Stars begin to dot Tseng's vision. They're almost as lovely as the feeling of vertigo threatening to drift him down, down into the depths of darkness all over again, as the steady, pounding pulse of ripping pain turned something a little more thrilling and static. His lids drift shut, then open back up again, wide and crazed.

No more. He hangs off his knees and lets his body unfurl against Rude to get a good back and then forward momentum for that split instant when his thighs clamp all the way down. His whole body twists against the swell of bone, and he rolls and shakes like a crocodile until he hears something, anything snap, probably the smaller ribs, they're more fragile and they f l o a t and he's floating and Rude really looks so very exquisite there between his legs and the way he's staring down at him and watching his lips turn blue is honestly the most perfect thing that Tseng has ever had the honor to behold and... It's just...

Stupid when he's more than flexible enough to work a knee up between them, to pry Rude up while that other leg slips through the crack and extends and sends his boot slamming up at Rude's chin. Who's going to sleep now, motherfucker?