Intrusive fingers aren't enough to give him what he needs, no, but they burn all the same, resisting Tseng in the same way he eyes are behind his shades. He knows that's just the beginning, so fighting now would be a wasted effort. Rude lets that tension go so the next time Tseng's fingers are knuckle deep inside him it's not as uncomfortable.
His eyes follow smirking lips when they speak, but the comprehension is delayed. Every bone in his body? There were about 200 of them, it would take a remarkable amount of time to get to each one, and technically his cock wasn't a--Oh. He wants a response.
"I will not touch." He knows what it means, knows exactly what the fuck Tseng doesn't want him touching, but doesn't ask for clarification so that if the time comes that he needs to, he can use misunderstanding as an excuse for not following directions. It was low, but he's seen Reno use similar tactics to some success.
As Rude inhales, his muscles seem to shift and move under his skin. The gloved hand seems unbothered and enjoying the movement until sharp nails bite into his skin. His thighs spread further apart in an effort to offer more of himself to Tseng, hopefully pacifying him in the process.
It is good, how pliable and obedient and yielding Rude's become. Tseng's smile might even be genuine, were he capable of such a thing. As it stands, all of it is performative. He is sure that Rude knows what would really please him.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers clasping with too much pressure around a single nipple, twisting until he feels the throb of pain. Of course, the gloves make it harder to feel anything, so his reaction might very well be drastically delayed—or that's an excuse he thinks he'd like to outfit, should it come to that. His touch skitters down, and again he's confronted with the sight of Rude's cock, so heavy and swollen and wet with need. It makes him hurt all over again, makes him want it even worse, and he hates it but it won't be a problem for much longer.
His fingers clench into the muscles of Rude's thighs now, dragging him closer, digging in wet and hot from their service under Rude's skin. The only thing he wants to bury inside him anymore is this sharp ache between his thighs, and he barely wets his cock enough before he presses the head of it against Rude's hole and forces his way through, with his fingers and his hips driving that first push hard. This is always the best part, the maddening pressure until that always sudden pop through his defenses, and Tseng is watching closely the entire time, even if the look in his eyes is drifting far away on the feeling of it.
Just because he was allowing Tseng to take what he wanted didn't mean he was obligated to give him the satisfaction of hearing him his and moan about every little thing. Rude reacts in a series of grunts and swallowed sighs only occasionally escaping through gritted teeth.
Rude knows what's coming and still isn't ready for the pain that comes almost immediately as he feels Tseng's cock against his ass like there was no amount of contemplation or hesitation. The muscles of his neck and core tense in respond to the forceful intrusion, and automatically reaches an hand out to touch Tseng's hip to push him back and force him to take his time, but no touching echoes in his mind and he balls up a fist with that hand, slamming it into the floor beside him instead.
He doesn't have to say how infrequently anyone fucks him, he's sure Tseng can feel it gripping around his cock. Rude hates having someone inside him, he hates giving up control, and he hates how much he likes when its taken from him (and that it hurts). His cock might be wet and heavy against his stomach, largely ignored, but it doesn't show any signs of wavering.
"I kissed your dead body," he manages to spit the words out without too much emotion in his voice. Rude is tempted to fit his fingers against the bruises forming on Tseng's throat just to pull him down for kiss, but he'd be too tempted to choke him out again.
Tseng watches that hand lift and drop away. It's probably the sexiest thing he's ever seen, Rude's instinctive reach to protect himself from pain, the swift interception of his duty to Tseng taking precedence and displacing it. It's very hard not to come just watching Rude restrain himself for his benefit. He's already so tight, viciously strangling Tseng's flesh as it surges ever deeper, as if he is completely undriven, the purest thing Tseng will ever know.
And then he says what he says, and Tseng's attention snaps back to him, dedicated and focused. He knows that it will aggravate Rude's ribs if he curls his body beneath him, enough that Tseng can lean past his wide open thighs and bend down until they are close enough to kiss. But Tseng only has questions in place of tenderness.
"Why?" he asks, absolutely at a loss. It has always been like this between them, the desperate clawing for dominance, Tseng's insatiable desire to twist and shape and score him. He was almost certain that Rude—that all of them—would be glad to see him gone. There's no doubt in his mind that he is the least deserving of such a sweet send-off.
His ribs are already being aggravated. Every time he breathes wrong, or moves too much, he can feel the sharp reminder that things inside him were not in the right place and poking into places they shouldn't. He's feeling pain from too many sources to respond to any singular one, but Tseng's cock making itself at home inside him seems to be the most distracting of them at the moment.
