Farther Than Guns Will Go: 6. No Authority

Rufus/Reno. NC-17. ~7000 words. Shades of D/s. Breathplay. Bootlicking. Co-written with Ponderosa.
“An eye for an eye,” Rufus says.

“Nasty shit you pulled back there, sir,” Henner says. He’s got one hand on the wheel, the other stretched out across the seat behind where his partner Avers sits. She keeps her attention on the streets blurring by, but Henner’s heavy-lidded gaze continually skips to the back.

“An eye for an eye,” Rufus says.

The city feels barren. This early in the afternoon, productive citizens are locked in their jobs, their children tucked away in school. As the streets narrow and line with fixer-uppers, pedestrians dot the sidewalks again, and the feeling of emptiness remains, merely shifting to something different. Soon they’re turning down streets where the sleek black of the company car stands out the way anything worth more than a few hundred gil does. Storefronts no longer sport the rubber-stamp franchises of the gentrified neighbourhoods and the ads plastered to the billboards promote cigarettes more often than cars. Rough-edged men and hollow-eyed teens that look like they spend more time in the slums than in school watch them roll by with feigned disinterest.

They hang a left where a couple bruisers who look more intimidating than Rude are restocking crates at an open-air grocery. Another block takes them away from the hustle and bustle of capitalism at work, and they’re swallowed into residential sprawl. The tires whump over pavement webbed with cracks and potholes, and a heavy knock comes from the very rear of the car.

Rufus puts away his PDA and his knuckles brush against the gun nestled in a holster close to his ribs. He rolls his shoulder, not entirely accustomed to the weight. It’s a pity there still remained certain situations a man couldn’t merely walk into with a shotgun in hand and where it wasn’t prudent to reveal all the tricks a well-tailored sleeve could hide.

Another thump jolts straight through the seat. “Pull over,” Rufus says.

Henner makes a quick stop, swooping close enough to the sidewalk to brush rubber and rims. Rufus gives the man a few points for being prompt, and another few for saying, “You want me to check on our guest, sir?”

“No,” Rufus answers. Stepping from the car, he slicks his hands down his suit and matches the street numbers to the description that had come from Tseng. “I have another visit to make.”

“What about…?” Henner looks first towards the trunk, then to where Avers stands waiting near the rear bumper for Rufus’s orders.

“It’s only fitting that Mr. Wenn be awake to enjoy our hospitality,” Rufus says. A fresh series of muffled thumps rock the car. “If he finds his accommodations lacking and manages to free himself, he won’t get far. Not around here.”

The inhabitants of this neighbourhood would roll a stuffed-shirt like Wenn before he got more than three feet from the car. Rufus flicks his hair out of his eyes and scans the street before crossing. The apartment building he heads for isn’t in bad shape for this end of the sector, but as budgets go, anyone on his payroll could afford far better without thinking twice. Living well beneath one’s means tended to send up red flags, something the former purchasing manager warming his trunk had discovered just this morning.

“What’s the deal?” Henner asks.

Rufus glances towards him. “You ask a lot of questions.” It’s not technically a habit Rufus discourages, not when Tseng is so meticulous about the people he hires, but considering the door Rufus is about to knock on, there’s a certain line between business and personal that’s become a little fuzzy. He takes the steps two at a time, pausing at the landing to read the names on the buzzers.

He isn’t surprised to find Reno’s number listed as belonging to someone else.

“Questions, in this case, mean we know how to do our jobs,” Avers says. She tugs a pair of black leather gloves on and falls into the sort of loose-boned stance that says she’s ready to get her hands dirty all over again.

Rufus gestures graciously at the door propped open by a wire milk crate. “Third floor. You two will wait for me in the hallway,” he says, and follows his Turks inside.


There are no windows in the hallway to brighten up the patterned wallpaper that’s more than a decade out of style. Rufus stops just outside the faint circle of light spreading from a dirty bare bulb. Half the numbers on the door are missing, and Henner and Avers exchange looks when given the signal to step back.

Rufus raps his knuckles sharply against the door, then dusts his hands off on one another as he waits.

He hears something smack against the wall, a muffled, bitten-off curse, and the slide of metal on metal from the peephole before the locks turn. There’s none of the hesitation Rufus had anticipated from an unexpected visit. The door swings open easily and Reno curls his fingers over the jamb to hang against it, casual like it’s nothing to have the President of ShinRa appearing on his doorstep. “Hey, boss,” he says, jerking his chin faintly at the two other Turks who’d been melting back, taking up position and ready with hands on their weapons.

