[ rufus' fingers move away and tseng misses them instantly. gods, how is he ever going to recover from this? not from the injury, nor the surgery, but from the devastating realization of how warm rufus' touch is? it's rare that anyone touches tseng without intent to harm him. rarer still for that touch to come from rufus, who tseng has loved desperately and without reservation for half his life, and who has always been as distant and untouchable as lightning on the horizon.
he licks his lips unconsciously to taste the salt of rufus' skin, then swallows, because his mind is mostly soft cotton and if this is all he's ever going to have of rufus inside him then he may as well enjoy it. ]
No. [ he feels like he's moving through molasses, through a dream he can't quite control. this must be a dream, or at the very least it must be purgatory, to be tormented with the sweetness of something he'll never be able to grasp. he can practically feel the drip, drip, drip of morphine in his veins. ] I would have... obeyed, if you ordered me. But not for Shinra.
[ it's all but a whisper, hushed in the silence of the room broken only by the whir and beep of machinery. even in a dream, tseng still remembers that it's close to treason to admit that anything he does isn't solely in the best interest of the company he serves.
many, many years ago verdot had attempted to teach tseng this lesson: that the mission comes before the man, always. (very "do as i say, not as i do" of him, that.) he had taught tseng, time and time again, that his life—or indeed any turk's life—has meaning insofar as it's contributing to their mission overall. viewed from that angle, the noblest thing tseng could have done in that temple would be to die, and to go out knowing that he had given his life in service of a higher cause.
as it turns out, the lesson didn't take as well as verdot thought it did. ]
For you. I didn't... want to leave you. [ even dreaming, it feels like treason to admit as much. he should be afraid. but what fear can there be in him, when he's looked the lifestream in the face and turned away from it, all for this man sitting next to him? ] I'll go when you let me... not before.
[ tseng closes his eyes again, then blinks them open, looking up at rufus. blue like a summer storm. warmer than most people will ever know. tseng has always considered himself among the blessed few, to know what rufus' eyes look like when he smiles and means it. if he's dreaming—if all of this will vanish, when he opens his eyes for real—then tseng should grasp what he can while it's still here for him to wrap his hands around.
the fear, then: not fear of saying it, but fear of holding it back. maybe this was the thing he couldn't die without saying. ]
no subject
he licks his lips unconsciously to taste the salt of rufus' skin, then swallows, because his mind is mostly soft cotton and if this is all he's ever going to have of rufus inside him then he may as well enjoy it. ]
No. [ he feels like he's moving through molasses, through a dream he can't quite control. this must be a dream, or at the very least it must be purgatory, to be tormented with the sweetness of something he'll never be able to grasp. he can practically feel the drip, drip, drip of morphine in his veins. ] I would have... obeyed, if you ordered me. But not for Shinra.
[ it's all but a whisper, hushed in the silence of the room broken only by the whir and beep of machinery. even in a dream, tseng still remembers that it's close to treason to admit that anything he does isn't solely in the best interest of the company he serves.
many, many years ago verdot had attempted to teach tseng this lesson: that the mission comes before the man, always. (very "do as i say, not as i do" of him, that.) he had taught tseng, time and time again, that his life—or indeed any turk's life—has meaning insofar as it's contributing to their mission overall. viewed from that angle, the noblest thing tseng could have done in that temple would be to die, and to go out knowing that he had given his life in service of a higher cause.
as it turns out, the lesson didn't take as well as verdot thought it did. ]
For you. I didn't... want to leave you. [ even dreaming, it feels like treason to admit as much. he should be afraid. but what fear can there be in him, when he's looked the lifestream in the face and turned away from it, all for this man sitting next to him? ] I'll go when you let me... not before.
[ tseng closes his eyes again, then blinks them open, looking up at rufus. blue like a summer storm. warmer than most people will ever know. tseng has always considered himself among the blessed few, to know what rufus' eyes look like when he smiles and means it. if he's dreaming—if all of this will vanish, when he opens his eyes for real—then tseng should grasp what he can while it's still here for him to wrap his hands around.
the fear, then: not fear of saying it, but fear of holding it back. maybe this was the thing he couldn't die without saying. ]
You're the reason.