tseng's hand lingers on the spot where she's been sat a moment ago, as if her warmth hasn't quite left. His hand lifts halfway before falling back into his lap. After a beat, and like he needs that hesitation as some final form of permission not from her, but from himself, he gets up. The silence left behind in the living room is no longer waiting, but expectant. He goes after the soft steps of Aerith's retreat, in the doorway of the bedroom just in time for her to turn. Red.
Color in a room he's kept blank on purpose. Slipping out of her dress like she's hanging up a coat at the door. It's very... ] Festive. [ And poetic in a way he doesn't allow himself to think—she's passing through his doors in a way she should not so easily be able to.
His gaze drags slowly from the floor to where the red lace breaks against pale skin. Gravity seems to pull laterally as she wraps warmth and intention around him. Tseng's hand draws a path up her spine, and his face always so carefully blank betrays the soft fracture of surprise in the line of barely parted lips.
Deep breath lifts his chest against hers. He isn't a man prone to being swept up. The silence is a held breath rather than avoidance. ] Aerith, [ Like a touch passed back in his voice. His fingers feel along the delicate hooks and seams. He doesn't look away, eyes dark. ] You make it a little difficult to wait. [ Wondering if he can start unwrapping gifts before Christmas morning. ]
[ It's not unusual for Aerith to be the brightest splash of color in any given space. Her determinedly cheerful personality aside, the flowers tend to set her apart– but she's never felt like she's lit up a room quite like she does with Tseng. While she doesn't exactly bring chaos to his order (he does keep a very firm grip on it, after all), Aerith likes to believe some of her light ends up rubbing off on him.
And while he's this close, it's impossible to think about anything other than relishing the impression she, and her surprise gift, have made on Tseng. One hand smoothes over the front of his shirt, fingers curling delicately in the fabric while she listens to him speak with those bright, unabashedly adoring eyes. ] It's the time of year for treating yourself, isn't it?
[ Raising herself onto the balls of her feet, Aerith's eyes narrow slyly at him, grinning before her chin tilts up, and she presses her lips against his. ] Don't worry. You're my gift, too.
[ It's the sound of nails clicking against the polished floor that initially draws his attention, then the door. The first flicker of Tseng's reaction is so subtle, it might as well be an extension of his breathing—a faint tightening of his gaze, sharp enough to catch every detail without lingering. There's no outward surprise, nothing to betray the initial tug of dismay somewhere underneath. His instinct is to assess, to determine if the blood is Rufus' or another's, but even before he begins, he knows.
Tseng tilts his head forward as Rufus smears crimson across the air like an artist with a careless brushstroke. What crosses Tseng's brow thereafter after is closer to resigned observation, as he takes in the totality of Rufus' appearance—bloodied but utterly unconcerned.
Dark Nation elects the step Tseng takes aside to let Rufus pass as her space, exuding a predatory pride that demands acknowledgment. Blood smears her muzzle and speckles her sleek coat, just the same as her master's, but her eyes are focused and expectant. Tseng's eyes narrow fractionally. For a moment, he considers leaving her unindulged, but his hand moves of its own accord and hovers there for her to nose at. She transfers the faint stickiness of her 'touch' to the fingertips, palm and dorsum of his glove; there also the bare skin on the back of Tseng's hand. ]
She seems particularly proud.
[ He comments—he might speak the pardon for her—but withdraws his hand again at the same time.
Tseng's eyes meet Rufus' directly. He considers the implications; his answer must strike the precise tone. He knows better than to suggest Rufus pause for anything other than his own whims. Tseng's lips tighten into a thin, unreadable smile. ]
While she might not mind the blood, you, sir, might find it more bothersome.
[ Tseng allows the thought to rise between them. ]
Do you have no intention of tending to the remnants of your outing all by yourself?
( it's said through a wry haze, bemusement leaking through his tone--his eyes are on the monitor, now, instead of trying to scrutinize the minute little changes in tseng's countenance, something that he learned to do in his youth; he'd spent hours upon hours of useless meetings just trying to crack the expensive code of tseng's smooth expression, noting each and every little twitch and shift and crease of his brow. now, it's more of a game than a necessity: however minor, what emotions can he see, bleeding through the sharp turn of his gaze, the lift of his chin, the purse of his lips? once glance up from the screen tells him just enough: he's gotten much better at this game than he would likely admit.
tseng, it seems, is warring with decisions. warring with his place. warring with the blood smeared onto his own gloved hand, and the blood that's mirrored over dark nation's muzzle and his own jacket, dotted and splotched across his cheek and the corner of his mouth. he would find it charming, any other night: but the reports tabbed up on his screen make his head hurt, so late at night, and he's recalling again why he left to take the walk in the first place.
it doesn't matter. the work will still be there come morning, once he's had a fresh change of clothes, coffee, and hopefully a bit of sleep. with a resigned exhale, he nudges a clean knuckle against the monitor's power button to put it to sleep again. )
You know that a little blood doesn't bother me. ( mostly a tease, accompanied by a little flick of his brow upward: he abandons the desk, nudging the chair in with his hip to keep it blood-free; dark nation's ears perk up, drawn by the sound, but as he rounds on his desk, she doesn't seek to move between them, padding and settling into an undignified lump down behind tseng's legs. it seems she'll rest there to catch her breath as they deliberate. )
Do you have no intention of following through? ( countered with another wry smile, as he begins to close the space between them again, slow and measured, like he has nowhere else to be.
truthfully, he doesn't. a lonely, sprawling suite up on the top floor of the building is waiting for him: or waiting for them, if he plays his cards right. )
I'd like a bath. ( now that there's less space between them, it's easier to feel for tseng's nuances; his own lips press together against a smile. ) I'd like it if you joined me.
[ As the other player of that game, he knows what it is to be vivisected by Rufus' gaze. Right now it feels like the edge of a blade grazing skin without yet cutting. The blood doesn't bother him either—even having some drawn would not—this is even more unnecessary for Tseng to point out than it is for Rufus.
Tseng's eyes follow his approach with quiet intent, noting every nuance, the restless energy faintly visible in the lines of his posture, and the fog hidden behind that wry smile. This isn't unfamiliar ground, and yet Tseng's own steps are more careful and measured than they may be by daylight. Paradoxical, when it is such that things disappear more easily under the veil of night. Though, the lighting seems itself tired and obscures Tseng's demeanor.
That his composure readily softens in subtle ways is visible only when they're this close. His gaze flickers to Rufus's cheek, then to his mouth, where his eyes linger just a little longer than necessary, before returning to his eyes. Up close, where Rufus can see the details—the faint lift of his brow, the softening at the edges of his mouth—Tseng lets it happen and allows a beat of silence for what is his own contentment to be seen. ]
It would be remiss of me to let you handle it alone. I have every intention.
[ Because there's certain satisfaction in Rufus cutting through the usual display of power, and simply laying his wants bare. It's different from giving or receiving orders. Personal, intentional. And Tseng likes that. Then, still in an even tone but, far far less vague. ]
( a breath of amusement escapes, a little smirk of it, pushed through his nose--relatively soundless, the curl of his lips has to tell the story, a smile of satisfaction as his brow lifts: )
Of course you will.
( and it's not as though he would have forced tseng into it--maybe years ago, maybe as a petulant child, he would have made demands like that, would have dragged tseng into the bath fully clothed if he'd had to, just to get what he wanted; there are still things that he claims with a strong hand, whether they want to be there or not, but he's learned that there's something to be said about the enjoyment of slowly allowing something to crawl right into the palm of his hand, instead. he's not quite sure when they made that change: he can't exactly pinpoint where it was, when tseng stopped resenting the hold that he has over him, over the turks themselves. maybe he never did, and it's all a ruse. he wouldn't fault him for that either.
one of his hands lowers, but it's only so that he can snap dark nation back into attention; with a low little whine, she lumbers back onto her feet, pressing herself in between the two of them for a moment like a cat hoping to mark its owners with its scent. with one bloodied hand lifted back up again, in gesture: )
Are you going to take us to the elevator, Tseng? Don't just stand there all starry-eyed.
( it's a somewhat gentle tease, and despite his words, it's him and dark nation that lead the way past the door to his office, certain that tseng will at least kill the lights and lock the door in their wake. at this time of night, he doubts that anyone will be wandering around hoping to take something from the president's desk, but with people like avalanche still out there, it's hard to say, despite his generous backing; once they're at the elevator, he steps in past the open doors, keying in the code that will take them to his suite--and graciously, he keeps one hand against the elevator doors to keep them from closing, so that tseng can catch up.
dark nation waits just next to his legs, eager, her tentacle wagging only once she's got tseng in her sights again, and even rufus seems pleased, lips curled again as he lets the door shut once tseng joins them. )
...I'm afraid it will be an early morning, tomorrow. That doesn't bother you either, does it?
[ The small smirk, the light taunt—the room tilts 45° into more playful tension. Short of Rufus drowning him in the bathtub, Tseng would not even have tried breaking from that grip. But just like Rufus can’t pinpoint the moment, he doesn’t know when he became more drawn to rather than simply enduring this. Penance for the years spent as his jailor? No, Tseng doesn’t operate under such beliefs, and if he did he’d need to start elsewhere.
With Dark Nation nudging between them, Tseng steps back, giving the space before he moves into place. His hand brushes over the door panel, turning out the lights and pausing for a moment, allowing the darkness to settle, locking the room before following. Tseng puts his hand on the elevator door just under Rufus’, so close and unnecessarily so when it’s already held open, as he steps into the cabin, that it might as well be teasing on his part.
