[For you, I am, Rufus almost says, startled after the fact by how much he means it, by how much it feels like something compelled out of his chest but it's not the heat that prompted it. Of course he's not ready for this, not in the truest sense of the word; most authorities on the subject would agree that to force an omega like him through half the things he's required to do would be abhorrent at best and torture at worst, but he's ready to survive it anyway. He's ready to do what has to be done.
(It's just easier, like this, to do it for someone who can be proud of him. Who wants him. Who might even...who might spoil him, maybe, once they're safe and alone. Again, he imagines the decadence of that particular fantasy. Again, he shivers from want of it.)
He leans forward one last time, bumping their foreheads together before rubbing his cheek against Tseng's, like he's returning the courtesy of being scented with a subtle, pacifying gesture of his own.]
I'm tired, Director. That fire alarm was a blessing in disguise; the best birthday gift I can imagine right now is to make for my quarters and sleep.
[He closes his eyes. Breathes in slowly. Alpha. Confident. Strong. Ruthless.
He can do it. He can do it, but he's not going to be able to hold it for long, and so he moves as rapidly as he can, dragging himself out of Tseng's arms with a last mournful whine before making for the door of the helicopter and signaling Rude through the window to get it open for him in perfect cadence, so he doesn't have to pause even an instant in the smooth trajectory of his departure.
His legs feel like jelly the moment he lands on them. He's so sure he's going to wobble or stumble. But the night air is cold and devoid of the thick and drowsy aroma of his scent commingling with Tseng's, and it drives him to get one foot in front of the other, drawing up the ache of his heat into his chest and alchemizing it into powerful annoyance in its place.
Security, however light it may be at this time of night, is expecting him; evidently, reports of the fire alarm and evacuation made it back to the building in advance. It helps, because it means they all keep a wide berth from the clearly annoyed (clearly, clearly he's annoyed) Shinra heir as he storms back to his rooms after a festive night cut short. It means he has every reason to sweep past, to not bother to wait for doors to be opened for him. Let him be moody and frustrated and prickly; there are plenty of other excuses for it, none of which let on anything about the truth.
Just a little farther, he reminds himself as he crosses the foyer, hyperaware of Tseng's eyes on him, the hair on the back of his neck standing up with the weight of it. Just a little farther and Shiva he's not even going to make it to his bed, not even going to make it to his room, if he makes it three steps in the door before howling to be fucked against the wall it's going to be a damned miracle.
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(It's just easier, like this, to do it for someone who can be proud of him. Who wants him. Who might even...who might spoil him, maybe, once they're safe and alone. Again, he imagines the decadence of that particular fantasy. Again, he shivers from want of it.)
He leans forward one last time, bumping their foreheads together before rubbing his cheek against Tseng's, like he's returning the courtesy of being scented with a subtle, pacifying gesture of his own.]
I'm tired, Director. That fire alarm was a blessing in disguise; the best birthday gift I can imagine right now is to make for my quarters and sleep.
[He closes his eyes. Breathes in slowly. Alpha. Confident. Strong. Ruthless.
He can do it. He can do it, but he's not going to be able to hold it for long, and so he moves as rapidly as he can, dragging himself out of Tseng's arms with a last mournful whine before making for the door of the helicopter and signaling Rude through the window to get it open for him in perfect cadence, so he doesn't have to pause even an instant in the smooth trajectory of his departure.
His legs feel like jelly the moment he lands on them. He's so sure he's going to wobble or stumble. But the night air is cold and devoid of the thick and drowsy aroma of his scent commingling with Tseng's, and it drives him to get one foot in front of the other, drawing up the ache of his heat into his chest and alchemizing it into powerful annoyance in its place.
Security, however light it may be at this time of night, is expecting him; evidently, reports of the fire alarm and evacuation made it back to the building in advance. It helps, because it means they all keep a wide berth from the clearly annoyed (clearly, clearly he's annoyed) Shinra heir as he storms back to his rooms after a festive night cut short. It means he has every reason to sweep past, to not bother to wait for doors to be opened for him. Let him be moody and frustrated and prickly; there are plenty of other excuses for it, none of which let on anything about the truth.
Just a little farther, he reminds himself as he crosses the foyer, hyperaware of Tseng's eyes on him, the hair on the back of his neck standing up with the weight of it. Just a little farther and Shiva he's not even going to make it to his bed, not even going to make it to his room, if he makes it three steps in the door before howling to be fucked against the wall it's going to be a damned miracle.
But he'll make it. He'll make it.
Just a little farther.]