Farther Than Guns Will Go: 1. Modern World

Rufus/Reno. NC-17. ~4400 words. Object insertion. Co-written with Ponderosa.
Everything is neat lines and angles, but Reno breaks that up simply by being in the room.

The clouds unravel and Midgar appears beneath them. She’s sprawled like a whore past her prime, and not even the ribs of half-built towers spiring into the sky can make her new again.

Rufus flicks a bit of lint off his slacks. He folds his hands in his lap, thumb tapping idly. ShinRa Company might be a shell of its former self, but they were still needed, necessary. The populace can’t even dream of living without the comforts ShinRa provides.

He’d build it all back up again, and do a better job of it this time around.

In the pilot’s seat, Reno twists around and gives him a thumbs up. “Almost there, boss,” he says. “Told you I’d get us here in record time.”

The copter drops, losing altitude with a stomach-twisting lurch. “As long as we make it in one piece,” Rufus says. He points at the instrument panel and Reno turns around again with a lazy shrug that doesn’t come close to being an apology.

When they’ve touched down, Rufus doesn’t wait for the men scurrying over to assist. A twist of the lever and the door slides open. Rufus steps out of the helicopter as the blades whine down. Wind assaults him, cold on his face and tossing his hair in every direction. His trousers snap against his legs.

The access door is flanked by two guards, and they hasten to key open the door, fumbling enough that it’s clear they’re new: they hadn’t had to deal with the boss yet. Rufus waits, hands folded at the low of his back. He admires the skyline to ease his irritation, gaze skimming the horizon. They still have the best view. It doesn’t matter that the city is a stinking mess of tangled buildings.

Post-flight checks over with, Reno hangs on the frame of the cockpit before hopping down with a light thump. Mouth pursed to whistle a tune lost to the wind, he strolls across the helipad. Bright eyes that dart from rooftop to rooftop always gravitate back towards Rufus.

He misses a step when a tattered piece of newspaper whips around his leg. He shakes it off, and both he and Rufus watch it skitter and tumble off the edge of the building.

“Eh.” Reno catches the front of his jacket and tugs it back in place as he picks up the pace again. His boots crunch where pavement gives way to gravel, and he makes it just in time to dog Rufus’s heels as the door swings open. “So, boss. What’re we doing back here now?”

Rufus strides efficiently down the hallways, his step even despite knowing that Reno has hung back a few paces deliberately to catch a different sort of view. “We’re here,” he explains, although he’s certain he’s said so twice before, “so I can waste my time waiting for nickel and dime investors to show up and tour our new and improved facilities.” He doesn’t need to say which facilities. The kind of men who fund ShinRa’s illicit laboratories have Rufus’s respect, or, at the very least, an appropriate amount of appreciation.

He accepts a stack of memos from his secretary without so much as a nod and immediately begins sifting through them. He stops in front of the door to his office. Reno dawdles, too busy giving long legs in a short skirt a once over and a charming hint of a grin to notice the increasingly loud tap of Rufus’s foot.

“The door,” Rufus’s secretary whispers discreetly, and then Reno double-times it, sliding in front of him to open the door and give the room the same once over that his secretary had been awarded.

Reno steps back with a barely contained flourish. “In other words, you’re going to be having a shitty day,” he says. Rufus continues into his office without looking up, crumpling a few of the notes in his hand and holding them in his palm since Reno isn’t the type to make himself useful and pick them up if he just tossed them on the floor. “Peachy.”

Rufus’s office is always quiet, and the crush of the carpet beneath his feet is silent. Wine red, the logo of ShinRa Electric Power Company cuts through the white, and in the centre of it, rising like a pedestal, stands his desk.

The door swings shut on noiseless hinges. The click of the latch takes the sounds of the outer office with it, and leaves only the bubbling of the large fishtank spanning the one long wall that isn’t floor to ceiling windows. Rufus crumples another note, the sound crackling and bouncing off the walls.

Everything is neat lines and angles, but Reno breaks that up simply by being in the room. His steps sway, and the baton dangling from one fine-boned wrist swings lazily.

“You know what you need in here?” Reno starts to turn, but Rufus is too busy frowning at the memo in his hand to give him the attention he wants. He wanders out of range of Rufus’s peripheral vision. “More furniture.” he finishes, mumbling to himself.

“How are my fish doing, Reno?” Rufus asks. He tosses the crumpled notes into the bin and leaves the rest to scatter across his ink blotter. “And don’t tap the glass,” Rufus adds. Reno’s jacket rustles as he draws his arm back.

