[ tseng hauls the sliding door of the helicopter shut, thumps his fist twice on the thick glass separating the cockpit from the passengers, and then sits back in his chair and watches rufus watching him. rufus' gaze is sharp, so pointed tseng feels it almost like a physical caress; his tongue comes out to wet his lips, and his chest rises and falls on deep breaths he doesn't need to be taking.

a shivering thread of desire stitches its way up the vertebrae of tseng's spine. he feels his mouth flood wet, and swallows hard against it, his fingers digging in to his own armrests as well. ]

You're wearing my scent. [ and he can say it was practical until the chocobos come home, can say it was a necessity to get rufus out of a perilous situation, but deep inside tseng knows the truth: he scented rufus because he wanted to. because rufus wanted him to. that it was practical was just a happy coincidence.

tseng holds rufus' eyes. he feels cast adrift in the storm of them, only tenuously bound by the tenets of boss – subordinate interactions. the wolf in him wants to bend rufus over one of these chairs and— ]

You know what I would do to anyone who laid a hand on you.

[ to anyone who dared to touch what's his.

it's a losing proposition to think that he can stay in this helicopter, drenched in rufus' scent, and not lay a hand on him—but at the very least, the followup question buys tseng another minute before he gives in to his baser desires. ]

At the party? [ he takes a deep breath, which is a mistake. ] I thought you were incandescent. More alpha than half the alphas in the room.

[ the rich, liquid amber of tseng's gaze says: i still wanted to pull you into a supply closet and fuck you stupid. ]