They're antagonising him, which is something they both should know better than to do.
Rufus keeps hounding Bunansa stock - it leaves Tseng watching the abbreviation BNS bounce up and down in the day like an indecisive float. Rufus plays a vicious game of bidding the price up before flooding the market.People have started shorting because they're too confused and too sane to believe that all this is is a cockfight between boys playing at being men; Rufus using his allowance money and Balthier using his audacity. Tseng's glad to hear the closing bell.
Balthier, for his part, keeps visiting. This chafes. The unspoken agreement has - had - many rules, not the least of which being one of distinct territoriality. The Atlantic is only just wide enough to keep Balthier's antics insulated, and that's on a good day. With the man in New York on what seems to be a bizarre and interminable holiday, the city's beginning to feel too small.
They're antagonising Tseng. No matter the kind of man they're both trying to be, they still act exactly as they were raised.
'You've reached me,' Tseng answers his phone. He's still too hard to find in his homeground - Balthier's best chance of locating him is to stakeout Tseng's apartment, but the neighbourhood's too grubby for his tastes and Tseng, unlike some, has work to do that keeps him all hours. They talk like they're still miles apart. 'What do you want?'
'You're a very irritating man,' Balthier tells him.
'This call is going to be nothing but you trying to get to me,' Tseng says, flatly. 'I have a living to earn. You have to do better than this.'
'Are we ever going to talk about this in a civilised way?' Balthier asks.
'You're the one who invaded my privacy.'
'Privacy?' Balthier snorts. 'Privacy's one thing - disclosure's another matter altogether. You owe me more than -'
'I suggest you treat the next few minutes very carefully,' Tseng says, softly. 'I don't owe you anything. I could count the number of times you've trawled the streets looking for pretty faces whenever I couldn't keep you occupied.'
'Someone once told me he valued honesty.'
'Mm,' Tseng nods, even though Balthier can't see him. 'So I kept my affairs discreet while you flashed yours in my face. In what? An attempt at showing me how lucky I was and am to have you?' Most men get angry. Tseng gets amused. It's terrible to be subject to. 'Who is, Balthier, the better man here?' There's a sound of shifting cloth, and brief static. 'Call me back tonight at about ten if you require any further comforting. Business needs tending. Rufus, give me those files -'
Dialtone.
At ten o three, Rufus' fingernails are cutting blunt condensation streaks down the windows of his glass-tower-office. They don't mix business and pleasure, not usually, but Tseng's close to efferverscent when he's vexed, and Rufus likes to push their line farther and farther and father whenever he can. They're both still mostly dressed, and it's not so much a fuck as a rut - hips and mouths and tongue and noise and the whole damned world stretched out bare and beautiful beyond them. Rufus' teeth on Tseng's neck because his streak of possessiveness has taken a sudden deeper shade.
Tseng's phone rings. Rufus almost snarls, but Tseng slams him backwards and shoots him a warning glance before he reaches into his pocket to take out his mobile. He nudges it open with his chin, dark eyes on icy blue, and says hello, his voice dripping with all the hoarseness it never has.
no subject
Rufus keeps hounding Bunansa stock - it leaves Tseng watching the abbreviation BNS bounce up and down in the day like an indecisive float. Rufus plays a vicious game of bidding the price up before flooding the market.People have started shorting because they're too confused and too sane to believe that all this is is a cockfight between boys playing at being men; Rufus using his allowance money and Balthier using his audacity. Tseng's glad to hear the closing bell.
Balthier, for his part, keeps visiting. This chafes. The unspoken agreement has - had - many rules, not the least of which being one of distinct territoriality. The Atlantic is only just wide enough to keep Balthier's antics insulated, and that's on a good day. With the man in New York on what seems to be a bizarre and interminable holiday, the city's beginning to feel too small.
They're antagonising Tseng. No matter the kind of man they're both trying to be, they still act exactly as they were raised.
'You've reached me,' Tseng answers his phone. He's still too hard to find in his homeground - Balthier's best chance of locating him is to stakeout Tseng's apartment, but the neighbourhood's too grubby for his tastes and Tseng, unlike some, has work to do that keeps him all hours. They talk like they're still miles apart. 'What do you want?'
'You're a very irritating man,' Balthier tells him.
'This call is going to be nothing but you trying to get to me,' Tseng says, flatly. 'I have a living to earn. You have to do better than this.'
'Are we ever going to talk about this in a civilised way?' Balthier asks.
'You're the one who invaded my privacy.'
'Privacy?' Balthier snorts. 'Privacy's one thing - disclosure's another matter altogether. You owe me more than -'
'I suggest you treat the next few minutes very carefully,' Tseng says, softly. 'I don't owe you anything. I could count the number of times you've trawled the streets looking for pretty faces whenever I couldn't keep you occupied.'
'Someone once told me he valued honesty.'
'Mm,' Tseng nods, even though Balthier can't see him. 'So I kept my affairs discreet while you flashed yours in my face. In what? An attempt at showing me how lucky I was and am to have you?' Most men get angry. Tseng gets amused. It's terrible to be subject to. 'Who is, Balthier, the better man here?' There's a sound of shifting cloth, and brief static. 'Call me back tonight at about ten if you require any further comforting. Business needs tending. Rufus, give me those files -'
Dialtone.
At ten o three, Rufus' fingernails are cutting blunt condensation streaks down the windows of his glass-tower-office. They don't mix business and pleasure, not usually, but Tseng's close to efferverscent when he's vexed, and Rufus likes to push their line farther and farther and father whenever he can. They're both still mostly dressed, and it's not so much a fuck as a rut - hips and mouths and tongue and noise and the whole damned world stretched out bare and beautiful beyond them. Rufus' teeth on Tseng's neck because his streak of possessiveness has taken a sudden deeper shade.
Tseng's phone rings. Rufus almost snarls, but Tseng slams him backwards and shoots him a warning glance before he reaches into his pocket to take out his mobile. He nudges it open with his chin, dark eyes on icy blue, and says hello, his voice dripping with all the hoarseness it never has.