rapacityinblue (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rapacityinblue) wrote2012-01-01 07:38 pm
rapacityinblue) wrote2012-01-01 07:38 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Title: Business Arrangement
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII, Advent Children
Spoilers: OGC and AC
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Rufus calls Reeve in for a meeting
Pairing: Rufus/Reeve
Word Count: 1807
Warnings: Slash, graphic sex
Notes: Written for Stars. 500 Themes Prompt 19: Fragmented Truths. Sloppy, unbeta'd NaNo Pornfic? Yup.
Rufus kept the lodge dark. Stepping inside was like stepping into night, and Reeve suspected he liked the discomfort it caused his visitors as much as the actual dark itself. By now, he was used to it, visiting in this semi-twilight. He didn’t start when Tseng moved out of the shadows toward him, only followed the Turk through the empty halls to Rufus’s bedroom.
“I feel like I’m venturing into the dragon’s den,” he muttered as Tseng left the room, and he heard Rufus’s low chuckle in return as the younger man moved toward him.
“Like a virgin about to be devoured, I’ve no doubt.” Like the lights, Rufus’s voice was pitched low enough that Reeve had to strain to hear. He didn’t doubt that it was another unsubtle attempt at control. The balance between them was as uneasy as ever, and it seemed Rufus was willing to grasp at any advantage that might give him an edge.
“Are you calling me a sacrifice?” It would probably be more productive in these meetings if they didn’t both approach them ready for a fight, he mused.
“I’m not calling you anything, Reeve,” Rufus’s words were bland and calm, completely devoid of emotion. Rufus had all the depth and definition of the great glacier, and his tone hovered at roughly the same temperature. “If you feel like a sacrifice, maybe you should consider why that is.”
Reeve rolled his eyes, glancing upwards as if the answer was written on the ceiling. “Stop putting words in my mouth, Rufus,” he murmured.
Rufus snapped back, “Then stop putting words in mine, Reeve.”
They stood across the room from each other. Reeve waited patiently, his eyes locked on Rufus’s. His heart was beating too fast and he knew Rufus knew -- the same way he could see the heavy rise and fall of Rufus’s chest beneath his coat and vest.
“Stop wasting my time and get to the point,” Rufus said eventually, turning his back on Reeve. His shoulders were stiff and tight, his spine locked with frustration.
“That won’t work on me, Rufus.” Reeve heard his voice drop to something lower, almost soft, as he took another step forward. He rested a hand on the other man’s shoulder, feeling his heat sear through the layers of fabric. Rufus was always too hot, no matter what the temperature was in the room. It was the fever that accompanied the stigma, Reeve knew. Beyond the rash and bruises that layered his body was the damage inside, eating away at him. Reeve could feel it, not just where his hand rested on Rufus’s shoulder, but in the air between them. There was little more than a breath of space between his chest and Rufus’s back, and it seared. “Remember, I know you.”
“Do you?” When he turned, Rufus’s posture was as languid and relaxed, all the stress gone. He held himself like a giant cat, fitting with the temperature his body was projecting, and lounged against the desk. “Show me.”
It was as much of a command as any Reeve had ever heard, but he couldn’t give himself that easily. He stayed precisely where he was, neither pushing closer nor widening the distance between them. “I’ve tried, Rufus. You should know that better than anyone.”
Rufus’s lips curled into a smile that lacked any sort of humor. There was knowledge between his eyes, a glint that held both light and darkness. “Do I?” he asked.
Reeve didn’t answer with words. Words had never gotten through to the other man before, and he didn’t expect that today, suddenly, there would be a difference. Instead, he reached out, putting his palm against Rufus’s cheek.
If it hadn’t been for the burning heat, he might have been touching a statue. Rufus’s cheekbones were sharp and hard against his skin. The fever had long ago burned away any fat or muscle beneath the skin, leaving nothing but heat, bone, and a softness in his skin that spoke to years of illness and malnutrition.
Rufus stared him down, unflinching, and he didn’t move toward the touch or into the shelter of Reeve’s body. He simply waited until Reeve took the final step, pressing their lips together.
Suddenly, Rufus was there, present in the kiss. He took control away from Reeve, and Reeve didn’t fight him for it, letting Rufus turn them until his hips hit the edge of the desk. Rufus’s tongue swept past his lips and dominated his mouth, stealing Reeve’s breath away as his hands moved inside the older man’s coat.
It wasn’t the first time he’d found himself here, and it was everything he’d expected when his cell phone had chimed with the summons from Rufus. He let the younger man pin him, wiry arms caging him in on either side, fingers curled around the edge of the desk. Reeve kept his own hands down, careful not to touch until he had Rufus’s tacit approval. The younger man would never say what he wanted outright, but Reeve knew, by now, what he liked. How he wanted his lovers. Not everything had to be a struggle, or a power play, and Reeve didn’t mind bending his own pride if it satisfied Rufus.
