It should bother him that Tseng has so much influence over him to get what he wants. It would have been a problem if he didn't completely trust Tseng and know that their goals aligned.
He nods after a moment, deciding to ask Tseng for the details later when the man's cock wasn't rubbing at his entrance. He still hesitates as if he's thinking about it to give the illusion that he was going actually turn down Tseng's proposal.
But he can't hold out for long, he can't so much as move his hips against Tseng's cock.
Tseng is a patient man, and both of them are very bad at taking no for an answer. It is that very reason why their agendas align so smoothly; they are as a pair so ruthlessly ambitious.
The corners of Tseng's lips curl when Rufus does say the words. He leans in, close enough to kiss, but not yet. He wants to watch the look in Rufus's eyes when he sinks him down on to his waiting cock, while he spears deeply into his insides, his breath freezing in his throat. It always feels better than the last time, somehow, and Rufus is not the only one who has been kept waiting.
He lets Rufus rest for a moment, thoroughly impaled, as his fingers skitter across his president's throat.
"Do not lean into my hand," he commands as his fingers pinch Rufus's throat shut, cutting off his air supply. He knows exactly how to do this without leaving so much as a faded bruise, but there is still more room for error than he would like. And then he moves again, thrusting hard into Rufus's heat, rubbing his thumb over the rising beat of his pulse, with no intention of letting him breathe until it is pounding.
Rufus lets out a low moan as Tseng lets him sink down on his cock finally. The familiar stretch and pleasure never fail to overwhelm him when Tseng is inside him no matter how many times they come together.
His eyes widen in surprise but despite his first instinct, he does what Tseng orders and doesn't lean forward when suddenly Tseng presses a spot on his throat and it's only because he trusts Tseng that he doesn't pull back or struggle. He can't make a sound when Tseng thrusts until into him, white spots appearing at the edges of his vision as he gasps for breath. The pleasure feels more intense as his airway is pinched shut, eyes falling closed as shallow gasps escape his lips.
"Very good," Tseng says, on the verge of breathlessness. He is sure now that Rufus will follow his direction, which is all the cue he needs to drop a hand down his back, let it sink into the curve of his ass and grasp tightly. His grip pulls Rufus open wider, lets him rock Rufus's body into every resounding slam of his cock.
He keeps his gaze intent upon Rufus's face, but he is no stranger now to what Rufus wants. The back-bending, bone-rattling roughness of his thrusts are a start while Rufus slips away beneath the vice grip Tseng has on his throat. But not too much, not just yet—soon, his grip on Rufus's neck relents, his thrusts slow, and he sweeps his hand over Rufus's cheek, commanding him to, "Breathe."
As soon as Tseng releases his throat he draws in a large raspy breath, oxygen filling his lungs in a rush. His vision is still spotty at the edge and every hard thrust almost makes his eyes water but he never breaks eye contact with Tseng.
He felt himself close to that edge as Tseng worked him open even wider with his fingers "Tseng- again-" which maybe wasn't the best idea since his lungs still burned slightly from the lack of air the first time but he was so close to his climax he wanted to feel that same intense pleasure once more even if it was dangerous.
"Breathe," Tseng insists instead, and doesn't give him any recourse to resist. He's shifting them now, withdrawing from the sweet depths of Rufus's body so he can lay Rufus out on the couch. So much easier this way, bracing Rufus's leg against his shoulder as he slips between his thighs again.
Again, he enters Rufus, and it feels just as teeth-grittingly good. But now he can take advantage of having the president laid out before him, can swipe the flat of his palm against the tip of Rufus's too-hard cock, giving it a few rough slaps while his fingers close tighter than before around Rufus's throat. He fucks him hard, punishingly, his lips parting with the bittersweet sting of it all.
He lets out a low whimper when Tseng shifts and pulls out of him, feeling his absence keenly as he was laid out on the couch. He's painfully hard and even that fleeting contact is almost enough as Tseng thrusts hard into him once more.
His hands grasp at Tseng's shoulders but he doesn't shove him off, instead digging his nails into his shirt. The lack of air makes him feel intoxicated, every part of his body is sensitive to even the slightest touch. He feels as if he's slipping away as he suddenly reaches his climax hard with a strangled gasp that is forced out through a crushed windpipe, tears running from the corner of his eyes.