Folding his hands behind his back, Reno leans forward, nose to the glass, scrutinizing the rainbow of fish meandering back and forth. He narrows his eyes at one when it stares back imperiously. “That one looks hungry,” he says. “You sure you didn’t get one of those fish that chows down on other fish?”

He straightens up and twists around when Rufus doesn’t bother to respond, and Reno just catches the bold little fish darting forward to try and eat his hair and ending up with a faceful of glass. “Heh. Stupid.”

Rufus crosses his arms over his chest and studies the skyline again. The light through the windows is surprisingly harsh. Today, the clouds that hang over the city are pearly grey, almost silver, as bright and close as they’ll get to the sun piercing through. Rufus looks down towards the street. From up here, the people clogging the sidewalks are like ants, the cars like beetles. They’re a steady stream of potential; resources just waiting to be tapped and put to good use.

“Hey. Boss. When are the suits supposed to show?” Reno saunters towards the visitors’ chairs in front of Rufus’s desk. He makes himself comfortable, as always, a spill of black and red on white leather and chrome.

“Within the hour,” Rufus answers. He detests waiting just as much as Reno does, but accepts the inevitable with far less complaining.

“Maybe I can send out for some lunch or something,” Reno says. A hopeful grin plasters itself across his face, draining away when Rufus closes the distance between them with purpose. Reno finds a shiny leather shoe propped on the seat between his legs swiftly enough that he inches up the back of the chair, his eyes widening to saucers.

“How many times have I told you I don’t want anyone eating in my office?” Rufus gives Reno’s chair a sharp nudge. When Reno holds his hands up in surrender, Rufus slides his foot off the chair. “It attracts rodents and other pests.”

“Right, right.” Reno keeps a wary eye on Rufus’s foot. He cocks one leg up to make sure his pants are still nice and clean. An imaginary smudge is dusted away with the tips of his long fingers. “But you should eat something, boss. I could fry up one of those fish in a- Sorry!”

Rufus’s icy look frosting the open collar of his shirt, Reno sits bolt upright and firmly crosses his legs. He laces his fingers over his knee with a winning smile that lasts only long enough for the tension to bleed out of Rufus’s thigh.

“I’ll eat later,” Rufus says. His lip curls in a contemptuous sneer that bares his teeth. “Once those idiots are out of my building.” The dog and pony show had gotten old, fast.

“So what’s on the agenda until then?” Reno slings an arm over the back of the chair, assuming what would be his usual laidback sprawl if it weren’t for the careful cross of his legs. A wisp of hair curls towards his cheek, shivering in time to the tap of his fingers.

“Nothing.” Rufus pushes back the tails of his vest to slip his hands in his pockets. He fingers the edge of a business card tucked in one pocket and lifts his chin as his eyes drift to the reflection in the fishtank. “Entertain me, Reno.”

Reno’s posture goes liquid again, foot tapping as his gaze follows Rufus’s. He cocks another little grin, the cat who got the cream, and unhooks his stun baton. He flips it over casually in one hand. “Is that ‘tell a funny joke, Reno’, or ‘on your knees and suck dick, Reno’?”

The look on Reno’s face is brazen now, and his eyes run deliberately up and down Rufus’s body. His tongue flickers out to lick his bottom lip, a quick flash of pink that draws a searing thread of lust through Rufus’s belly. It’s been a while since the last time.

A discreet remote sits on the corner of Rufus’s desk. He picks it up. With the push of a button, the windows go halfway to opaque. “Does that answer your question?” he asks, mildly. The remote clicks back down on the desk, and Rufus presses the tips of his fingers beneath the angle of Reno’s jaw.

In the reflection of the glass, he can see himself pulling Reno forward. His eyes drop, watching his thumb trace the lines of Reno’s crude, beautiful mouth. Catching the softness of Reno’s lip, he pulls it down to expose perfect white rows of teeth.

“Not quite,” Reno says. His teeth bite lightly at the pad of Rufus’s thumb. He’s eager for it, and in a heartbeat he’s already halfway to the floor, thighs spreading wide and knees bumping the desk. He licks at the centre of Rufus’s palm. “Now it’s a toss up between just sucking you off or getting my fingers in your ass, too.”

Reno’s hands slide along the shining leather of Rufus’s belt, long fingers quick and deft with buckle, buttons, and zip. Air kisses cool against Rufus’s skin as his shirt is pushed up, and Reno’s teeth scrape just beneath his navel. “Or something else, maybe,” Reno says, and Rufus can feel his smile.

