[ a problem: tseng will never be able to let another alpha knot rufus.
another problem: tseng will also never be able to let another alpha see rufus when he comes.
he's a vision, pleasure knitted into every line and cord of muscle standing out against his skin, in the line of his throat and the wet of his mouth and the quiver of his thighs as he spills into his own trousers. his cum lands hot and sticky on the inside of tseng's wrist, and his slick gushes down over the back of his hand, soaking his trousers beyond salvaging. (they'll have to be dry cleaned. tseng can't think that far in advance.) he fingers rufus through it, until the tension in his muscles melts away and is replaced by sweet lethargy, his frame going languid and soft where he leans against tseng. ]
Just like that. [ good boy, tseng doesn't say.
he lets his fingers slip from between rufus' thighs, but he doesn't wipe them immediately, and it's a good thing he doesn't, because rufus is purring around words that are almost shocking in how filthy and arousing they are. not telling tseng to taste it—although yes, that too—but the fact that he wants tseng to taste him, when he's never let anyone else do the same... that he wanted tseng, that he wants tseng, that his voice is made sweet by those gentle vocalizations but the words are, tseng thinks, no less true for it...
he lifts his hand, right where rufus can see, and licks along his own wrist and up the backs of his fingers in one long swipe. his cum tastes sharp and tangy and a little bitter, like lemon zest and sun; his slick is sweet and tart and makes tseng's teeth ache with how badly he wants to turn rufus on his belly and shove his tongue inside him.
he brings his cleaner hand up to nudge rufus' chin, tilting him up to look at tseng. like this, they're only inches apart. ]
Would you like to taste yourself? [ on tseng's tongue, he means, where their mouths are so close they might touch. ]
[His breath catches in his throat, watching Tseng with enthralled intent as his tongue flicks out to drag through the wetness clinging to his hand and wrist; it's so hot, and he's still so stimulated and riddled with heat, that he trembles in Tseng's hold again as an aftershock quakes through him and coaxes another, smaller gush from his body that dampens him further.
A knuckle slips beneath his chin; his eyes go glassy in an instant, loving — craving — the submission implicit in it. It's the smallest things that drive him so desperately out of his mind, the ones Tseng is normally far too restrained to indulge. Touching him like he owns him, like it's his right to make him look here or there — it's something Rufus could never tolerate asking for, yet aches for nevertheless.
A little overwhelmed, he resorts to nodding slightly, unable to collect enough presence of mind to find words that won't just dissolve into begging. Tseng — Tseng wouldn't make him beg, likely, wouldn't lord the opportunity to hear it over him and demand it as a condition of his care. Some alphas would. Tseng would kill any who so much as thought of trying.
It's not that he wants to taste himself, not exactly. But he wants to be kissed, and he wants Tseng's mouth, and he wants to give Tseng what he wants — and thinks that maybe this is the only way he'll let himself ask for it, is by offering it to him instead. Letting him choose, because of who they are, and not just what they are.]
And when...when you get me home.
[They're so close, so close that he knows Tseng can't help but breathe in his panting, that the very air between them is shared just as much as everything else.]
Want to taste you. Want you to let me suck your cock.
[ it's less, for tseng, that he wants rufus to taste himself as it is that he wants to kiss rufus and knows that an inevitable consequence of that will be that rufus tastes himself. so the nod, when it comes, is a welcome sign, and tseng immediately leans in to press their mouths together and coax rufus' lips to part.
the kiss is deep from the get-go, a needy, desperate thing. tseng licks into rufus' mouth like he wants to taste every inch of it, like every moan rufus has ever bitten back might be there under his tongue, sweet as candy. he doesn't need rufus to beg, would never think to make him—if rufus begs it will always be of his own accord, because he feels safe in asking tseng for what he needs. if anything, really, it feels like tseng who should be begging, as wrapped around rufus' little finger as he feels right now.
when they pull apart, the wet of tseng's mouth betrays his otherwise collected appearance, as does the flush of color high in his cheekbones. ]
Anything you want, baby. Anything.
