The scent of blood hits him and it is intoxicating. This blood, Rufus's blood, it feels so much like sacrilege. He'd given his own on a night that feels like forever ago, Rufus with the new crown of the Shinra empire and Tseng's blood swirling in his drink. There is so much power in the act of pressing his scarred palm against Rufus's open wound. His breath hitches, his heart skips a beat, and he lifts his knife again.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, opening a curving shape in his skin and carving its mirror in crimson relief. He keeps this knife so very sharp; it cuts through like butter. When the blood comes, he presses his cheek to it, then his lips.
He remembered the sharp taste of Tseng's blood that night and he shudders with pleasure as he watches Tseng's lips press against bloody skin. Each cut sends shivers through his body and reaches out to grab Tseng's sides with bloody hands, digging his nails in.
A thought occurred to him as watched blood run down his stomach and pool. "I need a scar. One that is yours." All the scars he had were reminders that he had survived against all odds. That he had been stronger than anything else that had tried to break him.
He needed a scar that was on his own terms. "Make it hurt."
He wanted to see if Tseng could actually make him scream.
"You want me to scar you," he echoes, sounding distant. His pulse is pounding in his ears. Imagine. He'd been nothing and no one, and now Rufus Shinra, the most powerful man in the world, is asking to wear his mark. It had been unthinkable before now. It was clear, the terms upon which their arrangement was made, Tseng's place in it all.
This makes it decidedly unclear. But Tseng's blade is moving, carving, burrowing beneath the surface layer and digging into the dermis tissue below. He sees red everywhere, dripping down his face, spread in stark relief against Rufus's pale skin with his trailing fingers. He can hardly contain the moan that escapes him, hardly wants to mute such an honest sound from himself within the intimacy of this moment.
He draws more curves, radiating outwards.
"It will hurt," he promises, raking his nails over the cuts he's drawn, careful not to disturb his craft. The blood wells so beautifully against his cuticles.
The sheets and most likely the mattress itself is going to be ruined as blood runs down his sides, soaking into the bed. The moan he hears from Tseng makes warmth pool at the bottom of his stomach despite the sharp pain burning across his chest.
He lets out a small strangled cry as Tseng continues but he doesn't tell him to stop. He's not sure what Tseng is carving but he's sure that it will be flawless when it's done.
"Tseng-" it's not a plea for him to stop, he's addicted now he's chasing this high for as long as he can. This will change everything but he knows that he wants this without a doubt.
More curves, more blood. His knife floats like poetry, from one slicing verse to the next. It's all rhythm and weight. It's the most beautiful thing Tseng has ever see.
He bows his head to lap the blood from his skin in long, lavishing licks. The taste of it is heady, potent, powerful. His whole mouth tingles in the aftermath. He feels drunk on it.
He hears his name, and his gaze drifts back to Rufus. Little droplets of red have clung to his lashes like dew, obscuring his vision. His entire face is painted with it. It gives him the strength to try something he's never done before.
"Rufus," he says, in a low whisper. The volume builds as he cuts deeper. "Rufus," becomes a chant, loving and condemning, despairing and deep within the throes of this twisted ecstasy. A sliver of flesh slides loose, hanging off the edge of his blade; he places it upon his tongue like a pill and leans over Rufus, thrusting it into his mouth.
"Tseng." Their voices mingle for a minute as Rufus watches the blood drip from Tseng's lashes onto his stomach. This is what they never had the chance to do that night. "Tseng."
He gasps sharply as a piece of skin comes off, his breaths coming in soft pants. He reaches up to smear the blood across Tseng's cheeks, running his fingers down to his neck. Tseng had offered up his palm and his life to him years ago, now Rufus would make a sacrifice of his own.
He parts his lips to let Tseng's tongue inside his mouth along with the piece of skin, wrapping bloody hands around Tseng's waist to pull him down against his chest for a moment before running his fingers through black hair. He wanted to see Tseng's body covered in his blood as well. Let it cover him
The taste of his own blood in intoxicating, so sharp and powerful and he holds that sliver of skin between them for a moment, sucking on it.
In his head, he's counting, calculating, watching. His hands smooth over the pulse point in Rufus's throat, smearing brilliant, too-bright trails of blood, feeling. There's only so much that Rufus can give before Tseng fails him. He will not let it get to that point.
