Rufus's fearlessness is not surprising. Of everyone in this world, they both know that Tseng could never do the job, not if it was Rufus. It's so ingrained in who he is, was so difficult just to get this close to it. Protecting him is Tseng's greatest honor. The knife at his throat is more of a cue than any substantial compulsion to bleed him out, and it slips away just as quickly.
He flexes his fingers along the blade's handle, lets it worry that scar tissue that spans the width of his palm. Of course, Rufus knows him. Their coupling is sealed by exactly one such brand. He's not exactly unpredictable, is he?
"I'm the one who wears your mark here," he says, head bowed as he drags the flat edge of the blade over Rufus's chest, drawing whorls that never cut. There's so much skin here, bared all for him. Some scars, but such great open swaths that are pure and undriven. It ought to be a delight. He still feels sick just thinking about it, and that sickness only makes him angrier.
Rufus watches Tseng run the blade across his stomach, over smooth white skin that had not too long along had been blemished with black marks. Was he so different than he was two years ago? He's not going to cover up, there is nothing he can do the hide the scars that weren't going anywhere, but he watches Tseng's expression carefully.
"Tseng." He reaches up with his unbroken hand to catch strands of black hair between his fingers. It would be an affectionate gesture but there is little emotion on his face. He feels the pain from his wrist even more now but he didn't pull away as Tseng ran the blade across his chest.
The trouble is that nothing is different at all. No matter how many years stretch between them, no matter how different their timelines can ever prove to be, he is still Rufus. Defiant, brilliant, sharp-eyed, and beautiful. He'll never in any incarnation be anything different to Tseng.
The last thing he wants to do is look. It makes his head swim, seeing that thin, shallow cut he left on Rufus's cheek. He can feel the pain from Rufus's wrist radiating through him.
When he does lift his head, his hand goes to Rufus's face, aglow with spelllight. His fingers trace the cut and seal it. Rufus can see the conflict in his eyes, he is sure, so he says nothing.
Rufus had seen that conflict in Tseng's eyes before not that long ago. It had been a request made in a moment of weakness but he says nothing as Tseng's finger traces the cut on his cheek.
He doesn't look at the swelling on his wrist or care about how his fingers are starting to feel numb. His eyes never leave Tseng's as he wraps black hair around his fingers, sitting up slightly. He knew he couldn't assuage that conflict in him even if he said he forgave him.
Instead, he just leans up to press his lips against Tseng's, hand moving to the back of his neck to pull him down closer to him.
The kiss is too much. He feels it like the song that glass makes when it is on the verge of breaking, and what is threatening to break free within him, he cannot let loose. It feels too good, too right, too comforting, it feels like his breath catching in his throat, his body on the verge of shuddering.
"No," he says, pushing Rufus down. One more quit hit of that Full-Cure materia, to Rufus's wrist this time. He's not even gentle about it—expedience is more important. He needs to be far from here as soon as possible.
Maybe he never should have come at all. His anger is twisted now, and he's not sure how to combat something that makes him want to cut and hurt and drop to his knees and cry all at once. He can bring himself to do none of those things, so his only option is to leave Rufus there, trying so hard not to look at him, to consider the consequences of leaving him like this. To slip out the door as if it means nothing when all it means is everything, everything he's always been and ever wanted for himself, left behind and all alone.
Rufus is too surprised to say anything when Tseng pushed him back, letting him work on his wrist. He's not sure how to react to the way Tseng isn't looking at him as he applied the materia. It would be stiff for a few days but at least he would be able to use it.
He says nothing as Tseng suddenly leaves the room, leaving him lying there on the bed alone. It makes something in his stomach twist hard and he feels the need to get off the bed and pull on his robe as quickly as possible, wrapping it tightly around himself. They had fought before but never like this, he had never pushed Tseng so far so recklessly. He climbs into bed once the lights are off, pulling the covers over himself to at least attempt to get some sleep.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
He flexes his fingers along the blade's handle, lets it worry that scar tissue that spans the width of his palm. Of course, Rufus knows him. Their coupling is sealed by exactly one such brand. He's not exactly unpredictable, is he?
"I'm the one who wears your mark here," he says, head bowed as he drags the flat edge of the blade over Rufus's chest, drawing whorls that never cut. There's so much skin here, bared all for him. Some scars, but such great open swaths that are pure and undriven. It ought to be a delight. He still feels sick just thinking about it, and that sickness only makes him angrier.
no subject
"Tseng." He reaches up with his unbroken hand to catch strands of black hair between his fingers. It would be an affectionate gesture but there is little emotion on his face. He feels the pain from his wrist even more now but he didn't pull away as Tseng ran the blade across his chest.
"Tseng. Look at me."
no subject
The last thing he wants to do is look. It makes his head swim, seeing that thin, shallow cut he left on Rufus's cheek. He can feel the pain from Rufus's wrist radiating through him.
When he does lift his head, his hand goes to Rufus's face, aglow with spelllight. His fingers trace the cut and seal it. Rufus can see the conflict in his eyes, he is sure, so he says nothing.
no subject
He doesn't look at the swelling on his wrist or care about how his fingers are starting to feel numb. His eyes never leave Tseng's as he wraps black hair around his fingers, sitting up slightly. He knew he couldn't assuage that conflict in him even if he said he forgave him.
Instead, he just leans up to press his lips against Tseng's, hand moving to the back of his neck to pull him down closer to him.
no subject
"No," he says, pushing Rufus down. One more quit hit of that Full-Cure materia, to Rufus's wrist this time. He's not even gentle about it—expedience is more important. He needs to be far from here as soon as possible.
Maybe he never should have come at all. His anger is twisted now, and he's not sure how to combat something that makes him want to cut and hurt and drop to his knees and cry all at once. He can bring himself to do none of those things, so his only option is to leave Rufus there, trying so hard not to look at him, to consider the consequences of leaving him like this. To slip out the door as if it means nothing when all it means is everything, everything he's always been and ever wanted for himself, left behind and all alone.
no subject
He says nothing as Tseng suddenly leaves the room, leaving him lying there on the bed alone. It makes something in his stomach twist hard and he feels the need to get off the bed and pull on his robe as quickly as possible, wrapping it tightly around himself. They had fought before but never like this, he had never pushed Tseng so far so recklessly. He climbs into bed once the lights are off, pulling the covers over himself to at least attempt to get some sleep.