The doors close with a soft, metallic hum, and as they get on the ascent, Tseng brings his hands together behind his back. Rufus’s fair features and the dark smears of blood catch in the harsh overhead lights. Beneath it Tseng can see another unmistakable detail of satisfaction on the other man’s face. He answers bluntly. ]
You know it’s never been an issue.
[ And if Rufus didn’t know what to look for, Tseng’s expression would still remain unchanged at that, tone just as even. But his gaze softens, his eyes dark with a mix of curiosity and challenge, for Rufus to see. ]
( with a warm, lofty sort of tone--past the glass of the elevator, he can see the city of midgar sparkling beneath them, his little playground tucked away into sleep for the late hour. the reactors glow, large beacons that draw with them the tiny speckled lights of bars and brothels and other places, open so late at night, and there's a sort of satisfied smile that smooths over his features, as though he's content to leave it just like that. another night where nothing too pressing will happen: or at least that's his hope. for now, the only pressing issue is tseng, and dark nation, and the comfort of a bath that's waiting for all of them.
with a slight glance, sidelong, he lets tseng's expression speak for itself. the shadows of the floors rising with them cast themselves out across tseng's dark eyes, and there's a comfort to be found in the depths there, too, something that has him feeling remarkably contented, as the elevator door split open to the hallway to his suite.
dark nation, ignorant of the both of them, lumbers forward to sniff along the path, as though reassuring it's safe for the both of them: with a quirked, playful brow at tseng, he follows after her, letting tseng round out their party at the back. another code, keyed in to the suite door, and a confirmation of his fingerprint over the lock, and the door opens; he reaches to turn on the lights, letting dark nation trod ahead of them to find her bed--with a soft, almost fond sigh, he turns to look over his shoulder at tseng, already sliding the heavy shoulders of his jacket down to let them hook in at his elbows. )
Will you wipe her mouth off, at least? She'll rub blood all over the carpets.
( it's not a command, though it might sound like one--here, safe behind a locked door, he doesn't mind the muddying of the lines between them, blurring them for his own benefit; his jacket gets tossed onto the back of a chair, reaching up to loosen his tie, next, shoes kicked off, leaving an obvious path of his discarded clothing on the way to the bathroom door.
there, he doesn't close it behind him: rather, he turns on the light and leaves it open, tie lost onto the floor, fingers working open the buttons of his shirt with delicate care--and then, with a moment of forethought, he pauses so that he can reach to turn on the shower, first, heating up the water while he continues to peel out of his shirt. it would be nicer to start with the bath, but: while he doesn't necessarily mind soaking in pink water, tinged with blood, a shower to start is far more beneficial. )
[ Watching Rufus and Dark Nation go before him softens the sharp edges of Tseng’s expression. When Rufus speaks though, his tone riding that fine line, his attention shifts back with a precision honed over years of service. It can’t be helped.
Tseng lets his gaze drift over the path Rufus has cut through the suite, each piece of clothing a breadcrumb leading to the bathroom. He doesn’t follow it immediately, though he goes to the sink there, too. His gaze lingers on Rufus, undressing.
Then, he wets a towel, squeezes out the excess water, goes to wipe Dark Nation’s muzzle with it. There’s a brief exchange of low murmurs and a gentle hand guiding her great muzzle. Her skin may be too dark to show the difference well, but by how stained the towel eventually becomes Tseng can say when he’s cleaned her up enough. Kneeling by her bed, with her nose pushed into his palm once more, Tseng dispenses a little more praise. He’s really not too unhappy to have gone without seeing the trophy of her kill.
He goes back into the bathroom, rinses the pink water from the dirty towel, and puts it in the hamper. This time along with each item of clothing he’s picked up, having followed the trail almost to the shower. Tseng lets Rufus’ tie, the last piece, weave between his fingers. Steam curls at his feet. His hand and glove are still bloody. Tseng washes them in the sink also. There’s no point putting it back on, so he resolves to leave both of his gloves as a pair on the countertop.
With forethought, too, he turns on the tap on the bathtub. The pipes can surely handle pumping so much water, even up at the altitude of the 70th floor. He dips his bare fingers into the shallow pool that’s collecting quickly, testing the temperature. Over the sound of the shower: ]
I’ll be back to join you when you’re ready.
[ In dutiful wait of an answer, Tseng stands on the other side of the fogged up glass. He looks at Rufus’ silhouette. ]
'When I'm ready'? ( --comes the lofty, almost amused response, though he leaves it there to linger in the air between them. tseng's started up the bath, all the same, and there's some kind of comfort in hearing all the noise, as though it helps to muddle anything he worries about between them. )
I'm surprised you're not more hands-on, Tseng.
( but this is the game that they play, the lines that they dart back over and hide behind, as though blurring them is not quite as fun as deciding when and how they'll come into play. he could easily command tseng to strip him of his shirt, unbuckle his belt, drag all of his clothes down to his ankles, and tseng would do it, if he asked, if he told him he had to. that's not the kind of fear that he wants to instill in people: and not the kind of feeling he wants to instill, either, in someone that he has candid interest in.
so it's his own hands, that work to shrug out of his shirt, to carefully shed his pants, his underwear, his socks, everything else left in a neater pile than the bread crumbs he left behind previously--unabashed, he eases past the glass door of the shower, ducking his head beneath it first to let the water wash over his hair, smearing it into his face, casting hot steam down his bare arms and shoulders. with a pass of a palm over his nose, his eyes, wiping the water out of the way-- )
I seem to have misplaced my favourite shampoo, you know.
( it's not true. all the bottles are neatly lined up where he expected them to be, and it's obvious there's a smile in his voice, when he turns to put his back to the spray, to work his hands up through his hair and peel it back. )
Come in and help me find it. Your suit isn't welcome here.
[ Tseng watches the faint blur of Rufus’ silhouette behind the glass and lets the rush of water fill in as an ambient backdrop to his voice. He can’t see the faint lift of Tseng’s brow, but Rufus can surely imagine it, reacting to the deliberate cadence to his voice, the kind that invites but certainly doesn’t curve down to beg. Tseng pulls his shirt free of his belt before slipping it off entirely, and soon enough he has removed every item of clothing and folded it once to set them aside. He turns off the faucet filling the tub.
His lips twitch at the obvious ploy. Stripped down to nakedness, Tseng opens the shower door to a veil of escaping steam. The space between the two men thins quickly. Tseng reaches forward without looking, around Rufus, and his forearm brushes against his side. The fleeting touch feels charged in the confined space—or Tseng heaps the feeling onto it for himself; his skin is still cool. He picks up the ‘missing’ shampoo, floats it along the bottom of Rufus’s view. ]
A curious case. [ He remarks, as if he did only step into the shower to resolve the issue quickly. Now that he’s done so, he’ll put the bottle back, and– no one is so drilled on business-only, not even Tseng, that he’ll just leave.
The steam curling in the confined space clings to Tseng’s skin as much as it does Rufus’s. The water drips down the blond’s shoulders, highlighting the flush that blooms across his skin from the heat—he looks almost fevered in this light, but Tseng looks into pale eyes that have a sharpness like crystals and they deny anything being out of sorts. There’s nothing, but the blood on his face, of course. It’s begun to wash off unevenly under the running water and Tseng’s gaze follows the pale pink rivulets trailing down Rufus’s neck and to his collarbone. He hogs the stream of the shower. Strands of Tseng’s hair curl faintly at the ends, drawn into disarray by the steam building up on his body as moisture anyway. ]
Shall I help you with the rest?
[ Rufus can keep teasing him for asking, but Tseng lays his tone flat in the direction of it. He means to do it. ]
( damp, his fingers thread back through pale strands, combing it away from his forehead, from his face, and it's not so unusual a sight; perhaps it would be more shocking to brush all his hair down in front of his face, again, let it cling to his brow the way it did in his youth, when a part of him had hoped he could hide the worst parts of himself, and his life, beneath the shaggy hang of bangs. likewise, the appearance of tseng, stark naked and matter-of-fact as usual, isn't strange either: he watches, waits, pretends to look stunned when the aforementioned bottle of shampoo is held in front of his face like some kind of magical savior.
with his lips curling up into a smile, he tries for a voice of total shock-- )
Oh, is that where it went off to.
( one hand lifts, but tseng is already stretching past him to replace the bottle on the shelf where they both know it belongs--empty, his fingers curl into nothing but the steam of the shower, but there are more important things to reach for.
tseng's hair is curling, slightly, under the burden of the steam, and with a soft click of his tongue, he lets his hand slide over a naked shoulder, shrugging long, dark strands from sticking to the skin; they roll and stick to tseng's back, instead. )
I think you'll need to stay, for the sake of my safety. ( he does, at least, let that hand fall, holding tseng's upper arm to use it as a counter balance, as he steps sidelong, and out of the shower spray. )
Go ahead and get yourself wet. ( he's still smiling as he says it, though he is rounding back for the bottle of shampoo again--so that he can add it to his palm, coax both of his hands up to start working it through his own hair. ) I'll wait.
[ But, yes, as far as having access. The specificity of the term catches. Tseng has it filed mentally with a few others that haven't surfaced in years—not in polite conversation, anyway. A pause between messages, intentional. ]
That's a very specific assumption for them to make.
[ Tseng doesn't know what it is, either, but he knows enough to recognize when something is being treated like it matters. So this is curiosity, thinly veiled.
Later, then: ] Digital access through a secure node.
[ Shuffled tags, redacted names, and most of it archived under unrelated classifications. It's been hidden the same way other things were. Tseng doesn't share those; too intimate, too much of a risk to Veld and his daughter. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I'm not sure where you're going with this.