The kiss lasted past their natural breath, until Reeve was swaying dizzily between the confines of Rufus’s arms. He stabilized as Rufus pressed their bodies together, holding Reeve up with his own weight as he dropped the coat from Reeve’s shoulders, letting it pool on the desk top. Once his arms were free, he brought his hands to rest on the sharp angles of Rufus’s hips, his thumbs tracing circles over the raw silk of the other man’s trousers. Every movement with Rufus had to be slow, carefully presented. He treated the younger man like a skittish animal, ready to bolt at any minute.
Rufus’s hands were firm, demanding what they wanted, and Reeve release his grip to let the other man turn him again. The desk hit him just at his hips, and Rufus pushed him down, already pulling his shirt free of his waistband. He felt that hot, dry touch against his skin, one hand pushing up his spine. The other was busy at Reeve’s fly, freeing him before pushing his pants down in one smooth motion.
He barely felt the sudden cold as Rufus pushed in behind him. He heard the rustle of cloth as Rufus freed his own length, and then they were skin to skin, close enough to breathe the same air as they moved together.
Rufus’s arms came around Reeve again, his hands resting on top of the older mans as he bore Reeve down toward the desk. Not an act of tenderness; one of control, to keep Reeve pinned beneath him as the head of his cock nudged damp against Reeve’s bare thigh.
Rufus had never been big on foreplay. Reeve closed his eyes as he felt the first press of Rufus’s length at his entrance. He was already stretched to take his lover in. He’d known, from the moment he received the text message, what Rufus expected of him. He’d pretended his own fingers were Rufus’s, stretched out on his bed with his legs spread and his pants pushed to his knees. He’d pretended that his own harsh breathing was the sound of Rufus affected by his touch; imagined a lover willing to touch him this way, willing to kiss him.
Instead, he had Rufus. Rufus, who paused only long enough to slick his own cock (he must have hidden lube somewhere, he’d never spit into his hand) before pushing hard into Reeve with one quick thrust. He didn’t ask or pause to check if Reeve was ready for him before sliding home.
Rufus moved his hands from where they held Reeve’s and gripped his hips instead, pulling them up to an angle that let him sink in deeper, until his cock hit Reeve’s prostate, pushing him forward against the desk. He set up a hard, punishing rhythm that kept Reeve pinned beneath him, even if he’d wanted to move.
He didn’t. He closed his eyes and curled his fingers into the wood of the desktop, rocking back with each of Rufus’s thrusts. “You might as well go ahead. You will eventually,” Rufus murmured, his voice silky against Reeve’s ear. Reeve didn’t hesitate to drop his hand from the desk to wrap around his own hardness, stroking in fast, rough jerks that barely matched the rhythm Rufus had begun.
It wasn’t much longer after that Rufus reached his peak, shoving Reeve down with the force of his climax. Reeve followed soon after, feeling the sudden heat as Rufus spilled into him and filled him. He lay with his cheek against Rufus’s blotter, and there would probably be a spiral mark indented in his skin, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind at the moment.
“You should take better care of yourself,” Rufus remarked as he pulled back. He kept fresh towels in the top drawer of his desk; Reeve reached for one without a second thought to clean himself. He only turned to face Rufus when his pants were back around his hips, his fingers deft as they refastened his belt buckle.
“Because of the stigma?” He raised one eyebrow, his fingers raking over what little skin Rufus was still displaying. The mark of Jenova’s cells, slowly destroying his body from the inside, spread across his shoulders and neck. “I think we both know I’m not at risk, Rufus.”
“I wasn’t speaking of the stigma,” Rufus replied flatly. If there was even so much as a flicker of regret across his face, Reeve missed it. “Did you bring the permits?”
Wordlessly, Reeve reached into his pocket, handing a stack of folded papers over. Rufus’s fingertips barely grazed his in the transfer and he flipped through them with his eyebrows high.
“As always, your attempts at cleverness are nothing if not amusing. Did you bring the rest of the permits?” Rufus let the stack fall as carefully as he’d taken it, the papers scattering across the desk.
“I brought you what I could, Rufus. I brought what you may have.” It was by no means everything the other man had asked for, but Reeve wouldn’t allow ShinRa to build another monopoly.
Rufus didn’t bother arguing, nor did he indulge Reeve by looking again at the permits he had obtained. It would be too much like weakness, to let the other man see him planning with what he had.
And Reeve didn’t expect Rufus to see him out, either. His eyes cast down, he let himself out of the room, hearing the door shut with a heavy and solid click behind him. He drew in another deep breath and released it, and then he moved on.