"You looked so peaceful. Beautiful." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the full truth either. Tseng has done things for all of the Turks. To get them out of trouble, to protect them from harm, to protect them from themselves—like a dutiful parent, almost. It would have been cruel if he couldn't feel love for someone like that. A familial kind of love, but not quite the same. He wouldn't let family fuck him in his workplace.—or anywhere else.
"Right there on your forehead, just above the mark." Rude gets the strange impulse to touch himself as he recalls the moment. He was devastated and crying, looking down at his supervisor friend, afraid he might never see him again. That was real pain. Pain that some broken ribs, a busted jaw, and a cock in his ass could never achieve. Rude keeps that to himself. Tseng wasn't good with emotions.
This is a fucking whirlwind of things Tseng isn't good at dealing with. Turks do not think of being mourned. It is inherent that the minute they put on the suit, they are as good as dead anyway. The highest honor is to die in service of the cause. This has never been an issue before, but now that natural order has been disrupted.
And the last time that anyone called him beautiful, even as indirectly as Rude does it now—Tseng hates to think of that night. It is the source of his revulsion for everything physical. But the way that Rude says it resounds differently, feels sweet when it buries under his skin instead of like claws that mean to pierce and pin and limit him.
He spares one of the hands holding on to Rude's thighs to wash his fingers over Rude's cheek. "Is that what inspired this little outburst?" he asks. It's just as well that he cannot see himself; his smile is a touch too fond, though it is gone the moment that he drives his hips hard and fills Rude to the brim, sheathing his cock completely within that excruciating clench. It's so good that he feels like his heart could explode, and his lips part softly, mouthing through the moan that he will not let escape his throat.
Telling Rude not to mourn the death of a Turk is like telling him to dress down on Fridays. Wasn't going to happen. He hopes they'd know better than to try asking him to do either. He at least observed the unspoken rule by doing his mourning in his own way, on his own, and often violently in the case of Reno. This time was different. He had hope that Tseng would be back.
He can tell by the touch to his cheek that Tseng appreciates the gesture, even if he doesn't understand it. And history tells him that whenever the man does something that seems kind he's likely going to follow up with a sharp reminder that it would be foolish to expect that to be the norm. The sudden movement makes Rude want to reconsider his opinion that this wasn't so painful, but he can't think through the pain of having to stretch for Tseng to force him open just so Rude would take the full mass of him.
"Harder," Rude doesn't really have any physical outlet to help him take the rough movements and then keep himself open for more. Not when he couldn't touch. He turns his head to the side and bites down hard at the hand that was gently touching his cheek, not letting go. It's all he has to ask for more, plead to be touched, and encourage Tseng to get on with it in a simple gesture. This was a sort of affection Tseng might find easier to understand.
At least this is one request that Tseng is willing to oblige. There's no other way for him to do this but hard and quick and dirty. Neither of them want a sweet coupling, just the punishing slap of skin on skin, the heady rush of fever that darkens their flesh in synchronicity, the harsh breaths Tseng draws out of them when he hits it hard enough to knock them breathless. And poor Rude, with his cock so hard between them, helpless but to twitch and sob those little strands of precum that Tseng is fucking out of him. He almost wants to wrap his hand around it, make Rude come harder than he ever has, but that's not the point.
The faint pinpricks of pain from Rude's teeth are good, so fucking good. Rude deserves something in kind, so he drags his fingers loose, jerking them quick enough to unglove them. His hand raises in the air, just high enough to make it sting badly when he brings it back down against Rude's cheek with a resounding slap. Just that, and then they're surging back through his lips again, like he means to choke Rude on his fingers, and maybe he should, maybe he should just fucking hammer Rude into the ground while he thrashes around Tseng's hands and chews them bloody. That would be a real fucking thrill.
At a certain point Rude becomes overloaded on pain, and he can't feel anything anymore. Just the pressure of being fucked open and the rapid beating of his heart. He feels like he's outside of his body and everything going on was happening to it and not him. It's almost too much, yet exactly what he needs.
When Tseng's bare hand strikes his face, he's brought back into his body from the force sending his head reeling to the opposite side. At which point Rude finally groans, his head tilting back as he stares at Tseng like he wants to put his fist through his face, but he doesn't. He opens his mouth to let fingers inside him with about as much ease as he takes Tseng's cock (very little), but that was part of the fun. Without gloves to protect his digits, Rude could bite one of them off at any moment if he decides to, or break them if he had more leverage.