[ He's trying sooooo hard not to let himself be affected. ]
I'm not coy.
bless u for moving us
[ But… maybe she doesn't know where she's going with this either, only that it's surprisingly fun, and maybe more than just a little bit intriguing to push this particular set of buttons. ]
Maybe if you were less coy, your loins wouldn't burn so often.
bkst got exceedingly into that # of body parts captcha.. concerning
[ Tseng says, knowing, because he... knows. These are like the buttons under a safety cover. ]
Nothing is burning.
This is on record.
Let's stop talking about it, please.
[ Yup, his loins are on record. ]
my fav is kevin's name is what?
[ Seriously Tseng. Why did you put your loins on record? ]
omg that's such a tough one tho!
[ As lots of Turk-things are on-off-record. ]
only kevin knows the truth
[ Coming from her, it could almost be seen as a compliment, resident weirdo that she's spent years being herself. ]
@redhairedturk
Metaphorically, not whatever you're imagining right now.
If you think it's necessary get yourself checked out, Reno.
Oh please, I didn't open that door ..! But Reno will very gladly walk through it! XD
@floresco
no subject
[ Tseng glances at her sidelong, suggesting her remark has landed somewhere within. ] Determination is an asset—when it's not working against me. [ This could pass for humor if it weren’t so meticulously subdued. Her request lingers, just so in a way that suggests Tseng might end up dismissing it outright once more. There's still a practiced stillness to him that, after everything, might still fool anyone not sitting in the car. ]
This isn't a leisurely drive, Aerith. [ He could very well leave it at that, but Tseng's tone tempers the potential finality of it. Stopping at the aforementioned bakery would seem small concession, but... ] Maybe another time.
[ Under different circumstances, like following unseen again. It’s not quite an apology, nor is it entirely an offer, but as if he's said all he can allow himself to, Tseng doesn't elaborate on the rules or remind her of who decided upon them in the first place, either. Of course, a ripple of intuition makes him wonder if her insistence is more than whim. A gut feeling, unspoken and unformed. The way the streets wind need no reminding of his that they're closer to her house than elsewhere, anyway. ]
my own top level? i just live in your open now i guess
You're going to regret it when we have to go all the way back to the bar.
[ She's got to purse her lips a bit to stop from smirking as she turns to look at him, her shoulders rolling in an easy shrug as she fights the urge to narrow her eyes and end up looking too triumphant. ]
I forgot my scarf.
[ Aerith wants to believe he'll wave it off as her being a pest, rather than a deliberate move to spend more time riding around in his car and not going home. All things considered, Aerith almost wishes she could do the same. It's safer and more sensible than quietly pulling a shrewd stunt like this. ]
you do, do you want some slippers, something to drink?
You forgot your scarf.
[ He repeats it, dryly. He feels the corner tightening around him, and that's one of the hardest things to stand. The point of escorting her home was to ensure she stayed there—not to have her doubling back alone. Tseng pulls the car to the side of the road. The doors are still locked all around. His eyes shift to Aerith, less sharp and unmistakably weary. He doesn't bother concealing it. ]
Alright. [ There’s no fanfare in his response, resigned but firm. Tseng steers the car into a tight turn, heading back the way they came. His focus is on the road ahead...back, but from the corner of his eye, he watches her. ]
and a big comfy chair svp
However rankled, she still straightens in her seat after Tseng pulls the car over to send a tired, annoyed, look in her direction before turning the vehicle back around. The softer side of her decision dims like her sense of enjoyment from stealing more of his time, and Aerith huffs audibly as her gaze returns to the view ahead, aware he's still looking and grimacing doubly so because of it. She's the Ancient, the Asset, and Tseng is only here to make sure her value to Shinra doesn't depreciate on account of a little peril, not because he wants to be. ]
It's a safe trip.
[ They both know why she points that out, just like they both must know it's pointless. Tseng would never willingly drive away and leave her if he thought she would head right back out again once he did. Settling back against the seat, she crosses her arms, not bothering to meet his gaze in the rearview mirror. ]
at once! 🫡
You know I can't ignore it.
[ His answer is just as redundant to be said out loud. He can't admit how often he tells himself it's not just Shinra who wants Aerith safe, or instead even claim that it is her mother's worry that drives him—tonight literally. That lie feels truly hollow and gives him no comfort. The line between concern and obligation blurs too easily when it comes to her. And the decision to speak next is also hers, as always.
His gaze drifts to the side more earnestly, but long enough to see the way she's crossed her arms against him. ]
no subject
[ A tart remark that's even more layered than the huff that preceded it, and twice as sharp. A comment she almost regrets making just as soon as the words leave her mouth. He'll see that in the mirror, should he elect to her look her way, how her eyes round, apprehensive and not without a generous dash of sadness. It's disconcerting to be upset by the thought that he's grown tired of being with her that evening, and it slips through the cracks enough to show.
Silence stretches long enough for her stomach to knot grimly as they pass beneath the long stop light without stopping. ]
Besides. [ An olive branch, not a white flag. ] You're acting like I have a curfew.
no subject
In the time he lets her remarks fully simmer, tension winds back across Tseng's shoulders. He's tired, but in a way sleep can fix, and wills the sullen look from his face as he catches his own reflection. He reaches for her olive branch. ]
You don't. [ No but, his hand, too, stays outstretched. ] Take your time to collect anything else you may have forgotten.
no subject
Her head bobs in a curt nod before the car door closes, and she disappears into the bar again.
Back in under five minutes with her scarf wrapped around her neck, she climbs into the car more carefully than she left. That extra note of care is explained as soon as she settles enough to pass him the cup of coffee. ] Because I bet you're not going to let me invite you to stay over and get some rest.
no subject
His gaze lifts the instant she reappears, sooner than anticipated, and he watches as she crosses the street with purposeful steps. Tseng accepts the cup without a word. He lets warmth seep into his fingers, rather than drinking it just yet. There's something faintly self-effacing in his expression when she says why. ]
Thank you. [ The coffee isn't necessary, strictly speaking—but Aerith always seems to know when practicality isn't the point. ] You didn't have to. [ It's not admonishment. The sharp edges of weariness are dulled, and Tseng's focus ebbs just enough to suggest that his mind isn't entirely occupied with the task at hand, of hurrying her home. ]
no subject
It's the least I can do, isn't it? Considering how I'm keeping you up late.
[ If Aerith stopped to think about it, she would notice her own sleepiness beginning to encroach, but she's too busy trying to push aside that pang of remorse that lingers on the edge of her consciousness, a reminder that he'll drive her home quickly, and that will be that.
Her efforts aren't good enough to stave off the tightness in her jaw, or the dour look in her eyes that contradicts the bright tone of voice she's been trying for ever since she returned to the car. The thought of how wrong she was to think he wanted to draw this out as much as she did sitting heavy on her mind, ignoring all attempts to push past it. ]
no subject
But you didn’t need to go out of your way. [ For the coffee. Or his, with the scarf.
As much as he tries to speak free of sentiment or reprimand, this is as redundant as telling her not to stay out late at all. There’s only so much he can (and will) do. Of course, she’ll cut a hole in the fence of her boundaries, only to fall back into the moat the Turks keep digging deeper and wider around her. It’s a small concession that this isn’t their first night to end like this, and Tseng has slept on an even more bitter conscience. ]
I’m taking you home now. [ He says, coinciding with her unsung awareness that the night needs to end here. He’ll bring her to Leaf House; Tseng takes the street with the long red light again. ]
kevin-proofed
She doesn't have to look at him too long to know the answer.
Pursing her lips in a short-lived show of hesitation, one hand reaches out and settles over his before she, pauses and waits to see if he'll stir. Despite their shared state of undress, that he's gloveless is the thing that really drives the point home that this is all uncharted territory, and the thrill of it takes the uncertainty out of her expression, softening it into a look of quiet, but markedly unabashed affection.
Her hand leaves his in favor of letting her fingertips brush along the ends of his hair, unconsciously shifting nearer, crowding his space without a second thought so she can stare up at his face, indulging the piece of herself that isn't shocked by this happening in the slightest. ]
Are you awake yet? [ As warm and gentle as her voice is, Aerith can't conceal the delight in her tone, and, more to the point – she doesn't want to. It would be as impossible as trying to get the smile off of her face while she stares at him.
At Tseng.
At Tseng, undressed, and asleep in a bed where she has also been sleeping while undressed.
It should feel like a heavier issue than it does. ]
kevin is sad he can't watch, that little voyeur
He, also, was too aware the night before to be surprised now.
Tseng has memorized every detail of her face, presently. His gaze lingers anyway. The unguarded smile on her lips, the warmth of her gaze, the way she fills the air between them with a quiet joy are all fragments that have been shown to him. He hadn't permitted himself to touch them before.
His hand, resting between them, flexes. The leather of his gloves is harder than the skin on his fingertips. ]
I am. [ His answer offers nothing to hide behind. They'd been even more direct with each other last night.
Where the sheets slide off of her shoulder, he can see how her breasts curve away from her chest. He touches her forearm, feeling tendons stiff with the strand of his hair pinched between her fingers.
Tseng knows what he should say. That this can't happen again. That they've crossed a line neither of them can even afford to acknowledge.
But he says none of it.
His thumb brushes over her pulse, his hand wraps around her wrist. ]
soz, but, we're too busy watering our own crops to water kevin's
Silent as she watches him watch her, Aerith only looks away when his fingers curve around her wrist, catching it lightly, loosely enough to allow her to slip her hand lower, until her palm settles against his, and she can lace their fingers together. ]
You looked like you were having a good sleep. [ And who cares if he knows she was watching? She spent most of last night tangled up with him, proving how much attention she's always paid, no sense in trying to play it cool now.