[ it's a promise tseng fully intends to keep, too. no empty words, no false vows just to tell rufus what he wants to hear. tseng is, he realizes, absolutely and irrevocably fucked—but he can't really find it in himself to care.
the sound of the rotors outside changes slightly as they begin to descend toward shinra tower, and tseng presses another brief, firm kiss to rufus' mouth. ]
Let me clean you up. [ he wants to call rufus sir, to get himself back into the mindspace where tseng is bodyguard and rufus is vice president, but with rufus looking so languid and warm in his lap like this, he can't quite manage it. tseng tugs rufus' pants up again and re-fastens the button, does up the zip, straightens out a few of the wrinkles caused by their grinding. ] I'll take you straight to your bedroom. Rude will stay with the helicopter. This late, there shouldn't be more than the skeleton crew of security, but we'll need to be mindful until we're behind closed doors.
[ his tone makes it obvious: tseng is saying this as much for his own benefit as for rufus'. ]
Is that clear? [ a pause, and then the faintest smile, and tseng lifts his hands again so he can rub his scent against rufus' throat. ] Sir.
[Tseng doesn't say it in so many words, but even in his heat-addled state, Rufus knows what he means: that once they land, and for the duration until he can stumble his way to the safety of his nest, he can't be an omega anymore. Even amidst the raging of his body and its needs, he has to find a way to tamp down on all of the impulses he's been so guiltily indulging and call up his armor of power and dominance once more. It aches, and he hates it, but it doesn't render him cold and despairing the way that the thought of Tseng withholding his knot had before. It's just — enduring, and he knows how to endure. He's been enduring for every day of his life, waiting for the chance to finally usurp his father, bearing up under the disappointment and the petty humiliations until that hour inevitably comes.
Letting Tseng put him back together is, in its way, its own kind of submission. His hands are careful and soft, for all that they're precise in never straying too far into temptation. He would like, he thinks, to lie boneless in thick blankets or a bath and bid Tseng to run his hands all over him, tending to his need for touch as though he were doing maintenance on his favorite gun.
And then, as if having read his mind, Tseng's wrists brush against his neck once, twice — his senses flood with it, that claim renewed, and all of a sudden acting the part of a perfect Shinra doesn't seem so insurmountable when he's doing it at the direction of the alpha who loves him, instead of the one who loathes him.
(He needs so badly to come, for all that the inside of his trousers are still soaked from the last one. He needs to be shoved down into a mattress and held there by the hair while he screams and howls and takes a dick up his ass until every last bit of his own rebellious body has been beaten into euphoric submission with it.)
What he does do is close his eyes, and breathe Tseng's heady scent, and remember the feeling of pulling back his lip as if to show the fangs he's never had.]
Pity for you.
[It's more coherent than he's been for most of the ride, slurred and distracted but still painfully clear how he's forcing the whimper back, how he's dropping his register lower to force it smooth and confident when he isn't.]
Having to — to walk two steps behind the whole w-way in.
[He laughs, and the first time it breaks into a noise that treads close to a sob; the second time, it holds steady without cracking, rumbling with dry and biting amusement. When he finally manages to open his eyes, the blues are glazed and glassy, but he's — put together enough to make it, at least, and Tseng's smile is the slightest ray of sunlight through the tempestuous storm.]
Try to — keep the salivating to a minimum. Director.
[ it's a blessing to know that the trip is short between the helipad to rufus' apartments in the shinra headquarters. it means fewer people to see them, and more importantly, less time they have to spend doing something other than tearing at each other's clothes and trying to climb inside each other's skin. tseng traces the route in his mind, well-worn from thousands of trips to and from—in through the security doors and across the foyer, down an escalator, left into a hallway, through the door into the apartment and then into the bedroom. easy.
...probably easy.
tseng watches as his scent does what he hoped it would, shoring up the walls of rufus' self-control and allowing him to slip back into the skin of rufus shinra, the alpha heir apparent to the company empire. after so many years working together, tseng has seen rufus act the alpha more times than he could ever hope to count—now, for the first time, it looks... odd. not wrong—rufus wears alpha status like a second skin, perfect—but like a double exposure. rufus as an alpha, and then the ghost of rufus the omega, needy and beautiful. ]
I'm prepared to rise to the challenge, sir. [ although there's a ticking muscle in tseng's jaw as it clenches that suggests he's actually not, not quite. walking two steps behind rufus all the way into the building, being forced to look at his ass, to smell his heat and not touch—and besides that, the way rufus's laugh sounds so much like a sob of desire that it makes tseng want to shove him down and fuck him until he screams—
it's a good thing his jacket is cut so long, but even so, tseng shifts surreptitiously to readjust the way the hard length of his cock sits in his trousers. ]
I can make no promises, however, about the state of my saliva.
