His response is immediate; Rufus's other hand is snatched away, and both are lifted in unison to plant above Rufus's head. His wrists are small around, Tseng can close his fingers around both at once. He presses them to the armrest, leans over Rufus, until their breathing mingles, close enough to kiss.

"No."

His free hand drops instead. He spits into it, rubs his fingers together until they shine, and begins to pump Rufus's cock: hard, fast, thrusting his thumb up the underside of it so that Rufus has that perfect hitch of pressure.

"Try it again."