His body is sturdy but still moves against the floor with the force of Tseng driving into him until he has to put his hand against the leg of a table to avoid his head or shoulder hitting it.
That look on Rude's face. It's everything Tseng could have ever hoped for, drawn from that deep dangerous place inside of him that makes him one of his Turks. He's laughing all over again, softer, quieter, darker than before, and his hair curtains his face as he leans in close enough for Rude to strangle him.
"Hurt me," he says, and the hiss of his voice is feral, broken by the force of the thrusts he's taking out of Rude. It becomes a mantra, a whispered prayer that he can speak into a frenzy of hushed sound when his brows tilt and his lashes flutter because it's perfect now, the brutal rocking of their bodies, the relentless plunging of his cock, the heaviness of Rude beneath his clenching grip turned to a weightless nothing by how much he fucking needs this. He arches his back, rolls his belly down over Rude's cock just to give him something that he can take away, to bait him into anger or violence or begging, either one just as sweet as the other.
Rude reaches out immediately to squeeze at the necklace of bruises around Tseng's throat, pulling him down like he might decide to kiss him, except the only thing that kisses the man is a fist to his face. He doesn't care, the black eye will go away eventually.
He's so fucking close and the pressure of Tseng's stomach against his cock is suddenly so much more stimulation than he was getting before that he's rocking up into it and in the same movements unintentionally allowing for Tseng to slam into harder. "Let me cum." He demands, biting at his superior's hand right in the meaty part between thumb and index finger, tasting blood in his mouth that isn't his own.
His ribs, lungs, ass, and cheek were on fire and he's so close he thinks he might die.
It's so good, and then it's everything. Tseng welcomes the fingers around his throat, going shaky, shuddering for that moment it takes for them to twist and clench and squeeze. That is enough, certainly, to turn that slow burn in his gut into fire that tears his whole body apart acre by trembling acre, but as always, perfection is never enough for Rude. It's a blinding procession of pain that follows, lightning exploding in his eye when Rude gets him so good with that hook that he freefalls right over the edge, and then Rude's fucking him right back, lifting his hips so that every thrust is harder, deeper, slaughtering him like no man with a sword ever could. His orgasm stings just as badly as those teeth tearing into his flesh, and he's not sure when he began making those wild, strangled, cornered animal noises but he can hear them ringing off the walls as he pumps blindly into Rude's body, spilling and spilling what seems to be every living inch of his soul into the far too tight clench of Rude's guts.
He can't even open his eyes; he's shaking too hard, his whole body rioting with the aftershocks of too powerful pleasure coursing through him like a livewire. Whatever Rude is saying, his blood is singing for him to fucking do it, do anything he tells him if he's the one who can make him feel like this. The fingers painting bruises on his neck relent as he descends, viciously snatch up his hair and it's so wonderful that he's moaning all over again when he purses his lips and sucks Rude's cock into his mouth. There's too much of it, laying too hard and heavy against the back of his throat to not make him gag, but the tears that well up in his eyes are sweet and almost human, and his whorling, devilish tongue makes up for all the rest.
Rude isn't surprise that a fist to the face is what does it for Tseng, but he feels some relief for the first time as he's filled up with his release. It adds a little bit more slickness a lot too late, but he's still glad this might mean Tseng would pull out and let him start to deal with the soreness and accompanying emptiness.
He's sure it would be over then--that he'd be left there unfinished while the other man starts to put himself back into his clothing. Thankfully Tseng seems open to allowing Rude to demand more of him. There was no obligation to, so he can only assume he's working with whatever gratitude his superior feels for Rude having gotten him off in a satisfactory manner. Rude lets go of Tseng's windpipe, arms dropping to his sides, only gathering up beautiful black hair as Tseng allows him to haul him by the dark strands to the right position to guide his cock into that mouth of his.
Rude is so close that it only takes two maybe three bumps of his cock against the back of Tseng's throat between his tonsils for him to moan loudly, almost shouting, at the intensity of his orgasm. He can see that Tseng is gagging, but forces his head down to stay deep in his throat as he rocks his hips slowly, milking himself down the back of his throat even if he resists.
He lets go the moment he's done, his arms dropping down to drape over his face as he catches his breath. As the pleasure subsides he's reminded of the sources of all the pain one by one. "Will you sleep now?"
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His eyes follow smirking lips when they speak, but the comprehension is delayed. Every bone in his body? There were about 200 of them, it would take a remarkable amount of time to get to each one, and technically his cock wasn't a--Oh. He wants a response.