[ the helicopter touches down on the landing pad. the rotors begin to wind down, their roar dulling to a whine. tseng looks up to meet rufus' gaze, unhesitating, his own eyes full of promise. ]
[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.
[ the night air is practically freezing in contrast to the sweet, muggy heat of the helicopter. it shocks some sense into tseng's system, blessedly, allows him to land on his feet when he hops down from the cabin and gestures to rude through the window that final shutdown procedures can begin. it will take a few minutes for rude to run through the checklist, but even so, he knows better than to follow them into rufus' quarters. like all the turks, he keeps track of rufus' heat schedule, so he knows that for the next several days, this wing of the building will be entirely off-limits.
it is, tseng thinks, a minor miracle that they make it into the building. two steps behind rufus and to his left, tseng follows him through the lobby doors and past the flustered-looking security guards, who he dismisses with a curt nod; down the stairs towards rufus' private residence, past an administrative assistant with a neat bob and sensible heels who looks at tseng, opens her mouth, and then wisely thinks better of it and closes it again. ]
Clear the vice president's schedule through Tuesday.
[ tseng's voice comes out blessedly steady, devoid of the alpha growl that's been simmering there all evening. the assistant manages a clipped yes, sir! and then turns on her heel to go back the way she came, and tseng continues on, lengthening his stride to keep up with the pace rufus sets.
he has never been so aware of every inch of his body. a bead of sweat forms between his shoulderblades and runs slowly down his spine; his cock throbs with every step, trapped as it is along the crease of his thigh in an effort to stop it being patently obvious to everyone they pass. he feels feverish, not like his skin is overwarm but like his core hass heated up, a furnace inside him driving his steps.
just a little farther.
down the hallway toward rufus' rooms. tseng's gaze drops unbidden to his ass, perfect, hidden beneath the layers of fabric that comprise his formalwear. at this distance his scent is nearly overwhelming, and it's only the long-worn habit of putting one foot in front of the other regardless of circumstance that keeps tseng walking, instead of pinning rufus to the wall to fuck him front of everyone.
in the end, he manages to hold back until the door swings shut behind him. the latch clicks into place, tseng reaches back to turn the deadbolt, and then before he's even really conscious of his actions he has rufus by the hips, turning him, pinning his back up against the wall so tseng can seal their mouths together in a thorough, punishing kiss. ]
[It all happens so fast. Through the haze of heat and need he can mark the footsteps behind him, the faint whisper of door hinges, the way his clothes feel like a barrier that's trying to hold his radiant body heat in and there's sweat beginning to bead about his joints, in the junctures of his limbs. The sound of the latch clicking has barely faded from the air when all of a sudden he's not where he thought he was anymore, moved too fast for his desire-addled senses to track; one moment he's thinking of how many more steps it will take to reach his bedroom and the next his shoulderblades are digging into the entry wall, pinned up so snug and tight that he yowls into Tseng's mouth from it.
And he gives way — it feels so good to give way, here in the safety of his own quarters, where he can be as loud and as needy as he wants. They'd soundproofed the walls long ago on the excuse of company security, in case the vice president should need to conduct business within the comforts of his own rooms. Really it's so that he can howl as loud as he wants when he's got an alpha seeing to him — one of the few rare courtesies his father has ever shown him, not that he did it for his son's sake to begin with.]
Tseng!
[His legs leave the ground almost on instinct — one at first, testing, as he hooks it around Tseng's waist to help keep him close, then the other once he figures out that Tseng will hold him if he does it, will hold him up with nothing but the press of his body alone. His arms drape over Tseng's shoulders like it's a lover's embrace; the rest of their conduct is anything but saccharine, as his scent starts to flood the air unrestrained.
His nails, blunt though they are, shove down the back of Tseng's collar, beneath his coat and his shirt, looking for skin to dig into and mark. When he finally manages to drag himself away from the kiss far enough to talk, his eyes are dark and wild, unfocused with desire and desperation.]