Tseng lets off Rufus's throat in little, fluttering squeezes as he feels him spill between them. How gorgeous he looks, with tears dotting his eyes like glittering diamonds, exquisite and used and spent. Tseng wishes he could admire him like this forever.
Instead, he withdraws again, his hands smoothing over Rufus's chest, feeling for the beat of his heart, the rise of his lungs expanding. "Sir..." he murmurs, dragging his lips across every spot his fingers burned into Rufus's flesh. No marks left behind, just like a good Turk.
He will not ask if Rufus is okay, but he will cast his gaze up at him expectantly, as if Rufus is any one of his men and he is expecting a report.
"Fuck." Air filled his lungs in gulps as he tried to catch his breath as Tseng let go of his throat. He could only late there for a bit, feeling Tseng's lips moving over his skin as he let everything wash over him. It takes a moment for the spots on the edges of his vision to clear as he looks down at Tseng finally with a content, pleased smile on his lips.
"Fuck- Tseng-" Those were all the words he could put together in a slightly raspy voice, still overwhelmed and slowly coming off that intense rush he had felt with Tseng cutting off his airway.
The corners of Tseng's lips twitch. He would never gloat, not at a time like this, but it is difficult not to feel a swell of pride seeing Rufus in this state.
His Rufus. His president. Tseng's hands still cannot stop smoothing over his skin.
"You came hard." Tseng is not sure that he's ever seen Rufus need it so badly before. He rubs his fingers up Rufus's sides. "Next time..."
His head dips. He takes a mouthful of Rufus's skin from just below his collarbone, grinning around it. His eyes glimmer with something mischievous.
"Next time?" He prompts, unable to help himself. He gives a low hum of pleasure when Tseng takes his skin in his mouth, shivering slightly as he feels as if his entire body is still sensitive. Every touch sends shudders of pleasure through him still and he looks down at Tseng, reaching down to run his fingers through a few strands of black hair. He knows that mischievous look, he knew what promise it held.
He never would have put his life in anyone else's hands like that with anyone except for Tseng who knew his body so well after so many years together. He arches his back a little against Tseng's wandering hands, soaking up each little touch that Tseng bestowed on him.
He just wanted to lay here all afternoon if he could with Tseng even if they could be interrupted by a Turk at any time. He didn't think he had it in him to stand at the moment at least.
That is Tseng's hope. If this is what Rufus needs, then he is the only one who can provide. Full stop. He trusts no one else to take Rufus's well-being as seriously as he does.
"We'll see how much more you can take," he says, but does not allude to how. Eventually, it will be worth it to discuss these things. For now, he knows Rufus too well, can all but feel what it is he longs for.
He is in no rush to move, even though he's not sure that Rufus locked the door. The only ones who can move freely about these levels are his Turks, and he does not care if they see. Perhaps Rufus might, but that's hardly his concern. Instead, he occupies himself with reclaiming Rufus inch by trembling inch of skin, moving his mouth wherever he can reach.
"That is, if this is still what you want, Mr. President."
"I think you already know the answer to that." Rufus lets out a low hum of pleasure feeling Tseng's lips explore his body. He's excited to see what limits Tseng can push him to. He had spent too long being handled carefully as if he was going to break if things got even slightly rough.
"I trust you, Tseng." Without a doubt or a moment of hesitation. Even when they fought, even when they were separated. Even though Rufus knew what Tseng was capable of all too well and despite everything they've been through. Every kiss makes his breath catch as Tseng shifted against him.
All it took was those kisses and the anticipation of more for him to start getting hard once more as he started to feel a little more impatient.
"I taught you better than that," Tseng replies, but he knows that it is true. He has spent more years than he can remember forging this trust between them. The motive for it has shifted over the years, but it remains his life's work. And the rewards are plentiful, pleasing.
There are bruises on Rufus's skin, some of them fainter than others. None of them were left by him. He is almost certain that he knows their source, that he is wearing the same fingerprints beneath his suit. It only compounds his decision to give Rufus what he wants, no matter Tseng's misgivings. Maybe if he does, Rufus will order his other lovers to exercise more caution. He can only hope.
