[It burns like a brand, the feeling of Tseng's palm through the specially-woven fabric of his crisp white eveningwear; the combination of the soft cloth on his hypersensitive skin with the heat and pressure of the guiding touch very nearly rips another ill-timed purr out of him as they hurry to the helicopter and into the passenger enclosure. It's all he can do to stay even marginally composed — far from his usual poise, but hopefully still close enough to only seem rushed and inebriated — for Rude's benefit until they're secure and out of sight and the bird is in the air.
Something imperceptible shifts when the struts leave the ground. Suddenly the helicopter isn't so much a vehicle as it is exactly what his instincts are begging for — a small, secure place with reasonably comfortable places to sit and lounge, full of all the right scents and no prying eyes. Rude's will be forward; Tseng's are on him, and he can't seem to stop wetting his lips, chest on the verge of heaving as he sucks in breath after breath of Tseng's scent, knowing full well it's making his own need worse even as it calms his raging instinct to whine and wail.]
Tell me again.
[His gaze drifts up to capture and hold Tseng's, his blue eyes stormy with barely-suppressed desire; but for the way he's gripping the armrests of his seat and has his legs crossed at the thighs instead of at the knee, he's doing a surprisingly good job of restraining himself from what is almost definitely the urge to lunge across the space between them and throw himself into Tseng's lap.]
How you would kill for me.
[A very normal topic of conversation between the VP and his director of the Turks. Definitely.]
What you thought about, the whole time we were at that fucking party.
no subject
Something imperceptible shifts when the struts leave the ground. Suddenly the helicopter isn't so much a vehicle as it is exactly what his instincts are begging for — a small, secure place with reasonably comfortable places to sit and lounge, full of all the right scents and no prying eyes. Rude's will be forward; Tseng's are on him, and he can't seem to stop wetting his lips, chest on the verge of heaving as he sucks in breath after breath of Tseng's scent, knowing full well it's making his own need worse even as it calms his raging instinct to whine and wail.]
Tell me again.
[His gaze drifts up to capture and hold Tseng's, his blue eyes stormy with barely-suppressed desire; but for the way he's gripping the armrests of his seat and has his legs crossed at the thighs instead of at the knee, he's doing a surprisingly good job of restraining himself from what is almost definitely the urge to lunge across the space between them and throw himself into Tseng's lap.]
How you would kill for me.
[A very normal topic of conversation between the VP and his director of the Turks. Definitely.]
What you thought about, the whole time we were at that fucking party.