Rufus’s fingers drift up Reno’s cheek. He pulls the goggles off Reno’s forehead and sets them carefully aside, sliding his hands right back into the cropped length of Reno’s hair. “Like what?” he asks, stroking his fingers back, vibrant red hair silken and soft against his palms.

Lips drag low, tease against tight curls, and the warmth of Reno’s breath fans over the base of Rufus’s stiffening erection. “You can’t have your mouth full and your dick in my ass at the same time,” he says, forcing Reno’s head lower.

Reno grins, lips curving into something wicked and wanton. He always manages to look his best when on his knees, debauched or waiting to be. “Gimme enough time, boss,” he says, tugging Rufus’s slacks down. His mouth hovers just above Rufus’s balls. “I’ll figure something out.”

He rambles on, damp lips brushing skin and sending shivers down Rufus’s thighs with each word, “I’m resourceful like that. A sharp mind, ‘s why you keep me around.” He fists Rufus’s dick tight, rubs it against his lips, murmurs, “Not just a pretty mouth to fuck.”

“Your pretty mouth is wasting time running on like that,” Rufus tells him.

In the reflection, their bodies are shifting. Heavy-lidded eyes blur the lines between crisp and rumpled, and white and black blends together to shades of grey. The desk bears some of Rufus’s weight as little flickers of pleasure weaken his legs. “Hurry now,” he says, fingers tightening over the sharp edge of the wood. There’s still confidence in his voice, borderline cocky, but the words dropping off his lips are thicker now, hungry.

Reno’s lips glisten, and the flash of his tongue is bright and pink as he licks along the underside of Rufus’s cock.

“Yes. Hurry up and suck me good,” Rufus says, though Reno doesn’t need encouragement. He finds the tail of Reno’s hair and winds the tip of it around two of his fingers, not tugging, not now. Using Reno’s hair as a leash was more fun if he was bent over a chair and begging for it. Like this, it was just added sensation, a ticklish, sensual brush of soft hair flicking against Rufus’s thumb in time with the tongue on his cock.

“How about a ‘hurry up and fuck me’, instead?” Reno says, but then his lips are clamping tight and he’s sucking hard, steadily working Rufus deeper until both of them are struggling to breathe.

The soles of Rufus’s shoes slide against the carpet as his stance widens. Reno’s hair flutters free from his fingers, and he braces both of his hands against the desk. Pleasure glows warm, sets his nerves to tingling. It’s hard to keep his voice from breaking down into moan as he murmurs, “Like I said, can’t have your mouth full….” Then Reno’s lips are drawing away, pulled tight around the darkly flushed tip of his dick, and it’s so fucking good to press his hips forward and see the length of it slide right back in to Reno’s mouth. “Your fingers aren’t busy though, are they.”

Reno’s not the type to hold back the sounds that build up in his throat, and he moans around Rufus’s cock. He drags his mouth free, rubs his thumb over his lip and sucks it clean. “I’ll make you a deal, boss,” he says, casually licking his fingers. When they’re dripping with saliva, he glances up, slides his hand between Rufus’s legs and his mouth tugs into a smile. “You quit fooling around and just fuck my mouth already, and I’ll have my fingers up your ass faster than you can blink.”

A teasing stroke of a fingertip sends the world crumbling away beneath Rufus’s feet. He catches Reno’s face in both hands, holds it firm. His thumbs press against the tattoos curving on Reno’s cheeks; they’re like markers, set to flesh just for his hands to find. “You just never quit, do you,” Rufus says.

Head forced back, the cocky look on Reno’s face doesn’t ease. His throat stretches taut, and his finger pushes more insistently against Rufus’s ass. “Stubborn,” Rufus says, and he might as well be talking about himself.

Rufus’s thumbs drag down, push into Reno’s mouth to pin his tongue. Reno squirms, gurgling little sounds bubbling in the back of his throat as he tries to keep talking, rattle off one more smartass remark.

“You don’t shut up, either, unless there’s a dick in your mouth,” Rufus says. He appreciates that at times; Reno certainly knows how to use that filthy tongue of his to advantage. “Maybe that’s what you really want. A dick in your mouth, one up your ass, being fucked at both ends until you can’t move.” With a small smile, Rufus slips his fingers out of Reno’s mouth and replaces them with his cock. He can’t stop from moaning this time, the sound spilling free as the full length of him slides straight into the tight trap of Reno’s throat.

