[Safe. Safe, safe, safe; the sheer relief of it makes him tremble in the circle of Tseng's arms, the warm security of his hold. For the first time in what feels like hours, the tension melts from Rufus's limbs, washed away by the tidal flow of Tseng's command. His eyes fall half-lidded, his lips wet and hanging open; he couldn't have arranged himself to be more kissable if he'd done it by design, and then suddenly he is being kissed and there's a soft sound pressed into it, offered to him to swallow and smother in his own throat.
It feels so good to be — not weak, he can't bear to think of it as weak even when it's only Tseng to bear witness. But to be something other than fierce and domineering, something that aligns with the compulsions of his designation rather than subjugating them...to be precious, cherished, cradled, claimed...
There's a shyness, almost, to the way his fingers run over Tseng's shoulders and back, how they find their way into the thick silken strands of his hair and weave it through the spaces between the knuckles. That, too, is a luxury he's rarely afforded — the chance to be hesitant at all, to ask questions with his touches instead of making demands with his words. His fingertips go higher yet, running lightly along the back of Tseng's neck above the pristine tailored collar of his shirt, feeling out the nape just below the hairline as if to ask, is this all right? Do you like this? Do you like my touch, like I like yours?
He pants against Tseng's mouth, still burning but distracted pleasantly by the feeling of hands on him, pacified by the glide of skin on skin. And for a second, just a second, there's nothing in the whole of the world except his own desperate desire to make Tseng happy, not just to hear another of those rich full sounds but to earn it.]
Yes, alpha.
[He lifts his hips slightly, back arching as he makes a little more room for the slide of Tseng's hand, his eyes stormy and dark as he brushes their noses together, presses their foreheads flush. With so little space between them, he can feel the heat radiating off his own skin and washing over Tseng's; a sudden sensation of slippery-damp makes him shudder, abruptly acutely aware of his slick beginning to accumulate to the point that he won't be able to ignore it much longer. The horrible emptiness will come next, he knows; the full-body hollowness in desperate need of being filled, the high-burn agitation that only submission and a knot will soothe.
He wants it. He wants it so bad that he tilts his chin down and licks over Tseng's mouth, a faintly inquisitive trill winding out from the back of his throat.]
You can have me. You can have all of me, just give me your knot.
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It feels so good to be — not weak, he can't bear to think of it as weak even when it's only Tseng to bear witness. But to be something other than fierce and domineering, something that aligns with the compulsions of his designation rather than subjugating them...to be precious, cherished, cradled, claimed...
There's a shyness, almost, to the way his fingers run over Tseng's shoulders and back, how they find their way into the thick silken strands of his hair and weave it through the spaces between the knuckles. That, too, is a luxury he's rarely afforded — the chance to be hesitant at all, to ask questions with his touches instead of making demands with his words. His fingertips go higher yet, running lightly along the back of Tseng's neck above the pristine tailored collar of his shirt, feeling out the nape just below the hairline as if to ask, is this all right? Do you like this? Do you like my touch, like I like yours?
He pants against Tseng's mouth, still burning but distracted pleasantly by the feeling of hands on him, pacified by the glide of skin on skin. And for a second, just a second, there's nothing in the whole of the world except his own desperate desire to make Tseng happy, not just to hear another of those rich full sounds but to earn it.]
Yes, alpha.
[He lifts his hips slightly, back arching as he makes a little more room for the slide of Tseng's hand, his eyes stormy and dark as he brushes their noses together, presses their foreheads flush. With so little space between them, he can feel the heat radiating off his own skin and washing over Tseng's; a sudden sensation of slippery-damp makes him shudder, abruptly acutely aware of his slick beginning to accumulate to the point that he won't be able to ignore it much longer. The horrible emptiness will come next, he knows; the full-body hollowness in desperate need of being filled, the high-burn agitation that only submission and a knot will soothe.
He wants it. He wants it so bad that he tilts his chin down and licks over Tseng's mouth, a faintly inquisitive trill winding out from the back of his throat.]
You can have me. You can have all of me, just give me your knot.