But they are not there now. This moment is blood bubbling like seafoam between their twisting bodies, Rufus's hands wrapping around him, painting him. The weight of his blood is thick, heavy, and Tseng shudders beneath it. He reaches for his belt and loosens it. His fingers coast along the line of Rufus's jaw, admiring him with his touch.
"Beautiful Rufus," he purrs, licking the blood from his lips, from his cheek, from his jaw. There is not a single part of him that does not taste like life. "Do you feel it yet?"
He drives his hips between Rufus's legs, pressing there, shuddering. Tseng has never wanted him more. He wonders aloud, "Or do you need more?"
Rufus spreads his legs so Tseng can settle there, shifting against him with a soft moan as he felt Tseng's cock pressing against his thigh. He reaches down to pull Tseng's cock out, wrapping bloody fingers around it before stroking him firmly.
"I want to feel more, Tseng." The pain does nothing to dull his own arousal but he refuses to indulge himself just yet by giving his cock much wanted contact. Instead, he rubs his thumb against the head of Tseng's cock, watching his reaction intently as he licks his own blood from the corner of his lips. "My Tseng."
He had never doubted that since the first moment he had laid eyes on Tseng. They were meant to share this. "I want to feel everything."
Tseng is moving beneath Rufus's hand before he's even aware that he's been touched. A low growl starts up in the pit of his throat, sharpened by those fingers smoothing over his skin. Imagine, he thinks, and then elects to realize it instead, sweeping blood from Rufus's stomach until it drips over his hand, spreading it over Rufus's fingers, across his cock, until every part of them is coated in a glittering ruby sheen.
"You will," he promises, switching the blade in his grip. He knows Rufus's body so intimately well, knows all his favorite places to dig his fingers in when he's fucking him, and now is no different. Except that he scores them now first before he reaches for them, drawing two deep cuts across the swell of Rufus's hip bones, perfectly arranged for him to squeeze into while he grasps Rufus and drags him closer.
"Rufus," he snarls, letting the rush of blood smooth the drag of skin between them as he works his cock inside. Just lingering here, feeling how Rufus's body strains as he pushes against muscle and flesh, demanding to be permitted entry, is enough to drive him out of his fucking mind. His nails dig into those fresh wounds; he feels blood welling beneath them.
He's not sure if it's pleasure or blood loss that's making his head swim, it's most likely a combination of both of them but he's not going to tell Tseng to stop. A strangled whimper of pain escapes his lips as Tseng cut into his hips but he helps Tseng guide his cock inside of him before grabbing Tseng's sides once more. Their skin is slick with blood but he still manages to get his nails deep as possible into Tseng's skin.
More blood runs down his thighs and he doesn't make any effort to stop it as Tseng's fingers dip into the cuts on his hips, holding him in place there. He can't think straight, all that overwhelms him is the pleasure of Tseng's cock stretching him out, how Tseng's fingers dip into the cuts in his skin. "Fuck- harder-"
That first thrust is hard enough to hurt. The fluid between them is already getting sticky. It doesn't matter; Rufus says harder, and Tseng grits his teeth and digs his fingers into the cuts he's opened until there's that sick squelch of flesh tearing beneath his hands. He doesn't want to like this as much as he does, doesn't want it to set him on fire and drag those low, sonorous sounds from his throat, but he doesn't have a choice in the matter, not when Rufus is tight and hot around him and begging for more.
Harder, he says, so Tseng crashes into him in a way that makes all his bones shudder. He can feel the snap of tension rolling like an earthquake through Rufus's whole body, and it drives him to thrust faster, more relentlessly, like he'll come undone if it doesn't sting every time. There's no option but to gasp for breath every time he moves, it's just too much, the pain, the clench, the blood running in rivers through his fingers.
What Rufus said comes back to him. He hisses in kind, "My Rufus."
Rufus can feel Tseng's fingers slip into the cuts on his hips, his eyes unfocused. There was a fleeting thought that he had lost a lot of blood by now but that doesn't stop him finally giving in to start stroking himself with a hard grasp.
Those two words cut through the haze and it's not just the pain that makes his breath catch. His life belonged to more than just himself, he was a Shinra and that made him more than just a mere person. But he could give a part of himself to Tseng like this, now he had the mark on his stomach that would be theirs along with the cut on Tseng's palm.
"Mine," Tseng repeats, coasting his fingers over the lotus he's carved over Rufus's ribs. The shaping of it was purely incidental; two cuts and the rest had resolved itself purely because the initial cuts matched. But now, it seems so apt, so perfectly suited to what has transpired here tonight.