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII, Advent Children
Spoilers: OGC and AC
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Rufus calls Reeve in for a meeting
Pairing: Rufus/Reeve
Word Count: 1807
Warnings: Slash, graphic sex
Notes: Written for Stars. 500 Themes Prompt 19: Fragmented Truths. Sloppy, unbeta'd NaNo Pornfic? Yup.
Rufus kept the lodge dark. Stepping inside was like stepping into night, and Reeve suspected he liked the discomfort it caused his visitors as much as the actual dark itself. By now, he was used to it, visiting in this semi-twilight. He didn’t start when Tseng moved out of the shadows toward him, only followed the Turk through the empty halls to Rufus’s bedroom.
“I feel like I’m venturing into the dragon’s den,” he muttered as Tseng left the room, and he heard Rufus’s low chuckle in return as the younger man moved toward him.
“Like a virgin about to be devoured, I’ve no doubt.” Like the lights, Rufus’s voice was pitched low enough that Reeve had to strain to hear. He didn’t doubt that it was another unsubtle attempt at control. The balance between them was as uneasy as ever, and it seemed Rufus was willing to grasp at any advantage that might give him an edge.
“Are you calling me a sacrifice?” It would probably be more productive in these meetings if they didn’t both approach them ready for a fight, he mused.
“I’m not calling you anything, Reeve,” Rufus’s words were bland and calm, completely devoid of emotion. Rufus had all the depth and definition of the great glacier, and his tone hovered at roughly the same temperature. “If you feel like a sacrifice, maybe you should consider why that is.”
Reeve rolled his eyes, glancing upwards as if the answer was written on the ceiling. “Stop putting words in my mouth, Rufus,” he murmured.
Rufus snapped back, “Then stop putting words in mine, Reeve.”
They stood across the room from each other. Reeve waited patiently, his eyes locked on Rufus’s. His heart was beating too fast and he knew Rufus knew -- the same way he could see the heavy rise and fall of Rufus’s chest beneath his coat and vest.
“Stop wasting my time and get to the point,” Rufus said eventually, turning his back on Reeve. His shoulders were stiff and tight, his spine locked with frustration.
“That won’t work on me, Rufus.” Reeve heard his voice drop to something lower, almost soft, as he took another step forward. He rested a hand on the other man’s shoulder, feeling his heat sear through the layers of fabric. Rufus was always too hot, no matter what the temperature was in the room. It was the fever that accompanied the stigma, Reeve knew. Beyond the rash and bruises that layered his body was the damage inside, eating away at him. Reeve could feel it, not just where his hand rested on Rufus’s shoulder, but in the air between them. There was little more than a breath of space between his chest and Rufus’s back, and it seared. “Remember, I know you.”
“Do you?” When he turned, Rufus’s posture was as languid and relaxed, all the stress gone. He held himself like a giant cat, fitting with the temperature his body was projecting, and lounged against the desk. “Show me.”
It was as much of a command as any Reeve had ever heard, but he couldn’t give himself that easily. He stayed precisely where he was, neither pushing closer nor widening the distance between them. “I’ve tried, Rufus. You should know that better than anyone.”
Rufus’s lips curled into a smile that lacked any sort of humor. There was knowledge between his eyes, a glint that held both light and darkness. “Do I?” he asked.
Reeve didn’t answer with words. Words had never gotten through to the other man before, and he didn’t expect that today, suddenly, there would be a difference. Instead, he reached out, putting his palm against Rufus’s cheek.
If it hadn’t been for the burning heat, he might have been touching a statue. Rufus’s cheekbones were sharp and hard against his skin. The fever had long ago burned away any fat or muscle beneath the skin, leaving nothing but heat, bone, and a softness in his skin that spoke to years of illness and malnutrition.
Rufus stared him down, unflinching, and he didn’t move toward the touch or into the shelter of Reeve’s body. He simply waited until Reeve took the final step, pressing their lips together.
Suddenly, Rufus was there, present in the kiss. He took control away from Reeve, and Reeve didn’t fight him for it, letting Rufus turn them until his hips hit the edge of the desk. Rufus’s tongue swept past his lips and dominated his mouth, stealing Reeve’s breath away as his hands moved inside the older man’s coat.
It wasn’t the first time he’d found himself here, and it was everything he’d expected when his cell phone had chimed with the summons from Rufus. He let the younger man pin him, wiry arms caging him in on either side, fingers curled around the edge of the desk. Reeve kept his own hands down, careful not to touch until he had Rufus’s tacit approval. The younger man would never say what he wanted outright, but Reeve knew, by now, what he liked. How he wanted his lovers. Not everything had to be a struggle, or a power play, and Reeve didn’t mind bending his own pride if it satisfied Rufus.