It's quiet, peaceful enough to make it easy to believe reality won't ever come knocking on the door, but the pale light filtering in from her window tells Aerith it's early, that there's time.
The arm resting against the mattress bends at the elbow before she presses it to the bed and uses the leverage to move very close in very little time. In a heartbeat, she's drawn close enough to usher herself into his arms and against his chest, ducking her head so it rests on his shoulder. ] Always knew you would be warmer than you looked.
looking forward to a bountiful harvest from ours
His mind, usually sharp and calculating, is occupied with unfamiliar thoughts: how long she's been watching him like this, how much she's memorized of him in ways he hadn't realized until now. He's spent years cataloging every detail of her—small, imperceptible things—but never with the awareness that not all of those details were meant for a report, or for professional detachment. Once or twice, he's seen her asleep, but the difference between then and now haunts him more than he expected.
Now the smooth glide of her skin against his ignites a quiet ache. Aerith's warmth in turn seeps deep, settling in places he didn't realize had grown cold. She fits too easily and perfectly against him, and it stirs a deep satisfaction within him. A low sound rumbles in Tseng's throat.
His free hand shifts to the small of her back, and his fingers trace up the length of her spine, ready to commit each subtle dip and curve to memory in a way that has nothing to do with duty. Tseng presses lightly, pulling her closer, letting her feel the growing tension in his body. ]
Aerith... [ Her name slips past his lips, almost like a confession. The muted glow cast across the room drapes over Aerith's skin, the morning held at bay by the gentle sway of her breathing. Tseng pauses just below her shoulder blades. ]
How long have you been looking at me like that?
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He's as lean and strong to the touch as he looks, and her chest feels almost uncomfortably tight in the wake of all the affectionate warmth that seeps through it. After a moment spent flush against him and still enough to take in all the places they fit so well together, Aerith tilts her head up and lets her lips brush against his jaw, doing her best not to grin over the contact when his question shocks a laugh out of her. ]
Shouldn't you know that already? Tonight's the only time you were asleep while I looked. You couldn't have missed it every other time! [ And in the wake of his asking, Aerith can't deny that it's been many times indeed. ]
It's been a while. [ She declares gently after a moment of consideration as she draws back enough to steal a look up at his face. ] What about you, Tseng?
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Tseng’s fingers touch the salted ends of her hair. His role has always demanded vigilance and restraint, but now he knows that the latter was never entirely honest. The way Aerith has changed over the years—grown into her womanhood—hasn’t gone unnoticed. Meanwhile, he’s seen and heard her laugh a dozen times, but never felt it so intently against his own skin. When she laughs he can’t help but still tighten his grip on her, his body reacts instinctively to the sound.
Tseng’s mind pulls back to every time he has watched her watch him. Was it just a consequence of noticing each other? He lingers where her waist curves under his hand. His thumb sweeps in a slow, deliberate arc beneath her breast. ]
I’ve always watched you. [ The dull explanation of his job. This isn’t what she means, though. Instead of stalling: ] Something changed that I wasn’t prepared for. Does that make sense?
[ He watches her through half-lidded eyes, sharp but softened in ways only she can manage. She should know... it’s harder to stop looking than she thinks. ]
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Yes. [ A hand finds its way to his face, where the pads of her fingers slowly trace over the gracefully high planes of his cheek. ] It makes sense. [ Even though when all is said and done, none of this has any business making sense, but right now the part of her that knows that doesn't seem to be present. Aerith's too preoccupied with the way his eyelashes fan out against his skin while he watches her like that, and the subsequent way her heart pounds in response. With her chest snug against his, there's no hiding that fact either.
Like common sense, it's unimportant.
The fingers against his jaw grow more sure in the way they touch him, until she's guiding his face down, as warmth creeps up the back of her neck, curving her lips into an anticipatory little smile. ]
If you keep me like this, you'll always know where I am.
[ Aerith's eyes narrow playfully before she lifts her head, drawing him into a kiss. ]
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Beneath half-lidded eyes, Tseng feels the thin calluses on her fingertips on his face. He has seen her work in gloves when stripping thorns or handling cuttings that ooze staining sap, and again other times when she wouldn’t wear them. He, instead, never puts his bare hands on anything or anyone while at work.
Aerith’s arm wedges his fingers between it and the side of her chest, heavy where her trace along his jawline is light. He’s sure that her thumb ghosts at his bottom lip.
Tseng tilts his chin down and at that angle gives Aerith the plain view of something both possessive and tender flitting across his features, at her nomination. The idea of holding her like this and keeping her near is startling and an undeniable want. Their relationship has become a paradox overnight.
Not only against his chest but past her clavicle, where his other hand slides up the side of her neck, he can feel Aerith’s heart beating. Behind her ear, his fingers dip into the roots of her hair and cradle her at the nape when she leans up along the pillow. Tseng’s mouth opens, his tongue warms against hers. Under the shared cover, his thigh presses firmly next to and would slip between hers. ]
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Tseng makes that selfish desire all too easy to long for. The soft possessiveness in his eyes is new, and vibrantly beautiful – so much so that all it takes is a look for Aerith to be sure she'll yearn to catch this exact light in his eyes forever. The line between being a Shinra asset, and being his, has never mattered less. She can want to be one and hate being the other, even if that does introduce layers and layers of complexity to an already intricate situation.
It's hard to puzzle over that when he's this close, the brush of his tongue and the nudge of his thigh lighting up her awareness, a sharp, sweet ache blossoming between her thighs. With a soft sigh, her thumb sweeps across his cheek as she parts her lips, her tongue light as it brushes against his, licking into his mouth with another soft, happy sigh.
Aerith wastes no time letting her thighs part, the want of him pairing too perfectly with the joy of touching and being touched to bother with restraint. She brackets him between her legs in one fluid motion, the hand on his cheek sinking into his hair with relish as she continues to let her mouth claim his in a voracious flood of kisses. ]
I want you to touch me everywhere, Tseng.
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Tseng breaks the deluge of kisses, but only barely. ] Aerith... [ It’s soft and velvety to say without admonishment or warning or, in further depths, even concern attached. His voice is low, rough, and edged with the need to have her name on it. And his eyes are sharp and intent. She doesn’t know what she’s asking of him, or perhaps she does... She surely does. The kiss he returns to her is searing, possessive, a declaration of everything he’s been holding back in exchange for hundreds of hers.
Aerith, too, is in possession of him. She pulls him close by the hair and entraps him between her thighs, contracting any millimeter of space still gaping between them. Tseng’s breath shudders. She must feel him growing hard against her.
He answers her plea with action instead of hesitation. He pulls his hand out of her hair and slides his thumb back down her throat and to her breast. Squeezing hardly, her skin still dents in the shape of his fingertips. Keeping her beneath his palm other side, he runs it from her chest to her back, to the small of it, and to her buttock. And lower still. Slipping between her legs and his thigh, Tseng’s long fingers pass by her entrance. ]
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For years, she's found her ways to take more for herself. At first it was her way of undermining Shinra, of flexing what she had of muscle and finding ways to remind them that her compliance is a luxury, not a given. She could make every shift a nightmare for everyone assigned to tail her, but she doesn't. While Aerith might have felt a bit magnanimous about that at times, it's undermined spectacularly by all the looking she just admitted to doing, and the warm desire that rises through her as her awareness follows his hands as they curve over her backside before slipping low enough to graze her outer folds. Her inner thighs tremble against his hips, tightening around them when his other hand cups her breast, kneading firmly enough to send a pang of want working through her.
The heat of his body pulls at her like a magnet, keeping one hand tangled in his hair – too drawn to touching it after years of wondering what it would be like to stop now – the other finds his shoulders, his chest, his side, mapping him as she revels in this newfound closeness. Just like always, Aerith finds that everything she gets is still not enough. Reality will come for them sooner or later, she just wants to make sure they both have a damn fine reason for staying away from it.
Angling her hips as she arches up, Aerith presses against him, letting the hard weight of his shaft graze over where she wants to feel him most as she lets herself grind against him. ]
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The deliberate grind of her hips steals a guttural sound from Tseng’s throat. That small movement is his undoing. He’s no Turk in this moment; just a man consumed by the woman in his arms. His lips slide away from her mouth to nudge her jaw, before seeping into the crook of her neck where her pulse flutters wildly against his tongue. In a display of patience now followed by impatience, Tseng shifts his hips, and his cock aligns with the heat between Aerith’s thighs. He feels everything around him narrow to a single point—her. His breath catches, sharp and audible, landing against her collarbone as she surrounds him with her tight, yielding warmth. Her name escapes him as though it’s the only word he knows anymore.
Tseng’s eyes lift to hers, the green of them impossibly vibrant, lit with something that matches the sensation throbbing through his chest and pooling again low in his body in an instant, fuelling the way he moves. He braces one hand beneath her, cradling her back as though she’s something fragile. The other roams, mapping Aerith in ways no chart could capture. He runs his palm along the side of her chest, the curve of her waist, the dip of her hip, the soft, trembling expanse of her thigh.
