Silhouette

Rude/Tseng. NC-17. ~1250 words. For Spring Kink.
Black suits, flat eyes and vicious smiles, that’s all anybody ever really sees.

Rude spends a lot of time keeping an eye on things. Since Reno spends a lot of time running his mouth off, not giving anyone the choice to miss his flash, it works out just fine. Most people don’t remember what they look like, Reno a blur of sound and movement, Rude a dark shadow behind him. Black suits, flat eyes and vicious smiles, that’s all anybody ever really sees.

What Rude spends a lot of time trying to figure out is why nobody ever remembers Tseng either. He’s not too much to handle like Reno, or too little to pin down like Rude. He’s slick, smooth, sophisticated, polite and polished and a gun to your head. He walks into a room and you know he’s there, he walks back out again and you don’t notice he’s gone. There’s nothing average about him, plenty that’s remarkable right from the silky flow of his voice to the sharp-edged angles of his face, and he still never leaves anything solid behind.

Tseng is elusive. A misty, shadowy memory to everyone that doesn’t count.

He hands Rude a foam cup filled to the brim with cheap lukewarm coffee. The brew stinks of burnt filters and cigarette butts.

“There’s been a delay in the shipments,” Tseng says. Rude shifts his weight, letting the black sedan behind him take most of it. “We’ll be waiting another two hours at the least.”

“Reno tells jokes.”

Tseng’s smile is easy. A hell of a lot more easy than Rude thought the first time he walked into a room and met Tseng’s steady gaze. “Thankfully, I don’t have Reno’s sense of humour.”

Sometimes, even after all this time, Rude’s silences visibly grate on Reno’s nerves. Tseng leans against the car next to Rude and lets it reign.

“You going to drink that?” Rude nods at the cup in Tseng’s hand. Tseng’s bare fingers are slim, his skin stark against the black of his half-gloves and coloured somewhere between the dark chocolate of Rude’s and the milk-white of Reno’s. More golden than browned from the sun. Foreign, like his face and his voice.

Tseng glances down at the coffee and doesn’t hide his disgust. “I suppose not.” He hands it over when Rude gestures for it, a subtle, approving sort of light in his eyes when Rude turns back from chucking both cups in the trash. “Do you tell jokes?”

“Reno thinks I’m funny.”

“Forget I asked.”

Rude quirks a smile. Most of the time, he likes his job. He doesn’t have a peculiar fondness for blood or enjoy the crunch of bones breaking, but there’s a certain sort of satisfaction in a good day’s work. It doesn’t leave a lot of time for leisure or relationships, and that might’ve been an issue if Rude built toothpick houses or had a ring on his finger.

“Reno gets bored easy, too,” Rude says, stepping out from the car and pulling the door open. Tseng’s glance is a question but he gets inside without a word. When the door clicks shut, Rude says, “Gawker on the right, half a block down.”

“Too sloppy to be much of a concern.” Tseng twists away from the window, smoothing his knuckles across his lips. “Send a neighbourhood watch.”

Rude nods, slipping his phone back inside his jacket afterward. He keeps one eye on the street and the other on Tseng. The times he’s on a job with Tseng are few and far between. He’s subtle about watching out of habit, not because he thinks Tseng won’t notice.

“Reno wouldn’t wait for an invitation, would he,” Tseng says.

A ripple like a breath on water flows up Rude’s spine. “Not his style.”

Cotton shifts on leather, the seat clunks back and Tseng is on the floor between Rude’s knees. Tseng’s eyes are dark as his hair, bright and glittering against the whites. Outside, the man watching the car shouts and curses at the guards shuffling him away.

Tseng is slow where Reno’d be quick, quiet where Reno’d run his mouth off. Pushing Rude’s pants open instead of just hauling his cock out, Tseng takes the time to stroke him fully hard. The rough edges of Tseng’s gloves are like flint sparking against his nerves, flaring hot in the warmth already coiled in his gut.

Deft fingertips skim over the head of Rude’s cock and come away wet. “No need to be quiet this time, unless that’s what you like,” Tseng says.

Tseng’s breath is a warm tease on aching flesh, and Rude doesn’t think he’d have managed to hold back that groan either way. “You want me to do the talking?”

“A little encouragement never hurt anyone,” Tseng says, his tongue a quick flash of pink on his lips. He watches Rude’s face as it curls over the slit, slips under foreskin to trace the ridge with the very tip. “Lots of tongue, or more sucking?”

“Whatever gets you off.” Rude’s chest goes tight as Tseng quits toying with the foreskin and drags it down, following with the flat of his tongue, his lips, his mouth closing tight and warm and soft around Rude’s cock. “Both,” Rude says, the word pulled straight from the pit of his stomach as Tseng swallows.

Tseng wraps one hand around the base, his own spit shining wet on skin and leather as he works Rude’s cock. His other hand wanders, steals Rude’s attention and his breath in bits and pieces: fingers firm on his balls, skin-warmed metal scraping his thigh, nails scratching through the thin line of hair on his belly.

Wrapping his hand in the thick weight of Tseng’s hair, Rude urges Tseng’s head down, rolls his hips and hears himself make noise when the head of his cock bumps the back of Tseng’s throat. Tseng sucks in quick, hasty breaths, lets him do it once, twice more before pulling back, working Rude fast with hand and mouth and eyes flickering quick, almost impatient glances at Rude’s face.

And Rude’s close, trembling right on the edge already, when warm leather cradles his balls, and slick fingers ease beneath, find his hole, the electric anticipation skittering across his skin surging to a pitch and breaking before Tseng’s finger sinks in past the first knuckle. Over the rasp of his own breath, he hears Tseng moaning for the thick spill of his come, opens his eyes to see Tseng’s mouth full of it, tongue coated white swirling around the glistening head, smearing it around just to lick it up again.

Tseng pulls back, lips flushed and wet, swallows one last time so slowly that seems like it’s all for Rude’s benefit but he knows better. “Reno tells me you like to kiss,” Tseng says, offers, and Rude leans down to close the distance between them and find out what Tseng’s mouth tastes like with come still clinging to his tongue.

Tseng’s kiss turns out to be as deliberate as it is genuine, satisfied and not quite careful. Somewhere in the middle of it, he zips Rude up and rises, smoothing the wrinkles out of Rude’s jacket before their kiss breaks.

Tseng slides back onto the seat, his hair pushed back into place and a faint stain of colour on his cheeks. His lips are thick and he touches them with a sort of absent pleasure that’s surprising and maybe shouldn’t be.

Reflected in the window, Rude sees him watching.

End

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