[ 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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2024-12-03 05:14 pm (UTC)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
Date: 2024-12-15 12:50 am (UTC)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
Date: 2024-12-18 04:05 pm (UTC)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
Date: 2024-12-23 12:22 am (UTC)( 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
Date: 2024-12-29 10:37 pm (UTC)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
Date: 2025-01-05 11:16 pm (UTC)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
Date: 2025-01-15 12:30 am (UTC)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
Date: 2025-01-21 12:01 am (UTC)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.