Soon enough, even the thin barrier of air left between them is too much. Tseng draws her leg higher over his hip as he angles his body to hers, a slow, rolling motion that lets him slide deeper. He presses a series of searing, open-mouthed kisses against Aerith’s skin. The rhythm he sets is unhurried but consuming, rocking his thrusts into her. ]
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His hips lift, and the first twinges of pleasure that roll through her as he sinks into her makes her gasp, the hand on his back pressing flat, holding him to her as her thighs tighten around him, seemingly trying to obliterate every last trace of space between their bodies. The sound of his name follows the sound of hers, soft and sweet, like he's everything she could ever want, and she's been kept waiting a painfully long time. Watching him through half-closed eyes as he lifts his head and meets her gaze, the color clinging to the apples of her cheeks goes a darker shade of pink, the dazed smile on her parted, kiss-swollen lips deepening, the portrait of astonished exhilaration. Both hands brush his hair out of his face as he moves over her, his draw too strong to deny, urging her to half sit up so she can meet that kiss halfway.
A soft gasp is stifled against his mouth as she feels him move, her own hips tipping forward, finding the right degree of tilt that allows her to roll up and meet his thrusts with the same eagerness she kisses him with. It's only once she's breathless that Aerith draws away, and even then it's minimal, just far enough to catch her breath and whisper his name while close enough to let her lips brush against his as she does.
As if saying it drove some point home for her, Aerith's arm wraps around his back, possessive and almost dizzy with delight as she holds him closer, the slick walls of her cunt trembling in time with her racing pulse, holding onto him with everything, wrapping around him as she gives herself over to the moment. ]
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Her grip on him, possessive as it is soft, sends a thrill through him. The way she says his name, paired with the startled delight in her wide, dark eyes, makes his chest tighten, a warmth blooming there that feels as new as it does familiar. He watches her closely, those wide eyes dark with desire and that smile, one that's both startled and delighted. Clearly, it's impossible to focus on anything but her with the way her body shifts and rolls. Something that he not so much thinks he'd buried, but just never unearthed fully, draws another hushed, needy rasp from him against her mouth. Her thighs squeeze him at the waist. With a little jutting thrust, Tseng's hips snap against hers, burying himself this time.
That seems to wake him up. As she tries to pull him even nearer, as if they aren't already as close as two people can be, he can feel her fingernails tap lightly on his skin. It sends a faint shiver through him that ultimately fuels his fervor. He keeps kissing her, favoring Aerith's puffed lips, but trailing down to her jaw and the front of her throat, too. Prying himself from her needy cunt only to plunge his cock back into her depths with a matching yearning and desire, he slides in and out.
The strands she'd brushed back fall forward again loosely, weaving with her flaxen locks fanned out on the pillow. Tseng presses his nose next to her ear. Her name once more vibrates against her skin, along with divulging her perfection. Her faintly floral scent makes his head spin when he breathes in, in a way to explain the loss of his inhibitions. Tseng slips a hand between their bodies, his touch intent on making her tremble even more. ]
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Tseng– [ A soft sigh gives her pause, bright eyes barely concealed beneath the dense fans of her eyelashes as she drinks in every view of him she can. ] I'm, it's so. [ Words fail, but the way her walls tighten and flutter around his cock speaks volumes, about the way every driving thrust of his cock erodes her composure, leaving her perilously close to coming undone, even as she never wants this to end.
Her inner thighs tremble as fresh heat runs through her body, urging her to chase his mouth with her own, capturing him in another kiss as she shudders beneath and around him, her body clutching at his from her limbs to the slick clutch of her cunt. Aerith gasps his name as she comes, arching against him as she keeps him close. ]
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He holds still for a moment, struggling to thrust through the vise of her orgasm, to his own. Then, with a rough, driving snap of his hips, he moves again, pushing through the aftershocks. His pace grows deeper, more insistent, pressing her into the sheets. Tseng covers her kisses with his lips, swallowing every sound she makes until it's too much—until he's shuddering against her, buried so deep. His rhythm falters, stuttering then desperate, grows ragged, and then—fuck—he follows, pleasure surges from and into him like a white-hot flood. A moans breaks from his throat before he can bite it down—this one undeniably Aerith's, stamped with her name.
His forehead drops against her shoulder. He stays like that for a moment, still buried inside her, his body taut with the vestiges of pleasure rolling through him. The aftershocks pulse between them, her cunt still fluttering around him, his muscles trembling in the wake of release. Tseng's fingers curl at her thigh. His breath stirs against her skin, uneven and warm, his lips press against her collarbone. ]
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Morning, Tseng.
[ There's a note of music hanging on the end of his name that Aerith rounds into a gentle, giddy giggle. This is good. It's been so long since Aerith has had somewhere to direct all the love she carries around. The garden and Leaf House are wonderful outlets, but the satisfaction she gets from all the noble ways she's found to pass the time doesn't compare to how revivifying, how engrossing, it is, to have her body curved up against his shape while her fingers drift between drawing absent patterns on his back, and idly playing with his hair. ]
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He's certainly never thought about how it would feel to have her fingers in his hair, either. Now that she's doing it, though, idly twining strands between her fingers, smoothing them back only for them to fall across his back again, Tseng finds it difficult to think about anything else. Except for the fact that he's always watched her. Duty demanded he memorized the way Aerith smiles, the way her eyes flicker with mischief or steel. But he's never touched her, not with both hands on her. Tseng lifts his head. ]
Good morning. [ His dark eyes hold onto hers with an intent that feels different from the way he usually looks at her. His usually clipped tone has slipped away . ]
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Aerith can feel herself relaxing into the bed, but she keeps her limbs wrapped around him, her legs loose but still settled on his hips with no sign of inclination to shift and let him move. She's watched him for too long not to treasure being able to touch all the places she's studied, to let this little pocket in the universe where the complications waiting outside her door don't matter exist for as long as it can.
He lifts his head, and her eyes widen ever so slightly. He's always been beautiful, but taking it in while they're like this is almost startling. Her eyes are bright as the fingers in his hair lift, pushing it over his shoulder to reveal his collarbone, letting her gaze follow before it meets his again. ]
It really is.
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Then he wonders if this is how Aerith has felt all this time. If the way he's looked at her has had the same effect on her as it's having on him now. His chest tightens, a realization that he's never really known what it feels like to be on the receiving end of that gaze, and it's a strange, humbling thought. To even make that comparison means he's been looking at her like this for a long, long time, and makes Tseng's claim of his ever professional distance a new falsehood.
Aerith brushes through his hair, her fingernails graze his skin, able to roam over his naked body in places she shouldn't be privy to. Tseng lays in the morning light reflected in her verdant eyes. After his mind has stopped swirling around the idea, he's decided to let her keep looking. Half under the sheets, he strokes her leg, hip to knee. ]
putting a bow on tseng's apartment door, another way for her to besiege him is totally aerith's gift
Aerith stopped, stood rocking on her heels and asked if this is it, standing in front of the building entrance that is, in fact, it. The entire house isn’t older, or even as old as the Gainsborough estate, and simply nestled into a street in Sector 8. Anyone might live here, like the residents in the other apartments do—like Tseng does.
Bundled in her worn but warm coat, she doesn’t look nearly so chilled as on that rainy evening. Still, Tseng can’t quite tell whether the rosy color on her cheeks results from her standing outside, or from the roguish excitement at stepping into such a reticent part of his life. He stands next to her, letting her look at the facade or guessing which windows belong to his view, or wondering if she’s just imagined something more “like him.” Or perhaps waiting for the usual stoic version of him to break into some unexpected gesture. She finally prompts him through apparent curiosity.
Tseng pushes the heavy, tall door open into a hallway where lights flicker on with motion sensors. Stairs wind up to the next floor in a semi-circle and at the far back of the hall is an elevator. Footfalls echo between plastered brick walls and the tile floor. ]
This is it. [ He says. How ordinary and unremarkable. ]
he will learn to regret this
Given the conspiratorially smug smile she gives him after the door swings open, allowing Aerith her first look around the inside of the place, it might be safe to say she's under the impression she can continue gaining distance from the line that's always been between them. ]
You haven't even given me a tour! How can this be it?
[ Barely suppressed amusement lights up her face when she meets his eye, smiling brightly before her attention diverts to her bag instead. She's definitely got a wreath, or a large glittery ribbon for his front door in here somewhere among the fairy lights, mistletoe, and other festive bits and pieces she's brought to stick all over his apartment. ]
What are we having for dinner tonight? [ She's already stopped to hang the wreath on his door, why not continue her tirade of audacity? ]
worse... he’ll learn to accept it
His fingers brush over the numbers and letters to enter the code, and a quiet click disables lock and alarm both. With a normal key, Tseng unbars the second, ordinary lock. The door itself is heavier to push open, too, if Aerith were to try it. She was right, it’s secure. A sense of obligation overrules his discomfort, and Tseng stifles a scoff very well. ] I’ll show you, then. Take your shoes off. [ He has done so. He’s set out those thin guest slippers for her.
But Tseng is a bad tour guide, and points without walking her around much. ] The bathroom and two bedrooms are on this side. The kitchen is there. Here, [ He only walks up to the largest but open door, and stands near the doorframe, hands clasped behind his back. Letting Aerith take in the space, he doesn’t quite pause his commentary, but does wait for her to catch up. ] is the living room. [ And, ] You’re welcome to look around.
[ Imagining that she would anyway, it feels better to say it first. The place is spacious and sleek, with modern appliances, and furniture in neutral colors, where the darker end of the spectrum dominates. The parquet floors help to leaven the picture. Everything looks ready to be lived in, but it’s just that. ]
You didn’t eat earlier? [ Tseng pulls an eyebrow back up and feigns
the mildest case ofbewilderment at her second question. They’ll have something together. ]no subject
It's a sweet thought that she wants to be true, a notion that his invitation to look around makes easier to entertain. Already she's flipped the top of her bag open, surveying the windows of the living room like she's looking for a starting point while she shakes her head at Tseng's question. ]
Just a little snack. I'm baking you cookies later. [ Stop her. ] So I didn't eat too much. [ Well, making cookies and the cheeky, selfish urge to have dinner with him.