The kiss lasted past their natural breath, until Reeve was swaying dizzily between the confines of Rufus’s arms. He stabilized as Rufus pressed their bodies together, holding Reeve up with his own weight as he dropped the coat from Reeve’s shoulders, letting it pool on the desk top. Once his arms were free, he brought his hands to rest on the sharp angles of Rufus’s hips, his thumbs tracing circles over the raw silk of the other man’s trousers. Every movement with Rufus had to be slow, carefully presented. He treated the younger man like a skittish animal, ready to bolt at any minute.
Rufus’s hands were firm, demanding what they wanted, and Reeve release his grip to let the other man turn him again. The desk hit him just at his hips, and Rufus pushed him down, already pulling his shirt free of his waistband. He felt that hot, dry touch against his skin, one hand pushing up his spine. The other was busy at Reeve’s fly, freeing him before pushing his pants down in one smooth motion.
He barely felt the sudden cold as Rufus pushed in behind him. He heard the rustle of cloth as Rufus freed his own length, and then they were skin to skin, close enough to breathe the same air as they moved together.
Rufus’s arms came around Reeve again, his hands resting on top of the older mans as he bore Reeve down toward the desk. Not an act of tenderness; one of control, to keep Reeve pinned beneath him as the head of his cock nudged damp against Reeve’s bare thigh.
Rufus had never been big on foreplay. Reeve closed his eyes as he felt the first press of Rufus’s length at his entrance. He was already stretched to take his lover in. He’d known, from the moment he received the text message, what Rufus expected of him. He’d pretended his own fingers were Rufus’s, stretched out on his bed with his legs spread and his pants pushed to his knees. He’d pretended that his own harsh breathing was the sound of Rufus affected by his touch; imagined a lover willing to touch him this way, willing to kiss him.
Instead, he had Rufus. Rufus, who paused only long enough to slick his own cock (he must have hidden lube somewhere, he’d never spit into his hand) before pushing hard into Reeve with one quick thrust. He didn’t ask or pause to check if Reeve was ready for him before sliding home.
Rufus moved his hands from where they held Reeve’s and gripped his hips instead, pulling them up to an angle that let him sink in deeper, until his cock hit Reeve’s prostate, pushing him forward against the desk. He set up a hard, punishing rhythm that kept Reeve pinned beneath him, even if he’d wanted to move.
He didn’t. He closed his eyes and curled his fingers into the wood of the desktop, rocking back with each of Rufus’s thrusts. “You might as well go ahead. You will eventually,” Rufus murmured, his voice silky against Reeve’s ear. Reeve didn’t hesitate to drop his hand from the desk to wrap around his own hardness, stroking in fast, rough jerks that barely matched the rhythm Rufus had begun.
It wasn’t much longer after that Rufus reached his peak, shoving Reeve down with the force of his climax. Reeve followed soon after, feeling the sudden heat as Rufus spilled into him and filled him. He lay with his cheek against Rufus’s blotter, and there would probably be a spiral mark indented in his skin, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind at the moment.
“You should take better care of yourself,” Rufus remarked as he pulled back. He kept fresh towels in the top drawer of his desk; Reeve reached for one without a second thought to clean himself. He only turned to face Rufus when his pants were back around his hips, his fingers deft as they refastened his belt buckle.
“Because of the stigma?” He raised one eyebrow, his fingers raking over what little skin Rufus was still displaying. The mark of Jenova’s cells, slowly destroying his body from the inside, spread across his shoulders and neck. “I think we both know I’m not at risk, Rufus.”
“I wasn’t speaking of the stigma,” Rufus replied flatly. If there was even so much as a flicker of regret across his face, Reeve missed it. “Did you bring the permits?”
Wordlessly, Reeve reached into his pocket, handing a stack of folded papers over. Rufus’s fingertips barely grazed his in the transfer and he flipped through them with his eyebrows high.
“As always, your attempts at cleverness are nothing if not amusing. Did you bring the rest of the permits?” Rufus let the stack fall as carefully as he’d taken it, the papers scattering across the desk.
“I brought you what I could, Rufus. I brought what you may have.” It was by no means everything the other man had asked for, but Reeve wouldn’t allow ShinRa to build another monopoly.
Rufus didn’t bother arguing, nor did he indulge Reeve by looking again at the permits he had obtained. It would be too much like weakness, to let the other man see him planning with what he had.
And Reeve didn’t expect Rufus to see him out, either. His eyes cast down, he let himself out of the room, hearing the door shut with a heavy and solid click behind him. He drew in another deep breath and released it, and then he moved on.