"Kiss me." Call it either a request, or a demand -- how those words were phrased did nothing to change the act expected there. Level was the gaze meeting the man enshrouded in shadow. Icy orbs were piercing in contrast to the suggestion implicated in the glass still in his hand and the burning sensation still tainting his lips. But this is not the effect of one. He took another sip.
There have been a many unreasonable requests in the years that he has worked with the illustrious Shinra family-- and while this one is outlandish, and almost mocking in a sense, it is not by far the strangest request he has ever encountered with the Shinra family. Of course, most of these odder request came when he was reporting to the Vice - President’s father, so it came as a surprise that something like this would befall the ashen lips of his charge.
The company that the Vice - President kept was enough to keep his primal cravings sated, so there was no need for such a request to be answered by the Turk, alas in the years he’s worked for the family-- he’s learned that things simply sound like a request and they are in fact orders. So-- he moves from the shadows, still at lecture and imposing, for he is meant to blend in regardless of his heritage, and he does a damn good job of staying out of view ( even when the Vice - President has company ).
Expensive shoes fall on expensive marble, the noise echoing in the tall and grande ceilings, and it’s nothing that strikes him as abnormal, everything is in place, however he is simply bridging the gap between his protective post and his charge. He does not feel much for the young man-- perhaps protectiveness, but it is not paternal in nature. Maybe, the protectiveness is forged in unlikely understanding, regardless of each of their shortcomings and their unlikely beginnings.
So the gap is closed, with much reluctance, but closed nonetheless. And he looms, almost halfheartedly over Rufus, studying marble like features for a moment, digits twitch-- before coming to the younger’s crown to brush aside stray fringe. And there is a fluttering of something for the briefest of moments, but like all emotional calculations it is cast aside. Digits moves lazily from this prince’s crown to trace the line of his jaw for a moment, only to have fingers retract, careful not to mar fine art.
But-- thumb and forefinger jolt to grab at the younger’s chin and force icy hues to to lock with onyx hues, and he holds this position to lord power for a moment more. Only then, does he lower himself, free hand falling to the sofa and sinking into the expensive cushion-- tie falls from it’s clipping as the older man leans close, and breath could be warm on skin, but Tseng tilts his head, lips are pressed to the corner of the younger’s mouth-- lingering for only a moment.
Then he retreats, for he is playing with fire-- hands retract, and Tseng returns to standing at lecture, free hand comes to flatten his tie and adjust his suit.
“Will that be all, Mister Shinra?”