As she speaks, Aerith strings lights around the frame of the closest window, a bit of piney garland looped around her forearm, waiting in the wings to further adorn the space. ]
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I hope you didn’t bring a tree. [ The words come out dry, but far too late to offer up real resistance. His own curiosity comes tempered with wariness. Seeing his apartment “through her eyes” inevitably involves her sharing that vision in ways far more tangible than words. Tseng looks inside the emptying bag, confirming his suspicions. Countless times, he’s left pictures and reports of her garden and house sitting in black and white on his desk, detached and distant, before retreating here. Now, she’s brought that vibrancy along. ]
Baking? [ His tone is still even, but his expression tenses again. ] I wasn’t aware I agreed to that. [ Meaning, he didn’t. She might have mentioned it. His kitchen is intentionally understocked, yet, as ever, Tseng has a contingency plan in place. ]
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[ Just as her eyes start to narrow smugly, Aerith turns and gets back to the business of decorating, returning to her bag for a coiled strand of lights destined to join the garland in his window. ]
You're better in the kitchen than I am, of course you'll have to do it. I'll supervise.
[ She plugs in the rainbow lights and steps back to admire her work, her head nodding approvingly as she hums in satisfaction. ]
I bought everything we need for cookies, and for hot cocoa. [ In true Aerith fashion, she's all too happy to keep piling things on, bit by bit. First the decor, then the cookies, then the cocoa – as much as she can get from him before Tseng puts his foot down (and potentially even after that). ]
There are lots of festive movies on the television, we could put one on after and not watch it. [ And she's off, heading to the kitchen to give the window in there the same treatment. ]
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So, none of this was planned with my input. [ He points out, a stopgap. Tseng crosses his arms. He’s given her free rein, and that might have been premature. As she swiftly moves on from the living room, Tseng is still looking at the newly done-up space. The decorations clash with the minimalism of this place.
He watches her accessorize with a deftness that suggests she’s done it a hundred times before– She has. His pulse pitches protest to the aversion bubbling up in him, about it being done at his apartment, instead. But he thinks about the dozen or so sprigs of mistletoe hung up around her house and feels a heat climbing up the back of his neck.
Tseng’s mind, usually so focused, is now the traitor. It conjures up the image of them standing beneath one of those sprigs, a single breath away from each other, and her playful implication of “not watching” a movie, too. Waiting under the doorframe of the kitchen, his lips press into a faint line. How long can he keep up his pretense? ] Fine, I’ll grant you that.
[ His comfort and composure lie in delegating. ] You’re responsible for the cocoa, though.
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[ Still, she can tell he's still relaxing into the idea she's all but burst into his home and began enacting, so she nods more than amiably when he tasks her with the cocoa, bouncing on the balls of her feet once as her hands clasp in front of her. ] You're on. Let's do cocoa and a movie first, then cookies later. [ It hurts her ego that he seems almost threatened by the prospect of her taking over his kitchen, but privately she'll admit her last few attempts at making something could have gone a little bit better than they had.
Besides, even she's drawn in by the idea of not watching a movie with him. It seems like just the right kind of positive reinforcement to help Tseng warm to all the holiday cheer she's brought with her, and it's not like close to him isn't becoming one of her favorite places to be. It's been a while since she felt that way, and this time of year makes her want to lean into it and enjoy the new spot in her life he's begun to occupy. ]
Want to show me where your mugs and pots are? [ She pulls the hot chocolate from her bag, along with another bag, this one bearing marshmallows, looking at him in that soft, playfully anticipatory way that's become so common between them. ]
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When she asks about the mugs and pots, Tseng nods, stepping further into the kitchen. He crouches down to one of the cabinets to take out a pot, putting it on the counter. Then, almost as though he's giving her permission to take over the space after all: ] Mugs are above the sink.
[ Tseng opens the wall cabinet, where matching cups are stacked in sets of two on the bottom-most shelf. On the shelf above is a flower vase—empty, but lined up to the front because it was recently used. He'll do anything but point it out. ] I'll be in the living room, setting up. [ He excuses himself. There's a beat, a pause that lingers, just like Tseng does. ] I'm going to leave you to it.
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About fifteen minutes later, after the scent of chocolate fills the room and the clatter of dishes can be heard as she gets their mugs (and a vase with a pair of flowers in it for him to find later) ready. Using the reflection in the window to fix her hair, Aerith finds herself impulsively tugging it free of the plait it's almost always bound back in, before smoothing it back into place. It almost makes her look right at home when she steps out, smiling to herself as she heads towards the couch. Thankfully, the coco was fairly easy to assemble, the contents of the mug she carefully passes Tseng once she reaches him surprisingly normal in appearance. ]
Find us a good movie to not watch? [ She asks as she cocks her head to the side and flashes him an impish wink. ]
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When he steps back into the living room, it's only natural that his gaze drifts toward the window again—toward the decorations draped around the frame, lights twinkling softly against the glass. Tseng steps up to see the street below and wonders what it looks like from down there. The contrast between the warm lights and the cold night, as unfamiliar as it is to have in his own apartment, must look festive. He turns away, dismissing the thought without concluding how he feels about it.
Tseng starts flipping through the TV channels. If he were honest with himself, he's only half paying attention. The sounds of Aerith moving about in the kitchen drift toward him. It should be distracting; instead, it settles into the space. His thumb slows when he lands on one of the predictable holiday films. It's not his first choice, not even his tenth. Being handed the mug, his fingers brush Aerith's. The cup is warm in his hand—the cocoa smells warm and sweet. Tseng stares down at the drink for a beat too long without taking a sip. He offers her an agreeably dry look. ]
It's good for not watching.[ Tseng sits down. He doesn't pat beside him, simply putting his hand on the seat cushion instead. He may be a useless tour guide here, but he won't make himself a terrible host on top of it. A glance up at Aerith, and he shifts slightly toward one end of the couch to make more room for her: ] Do you want to sit?
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She also chases after him a split second later, shifting herself sideways until her hip touches his, and she's almost snuggled up against his side, a feeling that has her breathing out a contented sigh before she reaches for her mug again. As she carefully drinks, the movie on the screen unfolds. It's the standard; big city woman teams up with small town man to save her rural hometown while finding love along the way kind of story. Perfect for not watching, and seemingly in acknowledgement of that, Aerith's shoulder bumps against Tseng's arm, not so subtly trying to telegraph that she wants it around her.
Lowering her mug, she licks the chocolate off her lips, a lingering sweetness still hanging there when she turns to kiss his jaw, chuckling fondly against his skin before she draws away. ]
Not such a bad night, right?
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His arm is too still against the couch, and he knows what she's waiting for—the nudge of her shoulder is hardly subtle about it. Tseng moves his arm to resting it along the back of the couch. Then he lets it drop, fingers grazing the curve of her shoulder. With the predictable script playing out on screen, the movie is more or less white noise already. He can feel the barely there trace of cocoa on his skin. Or this is just Tseng choosing to let the moment linger beyond the actual kiss—like under the mistletoe. He lets a pause settle between them, as though ensuring he doesn't answer too quickly somehow. ]
It's not so bad. [ But he shifts. Tseng reaches for the folded blanket draped over the arm of the couch he's leaning against. It's called practical because he can't call it a decoration, but he never uses it. Without looking at her, he shakes it out with one hand, then drapes it over Aerith's legs. His arm returns around her after, settling more fully this time. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. ] Warm enough?
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She sets her mug down before his arm settles around her again, and watches him from her periphery, much as he does with her, humming pensively at the question despite the stupid smile settled firmly on her face. ]
Getting there.
[ Aerith shifts closer and draws her legs up, tucking them up as she situates herself snugly against his side and adjusts the blanket so it's covering them both. ] How's this? [ Her head tilts back as she asks, delighting in the way her cheek rests against his collarbone, letting her gaze up at his face, her eyes lingering on his lips while the thought of kissing him crosses her mind for what must be the tenth time tonight. ] Comfy?
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Getting there. [ Tseng mirrors.
He exhales slowly and realizes only after the fact that he'd been holding his breath. The soft rise and fall of her chest aligns with his, and wisps of Aerith's hair catch on the fabric of his shirt. He's certain she already knows her answers before she even pretends to think of one. He decides the distance between them and she how to close it.
Tseng doesn't know what she sees when she looks at him like that, but he does know what she's waiting for. His hand grazes the curve of her shoulder. His lips press together. He glides his hand along the side of her neck. He tilts her chin up, thumb lingering just below her jaw. The soft glow of the TV screen flickers against Aerith's skin, but any pretense of Tseng's hesitation dissolves in her breath fanning against his lips. ]
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Tseng doesn't do logic any favors, and the fact that he seems so willing to lean into this spurs her along almost as much as the pull of these feelings she's only just begun to own. A soft, fleeting laugh gets smothered in that kiss before she brings her hand up to cradle the side of his face and hold him to it. ]
I can't tell if this is my present or yours. [ She teases after drawing back just far enough to catch her breath, the movie flickering on in the background, past the field of Aerith's awareness. ]
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Her musing is rhetorical, he knows that, but Aerith's expression dares him to engage anyway. There's something undeniably inviting in her gaze, and something that unmistakably accepts in the way his hand drifts from her jaw before letting it fall once more to her shoulder.
