Very, [ tseng says, and thinks i don't believe this deniability is plausible, and then stops thinking at all.
perhaps paradoxically, it's the press of rufus' mouth against his own that convinces him this is real. he had dreamed of kissing rufus once before, many years ago, and in that dream he had never quite managed to render rufus correctly—had woken up unable to remember the warmth of his body or the taste of his lips. for all the sharp-edged workings of tseng's mind he has never been able to fully capture the beauty and complexity of rufus shinra.
and yet in the here and now, he feels it. feels the warmth of rufus' palm against his jaw, the warmth of his body where he's leaning against tseng's elbow. the warmth of his mouth where it's pressed against tseng's, insistent and unhesitating. he can feel rufus' breath against his face and knows beyond a doubt that there's no way his drug-addled mind could come up with something like this.
which is, in a way, even more terrifying than the alternative. it makes it real, means that rufus is kissing him, means that rufus meant to kiss him—wanted to kiss him. the shock of it rearranges the tectonic plates inside tseng, a seismic shift of what he understood to be true between them. despite himself, his knuckles press to rufus' ribs, and then his fingers curl as best they can into the pristine white fabric of rufus' coat.
fuck it.
he can't press up into the kiss, but he does return it as best he can. his lips part, coaxing, his tongue meeting rufus' and then withdrawing. instinctively tseng knows he's too weak for anything more, but it's important that rufus understand that tseng wants this, even if this is all he will ever have. ]
no subject
perhaps paradoxically, it's the press of rufus' mouth against his own that convinces him this is real. he had dreamed of kissing rufus once before, many years ago, and in that dream he had never quite managed to render rufus correctly—had woken up unable to remember the warmth of his body or the taste of his lips. for all the sharp-edged workings of tseng's mind he has never been able to fully capture the beauty and complexity of rufus shinra.
and yet in the here and now, he feels it. feels the warmth of rufus' palm against his jaw, the warmth of his body where he's leaning against tseng's elbow. the warmth of his mouth where it's pressed against tseng's, insistent and unhesitating. he can feel rufus' breath against his face and knows beyond a doubt that there's no way his drug-addled mind could come up with something like this.
which is, in a way, even more terrifying than the alternative. it makes it real, means that rufus is kissing him, means that rufus meant to kiss him—wanted to kiss him. the shock of it rearranges the tectonic plates inside tseng, a seismic shift of what he understood to be true between them. despite himself, his knuckles press to rufus' ribs, and then his fingers curl as best they can into the pristine white fabric of rufus' coat.
fuck it.
he can't press up into the kiss, but he does return it as best he can. his lips part, coaxing, his tongue meeting rufus' and then withdrawing. instinctively tseng knows he's too weak for anything more, but it's important that rufus understand that tseng wants this, even if this is all he will ever have. ]