Are you excited...?
[His lips are slick and wet from the force of the kiss; he licks at them, his mouth still open like he's expecting another to claim it at any moment.]
[ oh, hells, if it doesn't make tseng's knees weak to hear his name in that tone from rufus' mouth. they're pressed so closely together that tseng thinks he can feel every inch of rufus' body, down to the beat of his heart and the vibration of his voice in his chest; it's intoxicating, devastating, just like the press of rufus' thighs as he lifts his legs to circle tseng's waist. rufus' estimation is right, and tseng does hold him up against the wall with nothing but his hands on rufus' ass and the firm press of his own body. their mouths meet, and meet again, and rufus' scent floods the air around them with a sweet tang so perfect it makes tseng's molars ache.
when rufus pulls back from the kiss, tseng drops his mouth to rufus' throat instead. his tongue drags over a bare stripe of skin at the base of his throat, just above his collarbone, and then tseng bites a bruise into the curve of his shoulder that will necessitate higher collars until it's gone. he wants to take rufus apart. he wants to strip him piece by piece until he learns exactly what makes him tick.
with some force of effort, tseng drags his face away from the intoxicating scent in the hollow of rufus' throat and manages a response. ]
Can't you tell? [ surely rufus can feel the heat and pressure of tseng's cock where it's right up against his ass. he shifts just right and the hot length of it rubs insistently along the curve of one cheek. ] I haven't stopped thinking about it since I smelled you.
[ by some miracle, tseng doesn't stumble when he pulls rufus away from the wall to carry him to the bedroom instead. whether they'll make it remains to be seen, truly, but at least tseng knows the way and at least for now it seems like his legs will hold them. ]
[There are no words for how good it feels to be wrapped up in Tseng in that moment, with his heat raging and their mingling scents thick in the air and the freedom to be as loud as he wants — to not have to think about how he looks or acts or snarls, free to bare his throat to Tseng's attention and whine audibly as his teeth sink home into a mark that isn't going away anytime soon. It's dizzy and feverish and soon it feels like he's lost control of his limbs a bit, too insensible to move them with any sort of intent because he's so busy clinging and trilling and trying to get more of everything Tseng offers and then some.
Fuck, but his cock feels big when he grinds it against him, full and thick and just what he wants. He's had alpha studs before but he's never wanted like he wants this, panting and whimpering and convinced that there's nothing in the world that could possibly feel as good as Tseng will feel when he takes him — hells, he hasn't even come close to it yet and already he's certain of it beyond a shadow of every doubt.]
Don't stop. Don't stop thinking about me — !
[Tseng pulls them away from the wall, just takes hold of him and moves him because fuck, he's so strong — he hides it beneath those trim-tailored suits but pressed up against him, there's no hiding how it's all muscle underneath and fuck, he wants to trace each one with his tongue, taste his sweat, bite little omega claims of his own into his flesh — and he wraps around Tseng like it's the most natural thing in the world, purring audibly from the unparalleled pleasure of being held.]
My alpha. My Tseng. You're mine, too — mine, mine —
[ as if there's a snowflake's chance in ifrit's fires. as far as tseng is concerned, the entire universe is the size of the two of them, rufus in his arms, their joined mouths, their bodies pressed so close together it's hard to know where one ends and the other begins. at least until tuesday, there's nothing that could draw tseng's focus away from rufus, not a single thing that could interrupt the strength of his attention.
he manages not to stumble as they make their way down the hall, but it's a close thing, especially when rufus presses his face to tseng's neck and lets him feel the vibration of one of those sweet little trills he keeps making in the back of his throat. he wants to dig his teeth into rufus. desire closes its fist around the base of his spine and pulls hard, makes it a minor miracle that tseng kicks the door of rufus' bedroom halfway closed before he deposits rufus onto the irresponsibly soft, large mattress of his bed.
tseng is on him again in an instant. his hands are steady as they work at the buttons and fastenings of rufus' clothes, his coat, the belts that hold it closed. he's wearing too much. tseng wants to dig his nails into the fabric and tear it to shreds, and it's only the barest recollection of expense reporting that stays his hand. ]
Tell me what you want. What you like.