Finally, his lips slide over Rufus's belly and he can feel the stirring of his lover's cock. That small smile returns to him.
"Do you want me so badly, sir?" he asks, stroking the back of his knuckles up and down the inner muscle of Rufus's thigh.
"I don't think I could deny that at this point," he remarks with amusement as he spreads his legs a little more for Tseng with a soft gasp. Tseng always knows just where to touch him which makes it difficult to think straight. Even just the barest touches over his stomach make him melt into the couch.
"I don't plan to leave anytime soon." If that made anyone on the upper floors unhappy he didn't care. They would adhere to his schedule, not the other way around. Instead, he watches Tseng with a smirk, sighing as he brushed his fingers against his thigh.
"So you have me all to yourself to do with as you please."
Tseng's eyes darken, go somewhere far away even though they are trained on Rufus. These scenarios he envisioned in his head, clever little sexual labyrinths for Rufus to wander through in order to relieve him of these darker desires, some of them will take time to prepare. Most of them will need foresight, planning. Spontaneity is the enemy of safety, he thinks.
He kisses the pinnacle of Rufus's hip instead, gazing up at him through the dark fan of his lashes.
"Tell me what you want," he says, low and dark, his throat rumbling against Rufus's bare skin. Slowly, his thumb ascends the swollen ridge of Rufus's cock, the pad of it rubbing beneath the soft curve of its head. He is still hard, still hasn't come, could fuck Rufus with his hands locked around his throat until the president's eyes roll back all over again, but he gets the feeling that isn't what he's hungry for.
Rufus can't answer for a moment when Tseng rubs the head of his cock with an expert touch, precum already dripping down Tseng's fingers. He doesn't seem to notice or care when there is the sound of voices and footsteps outside the door of Tseng's office, keeping his gaze focused on Tseng.
"Your mouth." He reaches down to tangle his fingers in black hair to hold on and try to nudge Tseng where he wants him to go. His other hand grips one of the cushions of the couch tightly, spreading his legs a little wider if he can manage it. The couch is a bit too narrow to make it really comfortable but it doesn't matter. "Now."
Tseng doesn't care about the footsteps either. What he does care about are the fingers in his hair, which he disentangles the same way he did last time: two fingers pressed to the pressure point in Rufus's wrist, held until he feels the grip in his hair slacken. He drags Rufus's wrist lower, stares up at him with narrowed eyes.
"Tell me what you want," he corrects himself, "nicely."
Tseng is aware of the discrepancies between the things he and Rufus have experienced in their respective timelines. Even Rude and Reno, he suspects, do not exactly share perfect memories with him. Which means the impetus is on him to teach Rufus better. It is as much his job as any other duty he owes to the president.
"You are so used to power," he says, eyes on Rufus as he licks his cock closer, sets the head of it against the sharp points of his teeth, a promise of pain he does not yet deliver. "Here, only one of us has any. Do I make myself clear?" His lips curl. It does not escape him that Rufus may be doing this solely to garner a certain reaction from him. "Or perhaps you would like me to teach you a lesson."
The sharp points of Tseng's teeth against the head of his cock makes him shudder but he makes a noise of protest when Tseng forces him to get go of his hair. There is only one with power here and it's certainly not Rufus who is spread out in front of Tseng at his mercy.
But that makes him no less defiant. He grabs the back of Tseng's neck to try to push him down impatiently. He knows he's not going to be able to get away with it, that Tseng will punish him for this. "I am asking very nicely, Tseng. I want your mouth, please."
He had spent the last two years being treated too carefully, even if it was necessary. If they could d anything at all given Rufus's physical state. Now he wanted to make up for that lost time and then some while he was able to. He was going to push Tseng as far as Tseng would allow him.
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.
He tries to twists his arms to get free but Tseng has his wrists pressed hard to the armrest. He doesn't want to come but Tseng is making it extremely difficult at the moment and he both hates him and loves him for it.
He arches his back, clutching his hands into fists against Tseng's fingers.
