That's tempting. Tseng's stomach bottoms out at the thought of it. But no. Duty before pleasure.

"You need to recover," he tells him, pressing a kiss to those fingertips tracing across his face. No. This is much more important.

He takes Rufus's hand and gently replaces it upon his chest. He strokes his cheek as he carefully slips off of the bed and into the kitchen. It's there that the gravity of everything they've done hits him.

He cannot dwell on it. There isn't time. There are powders to mix into his drink, vitamins to fortify and refresh him at this critical juncture. When he returns, he is as calm and composed as ever, no matter the blood streaking his body and hardening on his face.

Carefully, he slides back into bed and helps Rufus lean into him, raising him up. "Drink," he says, holding the cup to his lips.