Tseng barely needs the touch; he refuses to move. He's so deep into Rufus's throat that the slightest twitch could throw Rufus off his rhythm, and he doesn't want that for him. He likes this: Rufus, pleased and full-mouthed and watching.

His tongue climbs and Tseng's mouth twitches. He knows that Rufus's eyes are upon him, but it takes him a moment to clear his mind and open up his own eyes. The image, he knows, will just be too much. The stretch of Rufus's mouth, the glitter of lips gone red, it's as intoxicating as any drug.

"Come here," he says, fingers wisping through Rufus's hair. It doesn't feel right to have so much attention for so long, even if it seems like it would be the most painful thing in the world to slip from Rufus's mouth.