Tseng watches that hand lift and drop away. It's probably the sexiest thing he's ever seen, Rude's instinctive reach to protect himself from pain, the swift interception of his duty to Tseng taking precedence and displacing it. It's very hard not to come just watching Rude restrain himself for his benefit. He's already so tight, viciously strangling Tseng's flesh as it surges ever deeper, as if he is completely undriven, the purest thing Tseng will ever know.

And then he says what he says, and Tseng's attention snaps back to him, dedicated and focused. He knows that it will aggravate Rude's ribs if he curls his body beneath him, enough that Tseng can lean past his wide open thighs and bend down until they are close enough to kiss. But Tseng only has questions in place of tenderness.

"Why?" he asks, absolutely at a loss. It has always been like this between them, the desperate clawing for dominance, Tseng's insatiable desire to twist and shape and score him. He was almost certain that Rude—that all of them—would be glad to see him gone. There's no doubt in his mind that he is the least deserving of such a sweet send-off.