He grasps Rufus's wrist, disentangles his fingers. He wraps his own hand around Rufus's cock instead, stroking him in time with his brutal thrusts.
"You're mine," he says again, breath and voice clipping as he goes faster, faster. The scent of blood is so thick, permeating every last one of his senses. All he can see is red. "Come for me."
He hangs onto Tseng's words, each one echoing in his mind as he felt his grasp on the world weakening. He wasn't sure if he was dying, it didn't matter since he wanted to feel every last bit of pleasure and pain that he could get. Precum mixes with the blood on his cock when Tseng's fingers replace his and Rufus doesn't hold back the moans and whimpers that escape his lips. This was dangerous, he could very well bleed out but he needed to feel this, to feel alive even on the verge of possible death.
His skin was pale and clammy by now, sweat running down his cheeks as he finally reaches his climax in Tseng's hand with a loud cry. "Mine..." he echoes faintly as he looks up at Tseng. He had never felt anything so intense but it threatened to pull him under as he struggles to retain consciousness.
"Always-" he collapses back onto the blood-soaked sheets, his grip on Tseng loosening.
The moment that Rufus spills over his hands, the instant that those shudders subside, Tseng acts. It is time to package everything away where it belongs, to put aside all thought and feeling and draw away from Rufus. He lets one hand trail over his bare chest so that his presence is not entirely absent, but he needs to focus.
The wounds on Rufus's ribs are his first priority. He's lost a lot of blood here. Tseng waves his hands over the wounds, haloed with the glow of materia magic. It is a quick mend, almost a novice's job, but it is intentional: he wants to leave these scars, wants them to heal as slowly as possible so that they might blossom into something beautiful. Hubris, maybe; perhaps Rufus will think twice about decisions made in bed when he is in a better state of mind. Tseng does not give him that option.
The rest is hardly of any concern. The wounds on his hips are not deep. One is broken and torn by his own hands, and he pours the rest of his magic into that, swallowing them into freshly-knit skin, disappeared forever.
And then he brushes back Rufus's hair. The tenderness seems appropriate.
Rufus feels Tseng pull out of him but he also feels the hand on his chest so he knows Tseng hasn't gone far. Everything feels warm as the materia closed the wounds and he feels like he's drifting in a haze. He reaches down to touch the freshly healed cuts on his chest, feeling the raised scar tissue. He's not sure what Tseng carved into his skin yet but he smiles, pleased.
He doesn't ask if Tseng has come just yet, he knew that they had to stop the bleeding before he bled out. He reaches out to touch Tseng's face with blood-stained hands as Tseng brushes back his hair, giving him a pleased smile. The worst of the pain had faded as the cuts were healed but the new scar on his chest was tender.
"Maybe I should rinse off first." He's not sure how they are going to replace the mattress and sheets so he can sleep in his bed tonight but he assumes Tseng can handle the logistics. "You can come on me if you want, Tseng."
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.
Rufus can't argue with that and he lays back on the bed as Tseng goes into the kitchen. His body feels limp and heavy, he looks down at the sheets and sees that they're soaked around him. That was going to be While Tseng works in the kitchen, he allows his eyes to drift closed until he hears him come back in.
He pulls himself up the best he can with Tseng's help, trying to take the cup himself but his fingers fail to grasp it, shaking as he finally just lets Tseng help him drink. He 's not sure what's in it, it tastes weird, but he knows that he needs something to help him recover after losing so much blood. He can see the full extent of how much blood covers his stomach and thighs, blood smeared down his arms. "I think my bed is ruined now," he laughs, leaning against Tseng as he reaches out to brush some dried blood from Tseng's cheek.
"It almost certainly is," Tseng concedes. He doesn't like this, the lack of strength in Rufus's hands. He wonders if this is what the future holds for him. Imagine that, with no reassurance that it will ever get better.
Or not. Tseng does not want to think about that. It's why it is imperative that their pact holds.
He presses his fingers to Rufus's throat. They clench, just for a second, while Tseng's eyes remain focused on his face, completely void of emotion.
"Do you see how vulnerable you are?" he asks, smoothing his fingers over the places he was just grasping, almost as if in apology.
His breath catches as Tseng presses his fingers to his throat but he doesn't flinch or look away from Tseng. He is vulnerable, the last two years had taught him that he had limits that even he couldn't overcome through sheer willpower alone.
