At least Rufus has enough compassion to leave him slowly. It is still a shock, the kiss of too-cold air on his spit-soaked flesh, but it's not as bad as it could have been. He watches Rufus undress, gaze dark as ever, and holds out his hands when he is through.

Rufus has always fit so perfectly on his lap, as if he was made to be here. Tseng's hand slides up his back, steadies around his waist. The other is lifted to his lips, slicked with his tongue before he lowers it between them.

"You loved that," he remarks, slipping his fingers up the aching length of Rufus's cock, squeezing around it when he reaches the tip. He lets himself wonder, grinning privately, where the inspiration came from. How telling it is that in his absence, Rufus has found a new favorite trick. "What is it that does it for you?" he murmurs into Rufus's ear, fist tunneling over his cock, slow and sliding.