"I will not touch." He knows what it means, knows exactly what the fuck Tseng doesn't want him touching, but doesn't ask for clarification so that if the time comes that he needs to, he can use misunderstanding as an excuse for not following directions. It was low, but he's seen Reno use similar tactics to some success.
As Rude inhales, his muscles seem to shift and move under his skin. The gloved hand seems unbothered and enjoying the movement until sharp nails bite into his skin. His thighs spread further apart in an effort to offer more of himself to Tseng, hopefully pacifying him in the process.
no subject
"Beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers clasping with too much pressure around a single nipple, twisting until he feels the throb of pain. Of course, the gloves make it harder to feel anything, so his reaction might very well be drastically delayed—or that's an excuse he thinks he'd like to outfit, should it come to that. His touch skitters down, and again he's confronted with the sight of Rude's cock, so heavy and swollen and wet with need. It makes him hurt all over again, makes him want it even worse, and he hates it but it won't be a problem for much longer.
His fingers clench into the muscles of Rude's thighs now, dragging him closer, digging in wet and hot from their service under Rude's skin. The only thing he wants to bury inside him anymore is this sharp ache between his thighs, and he barely wets his cock enough before he presses the head of it against Rude's hole and forces his way through, with his fingers and his hips driving that first push hard. This is always the best part, the maddening pressure until that always sudden pop through his defenses, and Tseng is watching closely the entire time, even if the look in his eyes is drifting far away on the feeling of it.
no subject
Rude knows what's coming and still isn't ready for the pain that comes almost immediately as he feels Tseng's cock against his ass like there was no amount of contemplation or hesitation. The muscles of his neck and core tense in respond to the forceful intrusion, and automatically reaches an hand out to touch Tseng's hip to push him back and force him to take his time, but no touching echoes in his mind and he balls up a fist with that hand, slamming it into the floor beside him instead.
He doesn't have to say how infrequently anyone fucks him, he's sure Tseng can feel it gripping around his cock. Rude hates having someone inside him, he hates giving up control, and he hates how much he likes when its taken from him (and that it hurts). His cock might be wet and heavy against his stomach, largely ignored, but it doesn't show any signs of wavering.
"I kissed your dead body," he manages to spit the words out without too much emotion in his voice. Rude is tempted to fit his fingers against the bruises forming on Tseng's throat just to pull him down for kiss, but he'd be too tempted to choke him out again.
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And then he says what he says, and Tseng's attention snaps back to him, dedicated and focused. He knows that it will aggravate Rude's ribs if he curls his body beneath him, enough that Tseng can lean past his wide open thighs and bend down until they are close enough to kiss. But Tseng only has questions in place of tenderness.
"Why?" he asks, absolutely at a loss. It has always been like this between them, the desperate clawing for dominance, Tseng's insatiable desire to twist and shape and score him. He was almost certain that Rude—that all of them—would be glad to see him gone. There's no doubt in his mind that he is the least deserving of such a sweet send-off.
no subject
"You looked so peaceful. Beautiful." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the full truth either. Tseng has done things for all of the Turks. To get them out of trouble, to protect them from harm, to protect them from themselves—like a dutiful parent, almost. It would have been cruel if he couldn't feel love for someone like that. A familial kind of love, but not quite the same. He wouldn't let family fuck him in his workplace.—or anywhere else.
"Right there on your forehead, just above the mark." Rude gets the strange impulse to touch himself as he recalls the moment. He was devastated and crying, looking down at his
supervisorfriend, afraid he might never see him again. That was real pain. Pain that some broken ribs, a busted jaw, and a cock in his ass could never achieve. Rude keeps that to himself. Tseng wasn't good with emotions.no subject
And the last time that anyone called him beautiful, even as indirectly as Rude does it now—Tseng hates to think of that night. It is the source of his revulsion for everything physical. But the way that Rude says it resounds differently, feels sweet when it buries under his skin instead of like claws that mean to pierce and pin and limit him.
He spares one of the hands holding on to Rude's thighs to wash his fingers over Rude's cheek. "Is that what inspired this little outburst?" he asks. It's just as well that he cannot see himself; his smile is a touch too fond, though it is gone the moment that he drives his hips hard and fills Rude to the brim, sheathing his cock completely within that excruciating clench. It's so good that he feels like his heart could explode, and his lips part softly, mouthing through the moan that he will not let escape his throat.
no, baby, who hurt u?