[ tseng could figure it out, but he wants to hear it from the source—and besides that, he likes the tone of rufus' voice when he's trying to talk through his own desperation, how pitched and needy it gets, especially now that he has no reason to keep it modulated. ]
[That first instant of landing on the thick deep comfort of his mattress — it's unparalleled bliss, so much so that even his raging need briefly takes a backseat to bask in the way it feels. He hadn't even realized how much it'd abraded, all the pretensions he's forced to wear like armor when he's pretending to be alpha. He'd drawn them in so close he'd forgotten how desperately he'd been craving this, the pillowy sweetness of a place that reads as soft and safe and nest.
For a second, he's lost in it; even the heady musk of Tseng's scent isn't enough to overpower the flood of relief that saturates him, rubbing his cheek against the cashmere comforter, the thousand-count sheets. This room, this bed, this nest smells like him, accentuated in the best possible way by his alpha's presence — and that's all there is, no competing influences, no unpleasant distractions.
It's why he doesn't help at all when Tseng reaches for his clothes, half because he's too far gone in the release of relief to even think of it, and half because it is what he wants. His alpha should get his hands on him, should pamper him so. At long, long last, the pieces are falling into place; finally there's rightness in his world, the long struggles set aside to make room for his reward.]
You, you, you.
[That's not helpful, and doesn't come close to addressing the question he's been pressed with, but this isn't offered up as an answer to Tseng's demand; quite the contrary, it's a reward for good behavior, praise for the lovely perfect alpha who delivered him into this bliss, who's seeing to his needs just like he's supposed to.
His eyes open a bit, dark as a stormy ocean beneath long lashes and half-lids, and another course of purring spills from his throat as Tseng's clever hands free him from the awful confines of his clothes, as the scent of his slick and his need fills the air more and more as the linen peels away.]
You said — your cock, I want your cock —
[His mouth falls open, soft and wet, tongue rolled out like a red carpet against his lower lip. Obscene. Inviting.]
Scent me — ah, mmmn — while you give it, give it to me —
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
another problem: tseng will also never be able to let another alpha see rufus when he comes.
he's a vision, pleasure knitted into every line and cord of muscle standing out against his skin, in the line of his throat and the wet of his mouth and the quiver of his thighs as he spills into his own trousers. his cum lands hot and sticky on the inside of tseng's wrist, and his slick gushes down over the back of his hand, soaking his trousers beyond salvaging. (they'll have to be dry cleaned. tseng can't think that far in advance.) he fingers rufus through it, until the tension in his muscles melts away and is replaced by sweet lethargy, his frame going languid and soft where he leans against tseng. ]
Just like that. [ good boy, tseng doesn't say.
he lets his fingers slip from between rufus' thighs, but he doesn't wipe them immediately, and it's a good thing he doesn't, because rufus is purring around words that are almost shocking in how filthy and arousing they are. not telling tseng to taste it—although yes, that too—but the fact that he wants tseng to taste him, when he's never let anyone else do the same... that he wanted tseng, that he wants tseng, that his voice is made sweet by those gentle vocalizations but the words are, tseng thinks, no less true for it...
he lifts his hand, right where rufus can see, and licks along his own wrist and up the backs of his fingers in one long swipe. his cum tastes sharp and tangy and a little bitter, like lemon zest and sun; his slick is sweet and tart and makes tseng's teeth ache with how badly he wants to turn rufus on his belly and shove his tongue inside him.
he brings his cleaner hand up to nudge rufus' chin, tilting him up to look at tseng. like this, they're only inches apart. ]
Would you like to taste yourself? [ on tseng's tongue, he means, where their mouths are so close they might touch. ]
no subject
A knuckle slips beneath his chin; his eyes go glassy in an instant, loving — craving — the submission implicit in it. It's the smallest things that drive him so desperately out of his mind, the ones Tseng is normally far too restrained to indulge. Touching him like he owns him, like it's his right to make him look here or there — it's something Rufus could never tolerate asking for, yet aches for nevertheless.
A little overwhelmed, he resorts to nodding slightly, unable to collect enough presence of mind to find words that won't just dissolve into begging. Tseng — Tseng wouldn't make him beg, likely, wouldn't lord the opportunity to hear it over him and demand it as a condition of his care. Some alphas would. Tseng would kill any who so much as thought of trying.