"I understand." His voice is quiet as he carefully lets Tseng help him finish the drink. He wants to sleep but sleeping in bloody sheets was not appealing. "You're not going to lose me, Tseng. Not in the future, not now." Though he remembered the days when they all thought that they would lose him, when the pain and the symptoms were severe he could tell the others were preparing to say good-bye.
Tseng says nothing. He's not sure that is a promise Rufus can make. Because what if...
It doesn't matter. He helps Rufus finish his drink and watches while he does it. Once that is done, he presses a hand to Rufus's cheek, a warning before he slowly lays him back down and takes the cup from him, depositing it in the kitchen on his way to the bathroom.
He'll draw a bath for his president, silent and stony while he measures the temperature and waits for it to fill. There's a cleaner he can call to take care of the bed, which he figures they can do while Rufus is soaking. All that's left then is to retrieve him, striding silently back into the bedroom, reaching for Rufus's hand.
While Tseng returns the cup to the kitchen and starts running the bath, Rufus pulls himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. He's not going to try walking without help right away while he's still recovering from the blood loss, he's sure that Tseng will be back to help him to the bath.
And as soon as he does return, Rufus reaches out to take his hand. His legs feel slightly week but he manages to stay on his feet as he leans against Tseng. Over the last two years, he had developed a dislike of being carried since it made him feel helpless. "Thank you, Tseng," he murmured as he sinks into the water of the bath once Tseng helps him in. The water turns red as he starts to wash off the now dried blood. He could finally see the lotus on his chest more clearly, pleased with how it turned out.
Tseng turns on the jets to cycle through the water. No sense in marinating the president in his own blood. He offers helpful ministrations here and there, soaping up the spots that Rufus's cannot reach, his fingers kneading and scrubbing.
The similarities between this night and the night that started this whole thing are not lost on him. He'd been so resolute. He'd had no idea.
"Better?" he asks, scrubbing the flecks of blood from Rufus's hair. He can hear someone coming up the hall, feels his phone in his pocket vibrate, requesting entry. Must be the cleaners. He confirms with a brief tap and turns back to his work.
Rufus hears the sounds of someone in his room moving things around but he's not worried. No one can get in without being granted access by Tseng and he assumes his bed is being prepared. He relaxes in the water under Tseng's hands, letting out a sigh.
"Much better, though you need to get cleaned up as well," he remarks as he reaches up to touch Tseng's cheek to wipe away a little bit of the blood. He's not going to order Tseng to stay the night but this is his way of asking if he could. "Can't have you get the clean sheets dirty."
Tseng understands the question. He frowns, though that is all the effect that he will reveal from the deep pang of guilt seizing in his chest. He should stay. He knows he can't, but he should do it anyway.
"I would," he says, softening his tone, his fingers in Rufus's hair, for as long as it takes for him to explain. "I have to make preparations, sir. What transpired today cannot happen again."
He brushes his fingers over a mass of stains collected at the back of Rufus's neck. This was too much blood. He'll have to rein it in next time.
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"Beautiful," he murmurs, opening a curving shape in his skin and carving its mirror in crimson relief. He keeps this knife so very sharp; it cuts through like butter. When the blood comes, he presses his cheek to it, then his lips.
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A thought occurred to him as watched blood run down his stomach and pool. "I need a scar. One that is yours." All the scars he had were reminders that he had survived against all odds. That he had been stronger than anything else that had tried to break him.
He needed a scar that was on his own terms. "Make it hurt."
He wanted to see if Tseng could actually make him scream.
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This makes it decidedly unclear. But Tseng's blade is moving, carving, burrowing beneath the surface layer and digging into the dermis tissue below. He sees red everywhere, dripping down his face, spread in stark relief against Rufus's pale skin with his trailing fingers. He can hardly contain the moan that escapes him, hardly wants to mute such an honest sound from himself within the intimacy of this moment.
He draws more curves, radiating outwards.
"It will hurt," he promises, raking his nails over the cuts he's drawn, careful not to disturb his craft. The blood wells so beautifully against his cuticles.
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He lets out a small strangled cry as Tseng continues but he doesn't tell him to stop. He's not sure what Tseng is carving but he's sure that it will be flawless when it's done.
"Tseng-" it's not a plea for him to stop, he's addicted now he's chasing this high for as long as he can. This will change everything but he knows that he wants this without a doubt.
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He bows his head to lap the blood from his skin in long, lavishing licks. The taste of it is heady, potent, powerful. His whole mouth tingles in the aftermath. He feels drunk on it.
