"In due time," Tseng says, closing his fist around the base of Rufus's cock. The fingers on Rufus's lip dig into his mouth until they come up dripping wet, and he guides them down along Rufus's spine, plunges one, and then another quickly after, into Rufus's hole. The clench around his fingers makes him hum—low and directly into Rufus's ear.

"Mr. President." All these years later, his fingers are trained to curve right into that electric spot inside of Rufus, precise as his fingers are on the trigger of his gun. "I'd hoped that we could revisit a previous proposal of yours."