In his peripheral, Rufus sees them ease up, but only to a point, and makes a note to remember to say a few good words about them to Tseng.

“Busy?” Rufus asks. There’s acres of skin for him to enjoy the sight of with Reno all stretched out and shirtless, muscles tight on his ribs and pants hanging open like he’d been in the middle of something interesting. Rufus keeps his eyes on Reno’s face.

But Reno’s mouth is, as usual, distracting enough on its own. His tongue flicks over his lower lip, teeth scraping it clean immediately after, and Rufus has to wonder if Reno is entertaining a guest of his own. Just because they were fucking around a lot and there was a spare toothbrush in the bathroom didn’t mean their arrangement was anything resembling exclusive.

Reno tilts his head to the side, clearly keeping an eye on one of the other Turks. His bright red hair spills over his shoulder as he drops an arm down and shakes his head. “Nope. Just kicking back, enjoying my day off.”

He takes an easy step back, and Rufus can’t help noticing the way the pants clinging to Reno’s hips inch down a little lower. Sparks sizzle in the pit of Rufus’s stomach when Reno’s arm slides around him before the door is shut.

Whether or not Reno has something to prove, his mouth is like a magnet, and Rufus’s head turns until breath spreads warm over his lips. There’s no sex carried on it, no cunt or come or the spice of sweat, just the faint scent of clove cigarettes and alcohol.

“You’re here for a good fuck, yeah?” Reno asks, and Rufus doesn’t need to kiss him to know the taste or how it would feel to have their lips drag together, whisper dry like skittering leaves or crisp new sheets. “You want a beer too, or should we just get busy?”

The slow grind against his hip is enough to distract Rufus from the odd sting at Reno being so on the money. “The good fuck is what I was aiming for, but a beer sounds good,” he replies, and glances away, down at a low table stacked with two days’ worth of mail and trashed paperbacks.

Inside, Reno’s place is much nicer than the exterior promises. The décor is nothing that will win awards, but the space is used well; things are tidy if nowhere near the level of meticulously clean that Rufus insists upon in his own home. He plucks at the fingertips of his gloves, sliding them off and matching them together before folding them in half and tucking them in the pocket of his coat.

The hesitation Rufus had been expecting rears its head. Reno’s mumbled, “Sure thing,” comes more than a couple seconds too late, but then he bursts into motion, swinging the door back open long enough to toss off a two-fingered wave to the pair in the hall. He nudges it closed again with the heel of his boot.

Rufus moves deeper into the apartment as Reno throws every single one of the bolts bristling on the door. He wonders if it’s to safeguard against the Turks on duty interrupting things on Tseng’s say-so. Of anyone, Reno should know that a row of deadbolts is only going to slow them down, not stop them. Rufus shrugs out of his coat, draping it over the back of a wooden chair. He closes his hands over his folded coat, rocking forward slightly to study the pictures on the wall. There aren’t many of them, and none of them are of people. Most are just black and white nature shots, backgrounds unfocused to the point of abstraction, similar to the sort of images that Rufus would have hanging in his own apartment if he bothered to do his own decorating.

“Nice photos,” he says as Reno scoops up a half-empty bottle off the coffee table and heads towards the kitchen.

“Came with the frames,” Reno says, tapping the glass of one of them as he goes by. Rufus can’t tell whether or not he’s lying.

It’s strange, Rufus realises, being in a place where the smell of ozone and cigarette smoke that clings to Reno is the norm. He must look as out of place in here as Reno does in his apartment. But, even then, black-suited Turks gliding through his rooms are a rarity not an oddity.

There’s the hiss and clink of a bottle being cracked open and then Reno’s pressing an ice-cold beer into Rufus’s hand. “Cheers,” Reno says, fingers a fleeting warmth.

“So, this is what you do on your days off?” Rufus asks as he undoes the topmost buttons of his shirt. He gestures with the bottle towards Reno’s well-worn couch and the glossy scatter of skin magazines over half the cushions. “Sit in the dark and jerk off?”

Reno shrugs, rolls away from the doorframe to slouch against the wraparound countertop and plucks the cig out of his mouth to replace it with his beer. He finishes off the bottle in three long swallows, spends some time sizing Rufus up, and doesn’t answer until he’s cracking open a fresh one on the edge of the counter by the oven. “You’re the one who likes stuff big and bright, boss.”