He hears his name, and his gaze drifts back to Rufus. Little droplets of red have clung to his lashes like dew, obscuring his vision. His entire face is painted with it. It gives him the strength to try something he's never done before.
"Rufus," he says, in a low whisper. The volume builds as he cuts deeper. "Rufus," becomes a chant, loving and condemning, despairing and deep within the throes of this twisted ecstasy. A sliver of flesh slides loose, hanging off the edge of his blade; he places it upon his tongue like a pill and leans over Rufus, thrusting it into his mouth.
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He gasps sharply as a piece of skin comes off, his breaths coming in soft pants. He reaches up to smear the blood across Tseng's cheeks, running his fingers down to his neck. Tseng had offered up his palm and his life to him years ago, now Rufus would make a sacrifice of his own.
He parts his lips to let Tseng's tongue inside his mouth along with the piece of skin, wrapping bloody hands around Tseng's waist to pull him down against his chest for a moment before running his fingers through black hair. He wanted to see Tseng's body covered in his blood as well. Let it cover him
The taste of his own blood in intoxicating, so sharp and powerful and he holds that sliver of skin between them for a moment, sucking on it.
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But they are not there now. This moment is blood bubbling like seafoam between their twisting bodies, Rufus's hands wrapping around him, painting him. The weight of his blood is thick, heavy, and Tseng shudders beneath it. He reaches for his belt and loosens it. His fingers coast along the line of Rufus's jaw, admiring him with his touch.
"Beautiful Rufus," he purrs, licking the blood from his lips, from his cheek, from his jaw. There is not a single part of him that does not taste like life. "Do you feel it yet?"
He drives his hips between Rufus's legs, pressing there, shuddering. Tseng has never wanted him more. He wonders aloud, "Or do you need more?"
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"I want to feel more, Tseng." The pain does nothing to dull his own arousal but he refuses to indulge himself just yet by giving his cock much wanted contact. Instead, he rubs his thumb against the head of Tseng's cock, watching his reaction intently as he licks his own blood from the corner of his lips. "My Tseng."
He had never doubted that since the first moment he had laid eyes on Tseng. They were meant to share this. "I want to feel everything."
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"You will," he promises, switching the blade in his grip. He knows Rufus's body so intimately well, knows all his favorite places to dig his fingers in when he's fucking him, and now is no different. Except that he scores them now first before he reaches for them, drawing two deep cuts across the swell of Rufus's hip bones, perfectly arranged for him to squeeze into while he grasps Rufus and drags him closer.
"Rufus," he snarls, letting the rush of blood smooth the drag of skin between them as he works his cock inside. Just lingering here, feeling how Rufus's body strains as he pushes against muscle and flesh, demanding to be permitted entry, is enough to drive him out of his fucking mind. His nails dig into those fresh wounds; he feels blood welling beneath them.
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More blood runs down his thighs and he doesn't make any effort to stop it as Tseng's fingers dip into the cuts on his hips, holding him in place there. He can't think straight, all that overwhelms him is the pleasure of Tseng's cock stretching him out, how Tseng's fingers dip into the cuts in his skin. "Fuck- harder-"
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Harder, he says, so Tseng crashes into him in a way that makes all his bones shudder. He can feel the snap of tension rolling like an earthquake through Rufus's whole body, and it drives him to thrust faster, more relentlessly, like he'll come undone if it doesn't sting every time. There's no option but to gasp for breath every time he moves, it's just too much, the pain, the clench, the blood running in rivers through his fingers.
What Rufus said comes back to him. He hisses in kind, "My Rufus."
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Those two words cut through the haze and it's not just the pain that makes his breath catch. His life belonged to more than just himself, he was a Shinra and that made him more than just a mere person. But he could give a part of himself to Tseng like this, now he had the mark on his stomach that would be theirs along with the cut on Tseng's palm.
"I'm yours, Tseng."
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He grasps Rufus's wrist, disentangles his fingers. He wraps his own hand around Rufus's cock instead, stroking him in time with his brutal thrusts.
"You're mine," he says again, breath and voice clipping as he goes faster, faster. The scent of blood is so thick, permeating every last one of his senses. All he can see is red. "Come for me."
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His skin was pale and clammy by now, sweat running down his cheeks as he finally reaches his climax in Tseng's hand with a loud cry. "Mine..." he echoes faintly as he looks up at Tseng. He had never felt anything so intense but it threatened to pull him under as he struggles to retain consciousness.
