Tseng opens his palm against Rufus's back, the perfect plane for him to lean against as those nipping kisses descend the length of his chest. He rubs his teeth across one pretty pink nipple, his tongue flashing. He can feel the tension built up under the president's skin, knows precisely what he has to do to work it loose. His fingers drift, brush over the thin line across his throat.
It makes him so angry, this mark that he did not consent to leave here. His fingers glow, taking on a minty green aura, as he pours curative magic into the wound, slow and steady, his touch sweeping to erase the scar it might leave behind. In the aftermath, his eyes are dark, his mouth twisted into a frown. This is just like Rufus tangling with that so-called ex-SOLDIER again. His blood boils at the very thought of it. Rufus is not his—if anything, it's the other way around—but that does not stop him from seeing red at the fucking audacity of it all.
"Lay down," he says, letting the anger overcome him, cool his voice down to something low and deceptively soft. He presses his fingertips to Rufus's chest, puts more force behind it than he means to.
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It makes him so angry, this mark that he did not consent to leave here. His fingers glow, taking on a minty green aura, as he pours curative magic into the wound, slow and steady, his touch sweeping to erase the scar it might leave behind. In the aftermath, his eyes are dark, his mouth twisted into a frown. This is just like Rufus tangling with that so-called ex-SOLDIER again. His blood boils at the very thought of it. Rufus is not his—if anything, it's the other way around—but that does not stop him from seeing red at the fucking audacity of it all.
"Lay down," he says, letting the anger overcome him, cool his voice down to something low and deceptively soft. He presses his fingertips to Rufus's chest, puts more force behind it than he means to.