It's not that he wants to taste himself, not exactly. But he wants to be kissed, and he wants Tseng's mouth, and he wants to give Tseng what he wants — and thinks that maybe this is the only way he'll let himself ask for it, is by offering it to him instead. Letting him choose, because of who they are, and not just what they are.]
And when...when you get me home.
[They're so close, so close that he knows Tseng can't help but breathe in his panting, that the very air between them is shared just as much as everything else.]
Want to taste you. Want you to let me suck your cock.
no subject
the kiss is deep from the get-go, a needy, desperate thing. tseng licks into rufus' mouth like he wants to taste every inch of it, like every moan rufus has ever bitten back might be there under his tongue, sweet as candy. he doesn't need rufus to beg, would never think to make him—if rufus begs it will always be of his own accord, because he feels safe in asking tseng for what he needs. if anything, really, it feels like tseng who should be begging, as wrapped around rufus' little finger as he feels right now.
when they pull apart, the wet of tseng's mouth betrays his otherwise collected appearance, as does the flush of color high in his cheekbones. ]
Anything you want, baby. Anything.
[ it's a promise tseng fully intends to keep, too. no empty words, no false vows just to tell rufus what he wants to hear. tseng is, he realizes, absolutely and irrevocably fucked—but he can't really find it in himself to care.
the sound of the rotors outside changes slightly as they begin to descend toward shinra tower, and tseng presses another brief, firm kiss to rufus' mouth. ]
Let me clean you up. [ he wants to call rufus sir, to get himself back into the mindspace where tseng is bodyguard and rufus is vice president, but with rufus looking so languid and warm in his lap like this, he can't quite manage it. tseng tugs rufus' pants up again and re-fastens the button, does up the zip, straightens out a few of the wrinkles caused by their grinding. ] I'll take you straight to your bedroom. Rude will stay with the helicopter. This late, there shouldn't be more than the skeleton crew of security, but we'll need to be mindful until we're behind closed doors.
[ his tone makes it obvious: tseng is saying this as much for his own benefit as for rufus'. ]
Is that clear? [ a pause, and then the faintest smile, and tseng lifts his hands again so he can rub his scent against rufus' throat. ] Sir.
no subject
Letting Tseng put him back together is, in its way, its own kind of submission. His hands are careful and soft, for all that they're precise in never straying too far into temptation. He would like, he thinks, to lie boneless in thick blankets or a bath and bid Tseng to run his hands all over him, tending to his need for touch as though he were doing maintenance on his favorite gun.
And then, as if having read his mind, Tseng's wrists brush against his neck once, twice — his senses flood with it, that claim renewed, and all of a sudden acting the part of a perfect Shinra doesn't seem so insurmountable when he's doing it at the direction of the alpha who loves him, instead of the one who loathes him.
(He needs so badly to come, for all that the inside of his trousers are still soaked from the last one. He needs to be shoved down into a mattress and held there by the hair while he screams and howls and takes a dick up his ass until every last bit of his own rebellious body has been beaten into euphoric submission with it.)
What he does do is close his eyes, and breathe Tseng's heady scent, and remember the feeling of pulling back his lip as if to show the fangs he's never had.]
Pity for you.
[It's more coherent than he's been for most of the ride, slurred and distracted but still painfully clear how he's forcing the whimper back, how he's dropping his register lower to force it smooth and confident when he isn't.]
Having to — to walk two steps behind the whole w-way in.
[He laughs, and the first time it breaks into a noise that treads close to a sob; the second time, it holds steady without cracking, rumbling with dry and biting amusement. When he finally manages to open his eyes, the blues are glazed and glassy, but he's — put together enough to make it, at least, and Tseng's smile is the slightest ray of sunlight through the tempestuous storm.]