Tseng pulls back, just enough to meet her gaze properly. His eyes flicker down to where the blanket pools over their legs, then back up. He tilts his head slightly as if to clear a sudden thought, and only ends up leaning into her palm. His thumb continues a path along the curve of her arm. ] It's generous of you to assume it isn't both. [ What, with them both being so indulgent. ]
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I think it's alright that it's both. It's the holidays, isn't it? We should be unwrapping presents, and indulging.
[ She doesn't bother to act like those words aren't pointed, and while Aerith knows Tseng doesn't miss a single clue, she shifts smoothly into his lap right after she says it. There's mischief in those rounded, earnest eyes, and butterflies in her stomach. Part of her suspects she'll always be just a little bit giddy about him. He's important to her in ways few people could be, a fact that's equally complicated and beautiful, and for now just getting to treasure it is enough, without a need to look too far ahead or deeper than right now.
Green eyes drink in his face as Aerith lets her arm drape around his shoulders, her gaze flicking from his eyes to his mouth and back again as she leans close enough to let her lowered voice be heard. ]
Do you want to show me the rest of your apartment? [ Aerith's hand settles on his chest as she asks, her thumb sweeping over the fabric of his shirt in a lazy arc. ] Or should we stay right here?
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The way she talks about 'unwrapping presents' and 'indulging' isn't lost on him at all. He suspects her definition of indulging is going to be very difficult to refrain from, unlike eating too many cookies or drinking too much spiced wine. Her fingers brush over his chest, where her closeness sets Tseng's pulse to a rhythm she can feel. ]
It is the holidays. [ Tseng concedes further. At once, he's past pretending he doesn't want the same. His gaze lingers on her for a long beat, then dips briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes. ] The rest isn't decorated the way you'd like. Do you intend to change that first?
[ He doesn't mean just pine garland or a throw blanket. ]
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You're in luck. I brought the perfect thing for your bedroom. [ The arms around him tighten in a brief little hug as she speaks, her tone obviously delighted, as though he'd finally brought up something she'd been waiting all night to share.
And, in a way, that's not entirely untrue.
Aerith doesn't want to, but she slides off Tseng's lap a moment later, stepping backwards towards the door as she keeps her gaze on his face, the color rising to the apples of her cheeks not at all from the winter air. With a little laugh, she turns and moves further into his apartment, not bothering to wait for him to catch up as she heads towards his bedroom, unbuttoning the front of her dress as she moves. The red lacy set of underwear she picked out, as festive as everything else Aerith's brought with her today, bright against her skin as she eases the straps of her dress off her shoulders just as soon as she makes it into his room.
Once again Aerith pivots on her heel, although this time it's not to back away and put space between them, but rather to do away with it entirely, her arms wrapping back around him just as soon as he's close enough to hold. ]
I knew you needed some color in here.
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Color in a room he's kept blank on purpose. Slipping out of her dress like she's hanging up a coat at the door. It's very... ] Festive. [ And poetic in a way he doesn't allow himself to think—she's passing through his doors in a way she should not so easily be able to.
His gaze drags slowly from the floor to where the red lace breaks against pale skin. Gravity seems to pull laterally as she wraps warmth and intention around him. Tseng's hand draws a path up her spine, and his face always so carefully blank betrays the soft fracture of surprise in the line of barely parted lips.
Deep breath lifts his chest against hers. He isn't a man prone to being swept up. The silence is a held breath rather than avoidance. ] Aerith, [ Like a touch passed back in his voice. His fingers feel along the delicate hooks and seams. He doesn't look away, eyes dark. ] You make it a little difficult to wait. [ Wondering if he can start unwrapping gifts before Christmas morning. ]
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And while he's this close, it's impossible to think about anything other than relishing the impression she, and her surprise gift, have made on Tseng. One hand smoothes over the front of his shirt, fingers curling delicately in the fabric while she listens to him speak with those bright, unabashedly adoring eyes. ] It's the time of year for treating yourself, isn't it?
[ Raising herself onto the balls of her feet, Aerith's eyes narrow slyly at him, grinning before her chin tilts up, and she presses her lips against his. ] Don't worry. You're my gift, too.
@coinages
dark nation best girl 🥹
[ It's the sound of nails clicking against the polished floor that initially draws his attention, then the door. The first flicker of Tseng's reaction is so subtle, it might as well be an extension of his breathing—a faint tightening of his gaze, sharp enough to catch every detail without lingering. There's no outward surprise, nothing to betray the initial tug of dismay somewhere underneath. His instinct is to assess, to determine if the blood is Rufus' or another's, but even before he begins, he knows.
Tseng tilts his head forward as Rufus smears crimson across the air like an artist with a careless brushstroke. What crosses Tseng's brow thereafter after is closer to resigned observation, as he takes in the totality of Rufus' appearance—bloodied but utterly unconcerned.
Dark Nation elects the step Tseng takes aside to let Rufus pass as her space, exuding a predatory pride that demands acknowledgment. Blood smears her muzzle and speckles her sleek coat, just the same as her master's, but her eyes are focused and expectant. Tseng's eyes narrow fractionally. For a moment, he considers leaving her unindulged, but his hand moves of its own accord and hovers there for her to nose at. She transfers the faint stickiness of her 'touch' to the fingertips, palm and dorsum of his glove; there also the bare skin on the back of Tseng's hand. ]
She seems particularly proud.
[ He comments—he might speak the pardon for her—but withdraws his hand again at the same time.
Tseng's eyes meet Rufus' directly. He considers the implications; his answer must strike the precise tone. He knows better than to suggest Rufus pause for anything other than his own whims. Tseng's lips tighten into a thin, unreadable smile. ]
While she might not mind the blood, you, sir, might find it more bothersome.
[ Tseng allows the thought to rise between them. ]
Do you have no intention of tending to the remnants of your outing all by yourself?
she is truly the best girl
( it's said through a wry haze, bemusement leaking through his tone--his eyes are on the monitor, now, instead of trying to scrutinize the minute little changes in tseng's countenance, something that he learned to do in his youth; he'd spent hours upon hours of useless meetings just trying to crack the expensive code of tseng's smooth expression, noting each and every little twitch and shift and crease of his brow. now, it's more of a game than a necessity: however minor, what emotions can he see, bleeding through the sharp turn of his gaze, the lift of his chin, the purse of his lips? once glance up from the screen tells him just enough: he's gotten much better at this game than he would likely admit.
tseng, it seems, is warring with decisions. warring with his place. warring with the blood smeared onto his own gloved hand, and the blood that's mirrored over dark nation's muzzle and his own jacket, dotted and splotched across his cheek and the corner of his mouth. he would find it charming, any other night: but the reports tabbed up on his screen make his head hurt, so late at night, and he's recalling again why he left to take the walk in the first place.
it doesn't matter. the work will still be there come morning, once he's had a fresh change of clothes, coffee, and hopefully a bit of sleep. with a resigned exhale, he nudges a clean knuckle against the monitor's power button to put it to sleep again. )
You know that a little blood doesn't bother me. ( mostly a tease, accompanied by a little flick of his brow upward: he abandons the desk, nudging the chair in with his hip to keep it blood-free; dark nation's ears perk up, drawn by the sound, but as he rounds on his desk, she doesn't seek to move between them, padding and settling into an undignified lump down behind tseng's legs. it seems she'll rest there to catch her breath as they deliberate. )
Do you have no intention of following through? ( countered with another wry smile, as he begins to close the space between them again, slow and measured, like he has nowhere else to be.
truthfully, he doesn't. a lonely, sprawling suite up on the top floor of the building is waiting for him: or waiting for them, if he plays his cards right. )
I'd like a bath. ( now that there's less space between them, it's easier to feel for tseng's nuances; his own lips press together against a smile. ) I'd like it if you joined me.
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Tseng's eyes follow his approach with quiet intent, noting every nuance, the restless energy faintly visible in the lines of his posture, and the fog hidden behind that wry smile. This isn't unfamiliar ground, and yet Tseng's own steps are more careful and measured than they may be by daylight. Paradoxical, when it is such that things disappear more easily under the veil of night. Though, the lighting seems itself tired and obscures Tseng's demeanor.
That his composure readily softens in subtle ways is visible only when they're this close. His gaze flickers to Rufus's cheek, then to his mouth, where his eyes linger just a little longer than necessary, before returning to his eyes. Up close, where Rufus can see the details—the faint lift of his brow, the softening at the edges of his mouth—Tseng lets it happen and allows a beat of silence for what is his own contentment to be seen. ]
It would be remiss of me to let you handle it alone. I have every intention.
[ Because there's certain satisfaction in Rufus cutting through the usual display of power, and simply laying his wants bare. It's different from giving or receiving orders. Personal, intentional. And Tseng likes that. Then, still in an even tone but, far far less vague. ]
I'll join you.
no subject
Of course you will.
( and it's not as though he would have forced tseng into it--maybe years ago, maybe as a petulant child, he would have made demands like that, would have dragged tseng into the bath fully clothed if he'd had to, just to get what he wanted; there are still things that he claims with a strong hand, whether they want to be there or not, but he's learned that there's something to be said about the enjoyment of slowly allowing something to crawl right into the palm of his hand, instead. he's not quite sure when they made that change: he can't exactly pinpoint where it was, when tseng stopped resenting the hold that he has over him, over the turks themselves. maybe he never did, and it's all a ruse. he wouldn't fault him for that either.
one of his hands lowers, but it's only so that he can snap dark nation back into attention; with a low little whine, she lumbers back onto her feet, pressing herself in between the two of them for a moment like a cat hoping to mark its owners with its scent. with one bloodied hand lifted back up again, in gesture: )
Are you going to take us to the elevator, Tseng? Don't just stand there all starry-eyed.