“Fuck your mouth, you said.” Rufus catches the chair Reno abandoned and swings it around to brace a hand along the back of it. He takes a fistful of Reno’s hair, rolls his hips, and the slide of Reno’s tongue is hot and slick as it flattens around his cock. “How hard do you want it, Reno? Hard enough your throat is going to ache for days?” Rufus thrusts, and Reno’s keeps good on his end of the bargain, fingers forcing Rufus open, curving into him.

Soon it’s all long, steady strokes, finding a rhythm between thrusting forward into Reno’s mouth and pushing back to meet Reno’s fingers. “Harder,” Rufus says, and again, he might as well be saying it for his own benefit, because as his hips snap forward, Reno’s fingers shove deeper.

Knuckles going white on the back of the chair, Rufus’s spine curves, the sweet burn of stretching muscle giving way to the white hot flare of being stroked by those talented fingers. “Suck harder,” he repeats when he can’t keep up the rhythm himself. “Your mouth can’t be tired already.”

The edge of teeth is Reno’s answer to not being able to fire off a fresh remark, but he does as he’s ordered. His cheeks hollow, his nostrils flare, and he lets out a low, choked groan when his eyes dart up and he finds Rufus looking down at him.

Rufus frees his hand from Reno’s hair, sliding it down until he can feel the push of his dick past the hardness of Reno’s teeth. Three fingers are buried hard inside him, and Reno’s thumb flirts where muscle is stretched tight and slippery. Rufus closes his eyes briefly, body humming with sensation that’s a breath away from being too intense to be pleasurable. “If you’re hoping to get your whole hand in me, Reno,” he says, fingers dropping away from Reno’s face, “I expect you to use something appropriate to make things — fuck — easier.”

Reno flexes his fingers, moans, and Rufus’s cock slips from his mouth with a noisy slurp. “As good as that sounds, boss,” he says, easing his fingers free, “I’ve got something else in mind.” He shifts his weight, snatches his baton and eels around Rufus’s legs. Settled behind Rufus, he flips his jacket back, leather strap of the baton clenched between his teeth as he digs something out of his pocket. “You did say, ‘Entertain me, Reno’,” he says, talking around the leather. Then, with the flick of his wrist, the metal chink and slide of the baton snapping into place is loud in the bubbling stillness.

It’s cold and slick when Reno presses it against Rufus’s bare thigh, runs it higher and goes on to say, “I can be damn good entertainment.”

Running a shaky hand through his hair, Rufus realises his forehead is a bit damp. They can’t take their time, not if he hopes to look presentable later. “Just make sure I can walk straight,” he says, both hands curling over the top of the chair as he bends forward. Lifting his head, his reflection stares straight back at him.

“No problem, boss.” In the wavering glass, Reno’s harder to see, a sprawl of legs and an occasional flash of red. He makes a sound, and the blunt tip of the baton touches briefly against Rufus’s hole. Rufus struggles to breathe evenly as the thrill of having something so dangerous pressed against him makes adrenaline pour into his veins. “The tip’s not that big, I know you can take it,” Reno says, pushing two fingers up into the cleft of Rufus’s ass. “I know I can make you take it.”

He spreads his fingers and spits between them. “Lookit that little hole clench tight, just begging for it.” He flips his grip on the baton, doesn’t stop talking. “Maybe you should pencil me in before your next meeting or something,” he says.

Rufus’s eyes start to drift shut as blunt metal pushes into him. “Ten o’clock: fuck in the corner office,” he hears Reno say, and then the tip, flat and flared, slips inside of him. His spine curves as Reno pushes it deeper. The baton is almost chill enough to make his guts twist. He groans.

“Maybe I should,” Rufus says, groaning again and pushing back as the hard length of it slides deeper. He can feel Reno smirking behind him; Reno has made it no secret he loves it whenever he can break Rufus down. “Hell, I could make it a daily appointment.”

He drops down over the chair, hands falling to brace on the arms, the metal there as cool as the metal pushing inside of him. “Tseng would probably insist on, shit, changing your job description, though.” Rufus pants, rocking with the thrust and twist, and the fringe of his hair shivers against his skin. “Harder, damnit,” he demands. “How do you expect to make me come if you don-” He chokes on the rest of his words, loses them on a groan forced through clenched teeth.

“What do you think of bodyguard and recreations?” Reno asks him. Their eyes catch in the rippled reflection as Reno casually rises to his feet. “Personal attendant?” Reno’s hand splays at the base of Rufus’s spine again, pressing him into the chair. “Or, how about full-time bodyguard, part-time office monkey, and occasional kinky fuck.” Long fingers flex around the handle of the baton, and then Reno shoves it deeper, fucking him with short, clipped thrusts that turn his legs to water.