Try to — keep the salivating to a minimum. Director.
no subject
...probably easy.
tseng watches as his scent does what he hoped it would, shoring up the walls of rufus' self-control and allowing him to slip back into the skin of rufus shinra, the alpha heir apparent to the company empire. after so many years working together, tseng has seen rufus act the alpha more times than he could ever hope to count—now, for the first time, it looks... odd. not wrong—rufus wears alpha status like a second skin, perfect—but like a double exposure. rufus as an alpha, and then the ghost of rufus the omega, needy and beautiful. ]
I'm prepared to rise to the challenge, sir. [ although there's a ticking muscle in tseng's jaw as it clenches that suggests he's actually not, not quite. walking two steps behind rufus all the way into the building, being forced to look at his ass, to smell his heat and not touch—and besides that, the way rufus's laugh sounds so much like a sob of desire that it makes tseng want to shove him down and fuck him until he screams—
it's a good thing his jacket is cut so long, but even so, tseng shifts surreptitiously to readjust the way the hard length of his cock sits in his trousers. ]
I can make no promises, however, about the state of my saliva.
[ the helicopter touches down on the landing pad. the rotors begin to wind down, their roar dulling to a whine. tseng looks up to meet rufus' gaze, unhesitating, his own eyes full of promise. ]
Are you ready?
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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.]
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it is, tseng thinks, a minor miracle that they make it into the building. two steps behind rufus and to his left, tseng follows him through the lobby doors and past the flustered-looking security guards, who he dismisses with a curt nod; down the stairs towards rufus' private residence, past an administrative assistant with a neat bob and sensible heels who looks at tseng, opens her mouth, and then wisely thinks better of it and closes it again. ]
Clear the vice president's schedule through Tuesday.
[ tseng's voice comes out blessedly steady, devoid of the alpha growl that's been simmering there all evening. the assistant manages a clipped yes, sir! and then turns on her heel to go back the way she came, and tseng continues on, lengthening his stride to keep up with the pace rufus sets.
he has never been so aware of every inch of his body. a bead of sweat forms between his shoulderblades and runs slowly down his spine; his cock throbs with every step, trapped as it is along the crease of his thigh in an effort to stop it being patently obvious to everyone they pass. he feels feverish, not like his skin is overwarm but like his core hass heated up, a furnace inside him driving his steps.
just a little farther.
down the hallway toward rufus' rooms. tseng's gaze drops unbidden to his ass, perfect, hidden beneath the layers of fabric that comprise his formalwear. at this distance his scent is nearly overwhelming, and it's only the long-worn habit of putting one foot in front of the other regardless of circumstance that keeps tseng walking, instead of pinning rufus to the wall to fuck him front of everyone.
in the end, he manages to hold back until the door swings shut behind him. the latch clicks into place, tseng reaches back to turn the deadbolt, and then before he's even really conscious of his actions he has rufus by the hips, turning him, pinning his back up against the wall so tseng can seal their mouths together in a thorough, punishing kiss. ]
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And he gives way — it feels so good to give way, here in the safety of his own quarters, where he can be as loud and as needy as he wants. They'd soundproofed the walls long ago on the excuse of company security, in case the vice president should need to conduct business within the comforts of his own rooms. Really it's so that he can howl as loud as he wants when he's got an alpha seeing to him — one of the few rare courtesies his father has ever shown him, not that he did it for his son's sake to begin with.]
Tseng!
[His legs leave the ground almost on instinct — one at first, testing, as he hooks it around Tseng's waist to help keep him close, then the other once he figures out that Tseng will hold him if he does it, will hold him up with nothing but the press of his body alone. His arms drape over Tseng's shoulders like it's a lover's embrace; the rest of their conduct is anything but saccharine, as his scent starts to flood the air unrestrained.
His nails, blunt though they are, shove down the back of Tseng's collar, beneath his coat and his shirt, looking for skin to dig into and mark. When he finally manages to drag himself away from the kiss far enough to talk, his eyes are dark and wild, unfocused with desire and desperation.]
Are you excited...?
[His lips are slick and wet from the force of the kiss; he licks at them, his mouth still open like he's expecting another to claim it at any moment.]
— To see how I look, hhh, when I take your knot?
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when rufus pulls back from the kiss, tseng drops his mouth to rufus' throat instead. his tongue drags over a bare stripe of skin at the base of his throat, just above his collarbone, and then tseng bites a bruise into the curve of his shoulder that will necessitate higher collars until it's gone. he wants to take rufus apart. he wants to strip him piece by piece until he learns exactly what makes him tick.
with some force of effort, tseng drags his face away from the intoxicating scent in the hollow of rufus' throat and manages a response. ]
Can't you tell? [ surely rufus can feel the heat and pressure of tseng's cock where it's right up against his ass. he shifts just right and the hot length of it rubs insistently along the curve of one cheek. ] I haven't stopped thinking about it since I smelled you.