"Fuck- " and then in a low, tight hiss- "-please- you know what I need."
Tseng smirks down at him. He can feel Rufus getting close, and that's when the pressure between his fingers slowly abates, when he starts dragging them featherlight up and down the length of Rufus's cock. Slow, practically too fleeting to feel. He wonders how long Rufus's composure will last like this.
He still has it in mind to teach Rufus a lesson, though. His fingers start to pump again, at not quite the maddening, jolting speed they were before—just enough to bring him to the edge and leave him there again.
"You want my mouth," he says, licking his lips until they glisten. "Do you think you've earned it?"
Rufus can't help but let out a soft whimper of impatience, every bit of his resolve melting away under Tseng's expert touch just leaving him hanging there. He is addicted to how Tseng can wield pleasure like a weapon, leaving his entire body trembling.
"Yes, I have, Tseng-" He doesn't care how desperate he sounds right now as Tseng keeps him on that edge and the sight of Tseng licking his lips sent a jolt right down his body to his cock. "Please. Please."
Words uttered so breathlessly and so earnestly only for Tseng.
"Hm." Tseng is in no great rush to wrap this up. These dalliances with Rufus often take awhile; the time has been budgeted for. Nothing is holding him back from driving Rufus crazy for it.
And if anything, this is the best part. Watching the most powerful man in the world twist and writhe beneath him, pleading with him despite how deaf he knows that Tseng can be to such things. He will do what he likes, on his own time, and that has ever been a constant.
He drags the back of his nails up and down Rufus's cock while he pretends at considering his requests. It's tempting to keep this up, to bring him right to the brink and ruin the release for him. He thinks that's precisely what he wants to do.
"You beg so prettily, Mr. President," he says, twisting his fingers, darting them away. He's decided that Rufus will not get much touch in succession anymore; let him strain and twitch in the air while Tseng watches, suckling on his lower lip. "But I think you can do better."
Rufus tries to pull his wrists free while fully aware that Tseng isn't going to let him free until he decides to, practically panting in ragged gasps at this point. It's agonizing ecstasy to be kept like this, just where Tseng wants him.
When Tseng pulls his fingers away from his cock he wants to growl and order Tseng to do what he wants but that wasn't going to get him what he wanted this time. He knew Tseng was well aware of what he was doing when he sucked on his lower lip like that and what it was doing to him.
He never would have considered begging for anyone else but Tseng somehow knew just how to draw each breathless word from his lips. "Tseng...I'm begging you. Anything you want..."
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no subject
He nods after a moment, deciding to ask Tseng for the details later when the man's cock wasn't rubbing at his entrance. He still hesitates as if he's thinking about it to give the illusion that he was going actually turn down Tseng's proposal.
But he can't hold out for long, he can't so much as move his hips against Tseng's cock.
"Deal."
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The corners of Tseng's lips curl when Rufus does say the words. He leans in, close enough to kiss, but not yet. He wants to watch the look in Rufus's eyes when he sinks him down on to his waiting cock, while he spears deeply into his insides, his breath freezing in his throat. It always feels better than the last time, somehow, and Rufus is not the only one who has been kept waiting.
He lets Rufus rest for a moment, thoroughly impaled, as his fingers skitter across his president's throat.
"Do not lean into my hand," he commands as his fingers pinch Rufus's throat shut, cutting off his air supply. He knows exactly how to do this without leaving so much as a faded bruise, but there is still more room for error than he would like. And then he moves again, thrusting hard into Rufus's heat, rubbing his thumb over the rising beat of his pulse, with no intention of letting him breathe until it is pounding.
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His eyes widen in surprise but despite his first instinct, he does what Tseng orders and doesn't lean forward when suddenly Tseng presses a spot on his throat and it's only because he trusts Tseng that he doesn't pull back or struggle. He can't make a sound when Tseng thrusts until into him, white spots appearing at the edges of his vision as he gasps for breath. The pleasure feels more intense as his airway is pinched shut, eyes falling closed as shallow gasps escape his lips.