“Employee shall be responsible for protecting the Head of Corporation’s person, sucking the aforementioned’s cock-” Reno pauses to tug open his slacks, and the baton angles sharply inside of Rufus, drags back until the flared tip of it teases and tugs at clutching muscle, “-and, when applicable, fucking him into any and all available surfaces.”

There’s hardly time for Rufus to catch his breath when Reno pulls the baton out entirely and lines up his dick to drive in with one hard thrust. The force and heat, the sensation clawing up Rufus’s spine, the strokes as hard and perfect as that damn baton inside him, it breaks that last barrier, and there’s no use trying to play it cool anymore. Rufus moans, shoves back until Reno’s balls slap against him with each brutal smack of flesh on flesh.

Rufus pushes himself back up again, steady on one wrist, and reaches up over his head, clawed fingers catching in Reno’s jacket. He yanks Reno forward until the solid warmth of Reno’s chest is flush against his back. The angle makes the pleasure less intense, and yet his dick aches. “There’s a handkerchief in my pocket,” he says. “Use it — shit — and-”

Losing his hold, Rufus drops down again. “And get your fingers on my cock,” he groans. “Need to-” Rufus gasps as Reno’s hands curl tighter on his hips and slam him back. “Fuck.” He can’t manage the rest, can’t say that they need to hurry up, and he just shamelessly fucks himself on Reno’s dick.

“Right, right….” Reno’s hand fumbles its way up Rufus’s vest, silk handkerchief found and shaken free. His tongue licks wet against the back of Rufus’s neck, and Rufus shivers, skin taut and thrumming. There’s too much energy buzzing around inside of him, like Reno had hit him with a shot and the charge never faded.

Reno spreads his legs to brace himself. “We wouldn’t have this problem if you’d just shot it straight down my throat,” he says, kerchief bundled in one hand, Rufus’s dick in the other.

“Shut up and make me come, Reno,” Rufus says, or thinks he does, because it’s hardly a half-dozen strokes of those slim fingers on his dick when his legs buckle and he forgets how to breathe.

Rufus’s heartbeat roars in his ears, and although Reno is saying something, none of it is translating. He reaches back again, trying to grab at Reno’s hip, hold him nice and deep, but Reno is already pulling out. When Rufus finally does catch the tail end of what Reno’s saying, it’s, “Yo, boss, hold this,” and the handkerchief wet with his come is stuffed into his mouth.

“Just hang onto that for a sec, would ya?” Reno says, turned on enough to push his luck further and kick Rufus’s legs apart. “Wish you could see this, boss. You look so fucking good. All stretched out, rubbed red and raw,” Reno’s hand slides under Rufus’s clothes, runs straight up his spine, and then Reno is pushing him down even further, doing a damn good job at manhandling him.

Rufus spits the kerchief out into his hand, clutching it in a deathgrip, and Reno gives him a stinging smack on the ass. “Gonna shoot right on you, boss,” Reno says, and Rufus bites his lip as the slicked head of Reno’s cock rubs against flesh that feels hot and abused. “I’ll lick it off after I’m done. No worries.”

Rufus licks the crescent marks indenting his lip and rubs at his forehead with the back of a hand. “No worries… right. Don’t you dare miss,” Rufus says, and then there are fingers on him again, and he can hear the wet sounds of Reno jerking off hard and fast. Rufus draws in a breath, sharp and quick because he’s sure to lose it soon enough.

And he does; Reno’s fingers thrust back into him, curve and twist, and as come strikes hot and wet against his skin, all that precious air pours into a long, drawn-out moan.


Hours later, Rufus can still recall the feel of Reno’s tongue licking up the mess at the base of his spine. The shivers of pleasure running through him every half-hour or so had made the time fly.

A daily appointment might not be such a bad idea.

Rufus smirks and swivels away from his desk, legs crossed at the knee. He leans back into supple leather cushions. With the overhead lights off and the windows clear, his office is back to feeling orderly. A pocket of calm in the chaos of the machine.

Midgar might be a mess during the day, but as night falls, all those flaws are hidden by ShinRa’s mercy. Rufus watches as she struggles to make herself beautiful again, streams of cars running in lines of white and red on the freeways, distant windows winking to life, and an abundance of neon bleeding bright colours into rising steam.

The old bitch still has something in her.


One Response to “Farther Than Guns Will Go: 1. Modern World”

  1. C Nelson Says:

    I really enjoy this series, for I keep coming back to read them.
    I found you via scribblemoose, and must thank that person.

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