K (karanguni) wrote in nasdack, @ 2008-10-22 14:37:00 |
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Before Balthier - doesn't really get why, but on the rare occasion Tseng thinks actually sleeping together is permissible, Tseng sleeps with his nose pushed right to the back of Balthier's neck. His breath tickles, but Balthier gets used to the novelty. He doesn't sleep much anyway, his brain ticks too fast and too hungrily for that. It's not a caffeine buzz when his last espresso was at 2pm. Balthier just doesn't sleep; he thinks in circles and lines and explosive bursts, laterally and linear, logically and illogically; he can't tolerate being still, even when he is. Tseng always sleeps like he hasn't slept in years. Tseng doesn't get why he does it either, but Balthier smells good. The man drinks too much coffee and smokes too much, he should smell like shit. Of everyone Tseng knows, only Reno is as caffeinated and as cancer-bound as Balthier, and Reno always stinks like he crawled out of a hobo's hotel. Balthier moisturises, Tseng decides, and far too often for him to smell that good all the time. In Tokyo Tseng caves and lets Balthier stay the night. The city swallows him. Tseng doesn't come here often, but when he does Tokyo disturbs him enough with false familiarity; too Western, too Eastern, and Tseng finds himself wanting a familiar face when he wakes up, a face that isn't his own. Tseng remembers why he so rarely lets Balthier sleep in his bed, when, for the ten seconds after waking before Tseng remembers himself, Tseng murmurs: "You smell good." "...not like sour milk?" Balthier asks, grinning. He turns and props himself up on one arm. He looks like he hasn't slept all night. "You don't smell like rice either, just in case you were wondering." "I'm American, Balthier. No matter what I look like. Rice is one of a multitude of supplies available for consumption in an American's world of excess." Balthier shrugs. "Well, I'm lactose intolerant. Never touch milk. I suppose there could be something intelligent said about that, we are what we eat, absence versus excess. If a man were prone to pontificate, that is." When Balthier rolls on top of him, Tseng deigns not to open his mouth. He presses his face against the light fuzz of Balthier's chest and breathes him. Balthier's hand coils through his hair and finds the knots. Tseng winces. Tseng winces again when Balthier's free hand seeks lower. "...so I shouldn't take you out for breakfast sushi then?" Tseng grunts and tilts his hips. "That's Japanese, you ignorant swine-eater. I'm from China." "I thought you said you were American." Mornings are a terrible time. They're both too hard for anything but force. Tseng pants when he speaks. "Where a man is from has nothing to do with who he is." "Oh," Balthier purrs, "this doesn't happen often, so allow me to gloat: You are so sadly mistaken, my little--" "If you say 'Chinaman' I'm biting your cock off." "You and your promises." Balthier chides, happily. His palm is sticky when he cups Tseng's chin. "Put your mouth where your money is, first." Tseng does. It might be 6am after a hard night and a harder day, but Balthier always finds some way to come out of a shitstorm smelling like roses. |
Earlier 'Rufus is going to destroy you,' Tseng announces to Balthier when he gets into his apartment after a day full of fielding phone calls and covert text-messages. He's tired of being the grounds for a stupid case of guerrilla warfare, Balthier supposes. 'Does anyone ever surprise you?' Balthier asks from his place on Tseng's couch. He's not here invited, and Tseng does not give keys out to anyone. 'Rarely,' Tseng says, shrugging out of his jacket and placing his briefcase down. 'You were eying the lock the last time you were over. This is the sort of card you'll pull now that the two of you are determined not to let each other realise that you're both still seeing me.' 'You're wasted on banking,' Balthier sighs. 'And you need better security.' 'No, I don't.' Tseng gestures at his apartment. 'What is there here to steal? What I need is for my associates to develop a sense of courtesy.' He jerks his tie off in short, sharp motions. It's more than Tseng lets Rufus see. Balthier sprawls. Tseng's a thing to observe when he's in motion: for a man that's so often so still, he moves with electricity and alacrity. 'Mm. You were saying about Shinra?' 'I've tried speaking with him,' Tseng says as he strips out of his dress shirt and slides into a simple cotton top. He looks exactly the same either way. 'He's deaf. I'm hoping that you don't share that particular disability. There'll be carnage if the two of you both decide to fight.' 'I like fighting,' Balthier murmurs. 'People make such excellent noises when they go down.' Tseng doesn't respond; he walks over to the couch instead and waves something in front of Balthier's nose. Balthier raises an eyebrow. 'Still playing?' 'Only momentarily. I'm giving you a trump card, Bunansa.' Tseng flips the small band of metal into Balthier's face. He catches it, staring. 'If you decide to use it to fuck up,' Tseng says, 'I won't be here to mop up the mess. Keep it properly. Now get out of my apartment.' Balthier knows when to beat a retreat. He gets up, stopping only to grab Tseng by the shoulder to pull him in for one brief, hard kiss that devours everything, thought, distance, breath. It feels like a last kiss. Balthier hardly ever kisses. He thinks he's going to change that, starting now. 'You're so appealing when you're angry." The look Tseng shoots him would've chilled a lesser man. Balthier slips the ring into his jacket pocket and pats it before he sails out of the door. |