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He keeps his gaze intent upon Rufus's face, but he is no stranger now to what Rufus wants. The back-bending, bone-rattling roughness of his thrusts are a start while Rufus slips away beneath the vice grip Tseng has on his throat. But not too much, not just yet—soon, his grip on Rufus's neck relents, his thrusts slow, and he sweeps his hand over Rufus's cheek, commanding him to, "Breathe."
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He felt himself close to that edge as Tseng worked him open even wider with his fingers "Tseng- again-" which maybe wasn't the best idea since his lungs still burned slightly from the lack of air the first time but he was so close to his climax he wanted to feel that same intense pleasure once more even if it was dangerous.
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Again, he enters Rufus, and it feels just as teeth-grittingly good. But now he can take advantage of having the president laid out before him, can swipe the flat of his palm against the tip of Rufus's too-hard cock, giving it a few rough slaps while his fingers close tighter than before around Rufus's throat. He fucks him hard, punishingly, his lips parting with the bittersweet sting of it all.
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His hands grasp at Tseng's shoulders but he doesn't shove him off, instead digging his nails into his shirt. The lack of air makes him feel intoxicated, every part of his body is sensitive to even the slightest touch. He feels as if he's slipping away as he suddenly reaches his climax hard with a strangled gasp that is forced out through a crushed windpipe, tears running from the corner of his eyes.
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Instead, he withdraws again, his hands smoothing over Rufus's chest, feeling for the beat of his heart, the rise of his lungs expanding. "Sir..." he murmurs, dragging his lips across every spot his fingers burned into Rufus's flesh. No marks left behind, just like a good Turk.
He will not ask if Rufus is okay, but he will cast his gaze up at him expectantly, as if Rufus is any one of his men and he is expecting a report.
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"Fuck- Tseng-" Those were all the words he could put together in a slightly raspy voice, still overwhelmed and slowly coming off that intense rush he had felt with Tseng cutting off his airway.
"I'm fine, don't worry."
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His Rufus. His president. Tseng's hands still cannot stop smoothing over his skin.
"You came hard." Tseng is not sure that he's ever seen Rufus need it so badly before. He rubs his fingers up Rufus's sides. "Next time..."
His head dips. He takes a mouthful of Rufus's skin from just below his collarbone, grinning around it. His eyes glimmer with something mischievous.
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He never would have put his life in anyone else's hands like that with anyone except for Tseng who knew his body so well after so many years together. He arches his back a little against Tseng's wandering hands, soaking up each little touch that Tseng bestowed on him.
He just wanted to lay here all afternoon if he could with Tseng even if they could be interrupted by a Turk at any time. He didn't think he had it in him to stand at the moment at least.
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"We'll see how much more you can take," he says, but does not allude to how. Eventually, it will be worth it to discuss these things. For now, he knows Rufus too well, can all but feel what it is he longs for.
He is in no rush to move, even though he's not sure that Rufus locked the door. The only ones who can move freely about these levels are his Turks, and he does not care if they see. Perhaps Rufus might, but that's hardly his concern. Instead, he occupies himself with reclaiming Rufus inch by trembling inch of skin, moving his mouth wherever he can reach.
"That is, if this is still what you want, Mr. President."
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"I trust you, Tseng." Without a doubt or a moment of hesitation. Even when they fought, even when they were separated. Even though Rufus knew what Tseng was capable of all too well and despite everything they've been through. Every kiss makes his breath catch as Tseng shifted against him.
All it took was those kisses and the anticipation of more for him to start getting hard once more as he started to feel a little more impatient.
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There are bruises on Rufus's skin, some of them fainter than others. None of them were left by him. He is almost certain that he knows their source, that he is wearing the same fingerprints beneath his suit. It only compounds his decision to give Rufus what he wants, no matter Tseng's misgivings. Maybe if he does, Rufus will order his other lovers to exercise more caution. He can only hope.
Finally, his lips slide over Rufus's belly and he can feel the stirring of his lover's cock. That small smile returns to him.
"Do you want me so badly, sir?" he asks, stroking the back of his knuckles up and down the inner muscle of Rufus's thigh.
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"I don't plan to leave anytime soon." If that made anyone on the upper floors unhappy he didn't care. They would adhere to his schedule, not the other way around. Instead, he watches Tseng with a smirk, sighing as he brushed his fingers against his thigh.