( it's a somewhat gentle tease, and despite his words, it's him and dark nation that lead the way past the door to his office, certain that tseng will at least kill the lights and lock the door in their wake. at this time of night, he doubts that anyone will be wandering around hoping to take something from the president's desk, but with people like avalanche still out there, it's hard to say, despite his generous backing; once they're at the elevator, he steps in past the open doors, keying in the code that will take them to his suite--and graciously, he keeps one hand against the elevator doors to keep them from closing, so that tseng can catch up.
dark nation waits just next to his legs, eager, her tentacle wagging only once she's got tseng in her sights again, and even rufus seems pleased, lips curled again as he lets the door shut once tseng joins them. )
...I'm afraid it will be an early morning, tomorrow. That doesn't bother you either, does it?
no subject
With Dark Nation nudging between them, Tseng steps back, giving the space before he moves into place. His hand brushes over the door panel, turning out the lights and pausing for a moment, allowing the darkness to settle, locking the room before following. Tseng puts his hand on the elevator door just under Rufus’, so close and unnecessarily so when it’s already held open, as he steps into the cabin, that it might as well be teasing on his part.
The doors close with a soft, metallic hum, and as they get on the ascent, Tseng brings his hands together behind his back. Rufus’s fair features and the dark smears of blood catch in the harsh overhead lights. Beneath it Tseng can see another unmistakable detail of satisfaction on the other man’s face. He answers bluntly. ]
You know it’s never been an issue.
[ And if Rufus didn’t know what to look for, Tseng’s expression would still remain unchanged at that, tone just as even. But his gaze softens, his eyes dark with a mix of curiosity and challenge, for Rufus to see. ]
...Unless you’re hoping to wear me out.
no subject
( with a warm, lofty sort of tone--past the glass of the elevator, he can see the city of midgar sparkling beneath them, his little playground tucked away into sleep for the late hour. the reactors glow, large beacons that draw with them the tiny speckled lights of bars and brothels and other places, open so late at night, and there's a sort of satisfied smile that smooths over his features, as though he's content to leave it just like that. another night where nothing too pressing will happen: or at least that's his hope. for now, the only pressing issue is tseng, and dark nation, and the comfort of a bath that's waiting for all of them.
with a slight glance, sidelong, he lets tseng's expression speak for itself. the shadows of the floors rising with them cast themselves out across tseng's dark eyes, and there's a comfort to be found in the depths there, too, something that has him feeling remarkably contented, as the elevator door split open to the hallway to his suite.
dark nation, ignorant of the both of them, lumbers forward to sniff along the path, as though reassuring it's safe for the both of them: with a quirked, playful brow at tseng, he follows after her, letting tseng round out their party at the back. another code, keyed in to the suite door, and a confirmation of his fingerprint over the lock, and the door opens; he reaches to turn on the lights, letting dark nation trod ahead of them to find her bed--with a soft, almost fond sigh, he turns to look over his shoulder at tseng, already sliding the heavy shoulders of his jacket down to let them hook in at his elbows. )
Will you wipe her mouth off, at least? She'll rub blood all over the carpets.
( it's not a command, though it might sound like one--here, safe behind a locked door, he doesn't mind the muddying of the lines between them, blurring them for his own benefit; his jacket gets tossed onto the back of a chair, reaching up to loosen his tie, next, shoes kicked off, leaving an obvious path of his discarded clothing on the way to the bathroom door.
there, he doesn't close it behind him: rather, he turns on the light and leaves it open, tie lost onto the floor, fingers working open the buttons of his shirt with delicate care--and then, with a moment of forethought, he pauses so that he can reach to turn on the shower, first, heating up the water while he continues to peel out of his shirt. it would be nicer to start with the bath, but: while he doesn't necessarily mind soaking in pink water, tinged with blood, a shower to start is far more beneficial. )
no subject
Tseng lets his gaze drift over the path Rufus has cut through the suite, each piece of clothing a breadcrumb leading to the bathroom. He doesn’t follow it immediately, though he goes to the sink there, too. His gaze lingers on Rufus, undressing.
Then, he wets a towel, squeezes out the excess water, goes to wipe Dark Nation’s muzzle with it. There’s a brief exchange of low murmurs and a gentle hand guiding her great muzzle. Her skin may be too dark to show the difference well, but by how stained the towel eventually becomes Tseng can say when he’s cleaned her up enough. Kneeling by her bed, with her nose pushed into his palm once more, Tseng dispenses a little more praise. He’s really not too unhappy to have gone without seeing the trophy of her kill.
He goes back into the bathroom, rinses the pink water from the dirty towel, and puts it in the hamper. This time along with each item of clothing he’s picked up, having followed the trail almost to the shower. Tseng lets Rufus’ tie, the last piece, weave between his fingers. Steam curls at his feet. His hand and glove are still bloody. Tseng washes them in the sink also. There’s no point putting it back on, so he resolves to leave both of his gloves as a pair on the countertop.
With forethought, too, he turns on the tap on the bathtub. The pipes can surely handle pumping so much water, even up at the altitude of the 70th floor. He dips his bare fingers into the shallow pool that’s collecting quickly, testing the temperature. Over the sound of the shower: ]
I’ll be back to join you when you’re ready.
[ In dutiful wait of an answer, Tseng stands on the other side of the fogged up glass. He looks at Rufus’ silhouette. ]
no subject
I'm surprised you're not more hands-on, Tseng.
( but this is the game that they play, the lines that they dart back over and hide behind, as though blurring them is not quite as fun as deciding when and how they'll come into play. he could easily command tseng to strip him of his shirt, unbuckle his belt, drag all of his clothes down to his ankles, and tseng would do it, if he asked, if he told him he had to. that's not the kind of fear that he wants to instill in people: and not the kind of feeling he wants to instill, either, in someone that he has candid interest in.
so it's his own hands, that work to shrug out of his shirt, to carefully shed his pants, his underwear, his socks, everything else left in a neater pile than the bread crumbs he left behind previously--unabashed, he eases past the glass door of the shower, ducking his head beneath it first to let the water wash over his hair, smearing it into his face, casting hot steam down his bare arms and shoulders. with a pass of a palm over his nose, his eyes, wiping the water out of the way-- )
I seem to have misplaced my favourite shampoo, you know.
( it's not true. all the bottles are neatly lined up where he expected them to be, and it's obvious there's a smile in his voice, when he turns to put his back to the spray, to work his hands up through his hair and peel it back. )
Come in and help me find it. Your suit isn't welcome here.
no subject
His lips twitch at the obvious ploy. Stripped down to nakedness, Tseng opens the shower door to a veil of escaping steam. The space between the two men thins quickly. Tseng reaches forward without looking, around Rufus, and his forearm brushes against his side. The fleeting touch feels charged in the confined space—or Tseng heaps the feeling onto it for himself; his skin is still cool. He picks up the ‘missing’ shampoo, floats it along the bottom of Rufus’s view. ]
A curious case. [ He remarks, as if he did only step into the shower to resolve the issue quickly. Now that he’s done so, he’ll put the bottle back, and– no one is so drilled on business-only, not even Tseng, that he’ll just leave.
The steam curling in the confined space clings to Tseng’s skin as much as it does Rufus’s. The water drips down the blond’s shoulders, highlighting the flush that blooms across his skin from the heat—he looks almost fevered in this light, but Tseng looks into pale eyes that have a sharpness like crystals and they deny anything being out of sorts. There’s nothing, but the blood on his face, of course. It’s begun to wash off unevenly under the running water and Tseng’s gaze follows the pale pink rivulets trailing down Rufus’s neck and to his collarbone. He hogs the stream of the shower. Strands of Tseng’s hair curl faintly at the ends, drawn into disarray by the steam building up on his body as moisture anyway. ]
Shall I help you with the rest?
[ Rufus can keep teasing him for asking, but Tseng lays his tone flat in the direction of it. He means to do it. ]
no subject
with his lips curling up into a smile, he tries for a voice of total shock-- )
Oh, is that where it went off to.
( one hand lifts, but tseng is already stretching past him to replace the bottle on the shelf where they both know it belongs--empty, his fingers curl into nothing but the steam of the shower, but there are more important things to reach for.
tseng's hair is curling, slightly, under the burden of the steam, and with a soft click of his tongue, he lets his hand slide over a naked shoulder, shrugging long, dark strands from sticking to the skin; they roll and stick to tseng's back, instead. )
I think you'll need to stay, for the sake of my safety. ( he does, at least, let that hand fall, holding tseng's upper arm to use it as a counter balance, as he steps sidelong, and out of the shower spray. )
Go ahead and get yourself wet. ( he's still smiling as he says it, though he is rounding back for the bottle of shampoo again--so that he can add it to his palm, coax both of his hands up to start working it through his own hair. ) I'll wait.
@36105997
It'll take time to confirm.
[ But, yes, as far as having access. The specificity of the term catches. Tseng has it filed mentally with a few others that haven't surfaced in years—not in polite conversation, anyway. A pause between messages, intentional. ]
What are you expecting to find?
thanks!
Anything. And anything linking it to Deepground. They believe I have it- whatever it is.
sorry i was sick for a while, it's ok if you no longer feel like doing this thread!
[ Tseng doesn't know what it is, either, but he knows enough to recognize when something is being treated like it matters. So this is curiosity, thinly veiled.
Later, then: ] Digital access through a secure node.
[ Shuffled tags, redacted names, and most of it archived under unrelated classifications. It's been hidden the same way other things were. Tseng doesn't share those; too intimate, too much of a risk to Veld and his daughter. ]
Use your original credentials.