[ by some miracle, tseng doesn't stumble when he pulls rufus away from the wall to carry him to the bedroom instead. whether they'll make it remains to be seen, truly, but at least tseng knows the way and at least for now it seems like his legs will hold them. ]
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[There are no words for how good it feels to be wrapped up in Tseng in that moment, with his heat raging and their mingling scents thick in the air and the freedom to be as loud as he wants — to not have to think about how he looks or acts or snarls, free to bare his throat to Tseng's attention and whine audibly as his teeth sink home into a mark that isn't going away anytime soon. It's dizzy and feverish and soon it feels like he's lost control of his limbs a bit, too insensible to move them with any sort of intent because he's so busy clinging and trilling and trying to get more of everything Tseng offers and then some.
Fuck, but his cock feels big when he grinds it against him, full and thick and just what he wants. He's had alpha studs before but he's never wanted like he wants this, panting and whimpering and convinced that there's nothing in the world that could possibly feel as good as Tseng will feel when he takes him — hells, he hasn't even come close to it yet and already he's certain of it beyond a shadow of every doubt.]
Don't stop. Don't stop thinking about me — !
[Tseng pulls them away from the wall, just takes hold of him and moves him because fuck, he's so strong — he hides it beneath those trim-tailored suits but pressed up against him, there's no hiding how it's all muscle underneath and fuck, he wants to trace each one with his tongue, taste his sweat, bite little omega claims of his own into his flesh — and he wraps around Tseng like it's the most natural thing in the world, purring audibly from the unparalleled pleasure of being held.]
My alpha. My Tseng. You're mine, too — mine, mine —
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he manages not to stumble as they make their way down the hall, but it's a close thing, especially when rufus presses his face to tseng's neck and lets him feel the vibration of one of those sweet little trills he keeps making in the back of his throat. he wants to dig his teeth into rufus. desire closes its fist around the base of his spine and pulls hard, makes it a minor miracle that tseng kicks the door of rufus' bedroom halfway closed before he deposits rufus onto the irresponsibly soft, large mattress of his bed.
tseng is on him again in an instant. his hands are steady as they work at the buttons and fastenings of rufus' clothes, his coat, the belts that hold it closed. he's wearing too much. tseng wants to dig his nails into the fabric and tear it to shreds, and it's only the barest recollection of expense reporting that stays his hand. ]
Tell me what you want. What you like.
[ tseng could figure it out, but he wants to hear it from the source—and besides that, he likes the tone of rufus' voice when he's trying to talk through his own desperation, how pitched and needy it gets, especially now that he has no reason to keep it modulated. ]
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For a second, he's lost in it; even the heady musk of Tseng's scent isn't enough to overpower the flood of relief that saturates him, rubbing his cheek against the cashmere comforter, the thousand-count sheets. This room, this bed, this nest smells like him, accentuated in the best possible way by his alpha's presence — and that's all there is, no competing influences, no unpleasant distractions.
It's why he doesn't help at all when Tseng reaches for his clothes, half because he's too far gone in the release of relief to even think of it, and half because it is what he wants. His alpha should get his hands on him, should pamper him so. At long, long last, the pieces are falling into place; finally there's rightness in his world, the long struggles set aside to make room for his reward.]
You, you, you.
[That's not helpful, and doesn't come close to addressing the question he's been pressed with, but this isn't offered up as an answer to Tseng's demand; quite the contrary, it's a reward for good behavior, praise for the lovely perfect alpha who delivered him into this bliss, who's seeing to his needs just like he's supposed to.
His eyes open a bit, dark as a stormy ocean beneath long lashes and half-lids, and another course of purring spills from his throat as Tseng's clever hands free him from the awful confines of his clothes, as the scent of his slick and his need fills the air more and more as the linen peels away.]
You said — your cock, I want your cock —
[His mouth falls open, soft and wet, tongue rolled out like a red carpet against his lower lip. Obscene. Inviting.]
Scent me — ah, mmmn — while you give it, give it to me —