"Always-" he collapses back onto the blood-soaked sheets, his grip on Tseng loosening.
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The wounds on Rufus's ribs are his first priority. He's lost a lot of blood here. Tseng waves his hands over the wounds, haloed with the glow of materia magic. It is a quick mend, almost a novice's job, but it is intentional: he wants to leave these scars, wants them to heal as slowly as possible so that they might blossom into something beautiful. Hubris, maybe; perhaps Rufus will think twice about decisions made in bed when he is in a better state of mind. Tseng does not give him that option.
The rest is hardly of any concern. The wounds on his hips are not deep. One is broken and torn by his own hands, and he pours the rest of his magic into that, swallowing them into freshly-knit skin, disappeared forever.
And then he brushes back Rufus's hair. The tenderness seems appropriate.
"Tell me what you need," he says softly.
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He doesn't ask if Tseng has come just yet, he knew that they had to stop the bleeding before he bled out. He reaches out to touch Tseng's face with blood-stained hands as Tseng brushes back his hair, giving him a pleased smile. The worst of the pain had faded as the cuts were healed but the new scar on his chest was tender.
"Maybe I should rinse off first." He's not sure how they are going to replace the mattress and sheets so he can sleep in his bed tonight but he assumes Tseng can handle the logistics. "You can come on me if you want, Tseng."
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"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.
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He pulls himself up the best he can with Tseng's help, trying to take the cup himself but his fingers fail to grasp it, shaking as he finally just lets Tseng help him drink. He 's not sure what's in it, it tastes weird, but he knows that he needs something to help him recover after losing so much blood. He can see the full extent of how much blood covers his stomach and thighs, blood smeared down his arms. "I think my bed is ruined now," he laughs, leaning against Tseng as he reaches out to brush some dried blood from Tseng's cheek.
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Or not. Tseng does not want to think about that. It's why it is imperative that their pact holds.
He presses his fingers to Rufus's throat. They clench, just for a second, while Tseng's eyes remain focused on his face, completely void of emotion.
"Do you see how vulnerable you are?" he asks, smoothing his fingers over the places he was just grasping, almost as if in apology.
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"I understand." His voice is quiet as he carefully lets Tseng help him finish the drink. He wants to sleep but sleeping in bloody sheets was not appealing. "You're not going to lose me, Tseng. Not in the future, not now." Though he remembered the days when they all thought that they would lose him, when the pain and the symptoms were severe he could tell the others were preparing to say good-bye.
"I promise you, Tseng."
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It doesn't matter. He helps Rufus finish his drink and watches while he does it. Once that is done, he presses a hand to Rufus's cheek, a warning before he slowly lays him back down and takes the cup from him, depositing it in the kitchen on his way to the bathroom.
He'll draw a bath for his president, silent and stony while he measures the temperature and waits for it to fill. There's a cleaner he can call to take care of the bed, which he figures they can do while Rufus is soaking. All that's left then is to retrieve him, striding silently back into the bedroom, reaching for Rufus's hand.
"Hold on to me, Mr. President," he says.
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And as soon as he does return, Rufus reaches out to take his hand. His legs feel slightly week but he manages to stay on his feet as he leans against Tseng. Over the last two years, he had developed a dislike of being carried since it made him feel helpless. "Thank you, Tseng," he murmured as he sinks into the water of the bath once Tseng helps him in. The water turns red as he starts to wash off the now dried blood. He could finally see the lotus on his chest more clearly, pleased with how it turned out.
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The similarities between this night and the night that started this whole thing are not lost on him. He'd been so resolute. He'd had no idea.
"Better?" he asks, scrubbing the flecks of blood from Rufus's hair. He can hear someone coming up the hall, feels his phone in his pocket vibrate, requesting entry. Must be the cleaners. He confirms with a brief tap and turns back to his work.
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"Much better, though you need to get cleaned up as well," he remarks as he reaches up to touch Tseng's cheek to wipe away a little bit of the blood. He's not going to order Tseng to stay the night but this is his way of asking if he could. "Can't have you get the clean sheets dirty."
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"I would," he says, softening his tone, his fingers in Rufus's hair, for as long as it takes for him to explain. "I have to make preparations, sir. What transpired today cannot happen again."
He brushes his fingers over a mass of stains collected at the back of Rufus's neck. This was too much blood. He'll have to rein it in next time.
"I will see you to bed."
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