"So you have me all to yourself to do with as you please."
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He kisses the pinnacle of Rufus's hip instead, gazing up at him through the dark fan of his lashes.
"Tell me what you want," he says, low and dark, his throat rumbling against Rufus's bare skin. Slowly, his thumb ascends the swollen ridge of Rufus's cock, the pad of it rubbing beneath the soft curve of its head. He is still hard, still hasn't come, could fuck Rufus with his hands locked around his throat until the president's eyes roll back all over again, but he gets the feeling that isn't what he's hungry for.
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"Your mouth." He reaches down to tangle his fingers in black hair to hold on and try to nudge Tseng where he wants him to go. His other hand grips one of the cushions of the couch tightly, spreading his legs a little wider if he can manage it. The couch is a bit too narrow to make it really comfortable but it doesn't matter. "Now."
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"Tell me what you want," he corrects himself, "nicely."
Tseng is aware of the discrepancies between the things he and Rufus have experienced in their respective timelines. Even Rude and Reno, he suspects, do not exactly share perfect memories with him. Which means the impetus is on him to teach Rufus better. It is as much his job as any other duty he owes to the president.
"You are so used to power," he says, eyes on Rufus as he licks his cock closer, sets the head of it against the sharp points of his teeth, a promise of pain he does not yet deliver. "Here, only one of us has any. Do I make myself clear?" His lips curl. It does not escape him that Rufus may be doing this solely to garner a certain reaction from him. "Or perhaps you would like me to teach you a lesson."
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But that makes him no less defiant. He grabs the back of Tseng's neck to try to push him down impatiently. He knows he's not going to be able to get away with it, that Tseng will punish him for this. "I am asking very nicely, Tseng. I want your mouth, please."
He had spent the last two years being treated too carefully, even if it was necessary. If they could d anything at all given Rufus's physical state. Now he wanted to make up for that lost time and then some while he was able to. He was going to push Tseng as far as Tseng would allow him.
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"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."
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He tries to twists his arms to get free but Tseng has his wrists pressed hard to the armrest. He doesn't want to come but Tseng is making it extremely difficult at the moment and he both hates him and loves him for it.
He arches his back, clutching his hands into fists against Tseng's fingers.
"Fuck- " and then in a low, tight hiss- "-please- you know what I need."
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Tseng smirks down at him. He can feel Rufus getting close, and that's when the pressure between his fingers slowly abates, when he starts dragging them featherlight up and down the length of Rufus's cock. Slow, practically too fleeting to feel. He wonders how long Rufus's composure will last like this.
He still has it in mind to teach Rufus a lesson, though. His fingers start to pump again, at not quite the maddening, jolting speed they were before—just enough to bring him to the edge and leave him there again.
"You want my mouth," he says, licking his lips until they glisten. "Do you think you've earned it?"
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"Yes, I have, Tseng-" He doesn't care how desperate he sounds right now as Tseng keeps him on that edge and the sight of Tseng licking his lips sent a jolt right down his body to his cock. "Please. Please."
Words uttered so breathlessly and so earnestly only for Tseng.
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And if anything, this is the best part. Watching the most powerful man in the world twist and writhe beneath him, pleading with him despite how deaf he knows that Tseng can be to such things. He will do what he likes, on his own time, and that has ever been a constant.
He drags the back of his nails up and down Rufus's cock while he pretends at considering his requests. It's tempting to keep this up, to bring him right to the brink and ruin the release for him. He thinks that's precisely what he wants to do.
"You beg so prettily, Mr. President," he says, twisting his fingers, darting them away. He's decided that Rufus will not get much touch in succession anymore; let him strain and twitch in the air while Tseng watches, suckling on his lower lip. "But I think you can do better."
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When Tseng pulls his fingers away from his cock he wants to growl and order Tseng to do what he wants but that wasn't going to get him what he wanted this time. He knew Tseng was well aware of what he was doing when he sucked on his lower lip like that and what it was doing to him.
He never would have considered begging for anyone else but Tseng somehow knew just how to draw each breathless word from his lips. "Tseng...I'm begging you. Anything you want..."