He can tell by the touch to his cheek that Tseng appreciates the gesture, even if he doesn't understand it. And history tells him that whenever the man does something that seems kind he's likely going to follow up with a sharp reminder that it would be foolish to expect that to be the norm. The sudden movement makes Rude want to reconsider his opinion that this wasn't so painful, but he can't think through the pain of having to stretch for Tseng to force him open just so Rude would take the full mass of him.
"Harder," Rude doesn't really have any physical outlet to help him take the rough movements and then keep himself open for more. Not when he couldn't touch. He turns his head to the side and bites down hard at the hand that was gently touching his cheek, not letting go. It's all he has to ask for more, plead to be touched, and encourage Tseng to get on with it in a simple gesture. This was a sort of affection Tseng might find easier to understand.
EXISTENCE
The faint pinpricks of pain from Rude's teeth are good, so fucking good. Rude deserves something in kind, so he drags his fingers loose, jerking them quick enough to unglove them. His hand raises in the air, just high enough to make it sting badly when he brings it back down against Rude's cheek with a resounding slap. Just that, and then they're surging back through his lips again, like he means to choke Rude on his fingers, and maybe he should, maybe he should just fucking hammer Rude into the ground while he thrashes around Tseng's hands and chews them bloody. That would be a real fucking thrill.
no subject
When Tseng's bare hand strikes his face, he's brought back into his body from the force sending his head reeling to the opposite side. At which point Rude finally groans, his head tilting back as he stares at Tseng like he wants to put his fist through his face, but he doesn't. He opens his mouth to let fingers inside him with about as much ease as he takes Tseng's cock (very little), but that was part of the fun. Without gloves to protect his digits, Rude could bite one of them off at any moment if he decides to, or break them if he had more leverage.
His body is sturdy but still moves against the floor with the force of Tseng driving into him until he has to put his hand against the leg of a table to avoid his head or shoulder hitting it.
no subject
"Hurt me," he says, and the hiss of his voice is feral, broken by the force of the thrusts he's taking out of Rude. It becomes a mantra, a whispered prayer that he can speak into a frenzy of hushed sound when his brows tilt and his lashes flutter because it's perfect now, the brutal rocking of their bodies, the relentless plunging of his cock, the heaviness of Rude beneath his clenching grip turned to a weightless nothing by how much he fucking needs this. He arches his back, rolls his belly down over Rude's cock just to give him something that he can take away, to bait him into anger or violence or begging, either one just as sweet as the other.
no subject
Rude reaches out immediately to squeeze at the necklace of bruises around Tseng's throat, pulling him down like he might decide to kiss him, except the only thing that kisses the man is a fist to his face. He doesn't care, the black eye will go away eventually.
He's so fucking close and the pressure of Tseng's stomach against his cock is suddenly so much more stimulation than he was getting before that he's rocking up into it and in the same movements unintentionally allowing for Tseng to slam into harder. "Let me cum." He demands, biting at his superior's hand right in the meaty part between thumb and index finger, tasting blood in his mouth that isn't his own.
His ribs, lungs, ass, and cheek were on fire and he's so close he thinks he might die.
ty for the collab lmao
He can't even open his eyes; he's shaking too hard, his whole body rioting with the aftershocks of too powerful pleasure coursing through him like a livewire. Whatever Rude is saying, his blood is singing for him to fucking do it, do anything he tells him if he's the one who can make him feel like this. The fingers painting bruises on his neck relent as he descends, viciously snatch up his hair and it's so wonderful that he's moaning all over again when he purses his lips and sucks Rude's cock into his mouth. There's too much of it, laying too hard and heavy against the back of his throat to not make him gag, but the tears that well up in his eyes are sweet and almost human, and his whorling, devilish tongue makes up for all the rest.
no subject
He's sure it would be over then--that he'd be left there unfinished while the other man starts to put himself back into his clothing. Thankfully Tseng seems open to allowing Rude to demand more of him. There was no obligation to, so he can only assume he's working with whatever gratitude his superior feels for Rude having gotten him off in a satisfactory manner. Rude lets go of Tseng's windpipe, arms dropping to his sides, only gathering up beautiful black hair as Tseng allows him to haul him by the dark strands to the right position to guide his cock into that mouth of his.
Rude is so close that it only takes two maybe three bumps of his cock against the back of Tseng's throat between his tonsils for him to moan loudly, almost shouting, at the intensity of his orgasm. He can see that Tseng is gagging, but forces his head down to stay deep in his throat as he rocks his hips slowly, milking himself down the back of his throat even if he resists.
He lets go the moment he's done, his arms dropping down to drape over his face as he catches his breath. As the pleasure subsides he's reminded of the sources of all the pain one by one. "Will you sleep now?"