It’s only natural that there would be a different air between the two of them here, territorial pissing and all that masculine bullshit that’d disappear in a heartbeat if he reached out, drifted his fingers along the hollows of Reno’s hips and made it clear that the fucking was the important part. Rufus licks the mouth of his bottle before tipping it back, one eyebrow cocked upwards.

“Only one day off a time, a guy needs to recharge,” Reno says. He glances to where the shades are drawn and then at his beer before taking another long pull, and before Rufus can say another word, Reno fists his shirt.

“So,” he says, jerking Rufus close, and with Rufus’s weight pressing on him the counter must be digging cruelly into his back, “you want to go fuck around on the bed, or you feel like playing whore in the middle of all those titty mags?”

His tongue skips across Rufus’s lips, and he braces a hand on the counter behind him, bottle clinking on laminate wood. Smoke curls lazily from the smouldering tip of the cig. Ash has scattered across his knuckles.

“You can watch me jerk off and tell me how much you want it,” Reno tells him. There’s an edge to his voice, impossible to tell what brought it to life.

The second hand on the wall clock ticks from five to ten and Rufus doesn’t breathe. But then he’s chasing after that edge, his arms sliding around Reno, and he presses hard and close, tongue following the teasing flick that had wet his lips. It’s scant seconds before the kiss turns hard and he abandons the bottle dripping condensation on his hand. Reno’s skin is hot as Rufus grabs at him, chilled fingers pressing low on Reno’s back to force the two of them tight together and get his tongue as far into Reno’s mouth as possible.

Reno gives as good as he gets, and the way he claws at Rufus’s shirt is nothing short of feral.

“Do you want to treat me like a whore?” Rufus asks. His hand works down the back Reno’s pants, fingers sliding right into the crack of his ass and finding the tight, sweat-damp heat of his asshole. He bites at Reno’s jaw and rubs his fingertips in a small circle, lust shivering through his belly when muscle goes tight and Reno hisses a yes. “Think I should act like one since I’ve come down here? Slumming?”

After another hot, biting kiss, Reno’s breath is hard, fast. He goes up on his toes, rocking against the pressure of Rufus’s finger. “Yeah. Bet you’d moan pretty. Shoving you around sounds like a hell of a lot of fun,” he says.

There’s a certain thrill to the notion of letting Reno act however he pleases, to see how far he’d push things when all bets were off. An equal thrill surges electric through Rufus’s veins at the idea of taking Reno in his own bed, shoving him face down in his pillows and fucking him fast and hard until he loses it on the sheets. Rufus’s cock aches, jerks when Reno’s hips twitch and a moan spreads hot across his jaw.

Glass bangs on metal as Reno shoves his bottle onto the stove, cig stuffed down the neck to kill it. “A hell of a lot of fun,” he echoes breathily, and gets a hand in Rufus’s hair. There’s no gentle twine of fingers, just a hard yank, a spin like he’s dealing with an uncooperative mark that needs a lesson, and Rufus finds himself up against the wall with a forearm pressed tight to his throat.

Reno’s mouth hovers over his, bright green gaze tracing the lines of his face. “You want me to hurt you, boss?” he says, and it’s less of a question than it should be.

Air becomes a memory, Reno’s breath an oasis tease. It would be easy to push him away. Rufus would need only to lift a hand, put two fingers to a slender wrist and Reno would back off like a trained dog. In theory. Turks are a special breed, and Reno’s always stood apart from the pack. Since well before he took control of the company, Rufus has never been entirely sure what it is that keeps Reno from slipping Tseng’s leash.

Rufus stretches his neck out to ease the pressure, the effects of a hard dump of adrenaline into his bloodstream carefully hidden. “You’d like to, wouldn’t you,” he says. It’s a raw kick to his core to see Reno pushed this close to a different sort of edge. He slowly licks at the corner of his mouth before curving his lips into a tight, mocking smile. “You want to make me sweat and shudder.”

He stays loose, arms dangling at his sides, and he doesn’t resist the push of Reno’s knee between his legs. Instead, he calculates the look in Reno’s eye, the eagerness at the possibility of having Rufus under him to take it rough without much of a struggle for once, the sharpness that says he knows it’s a risk and somehow it’ll cost him to admit the truth. Ruthlessly, Rufus stares him down, tests his limits for this, too.

Reno stares right back. The moment Rufus walked through the door he was under Reno’s watch, de facto, by Reno’s own invitation. If the President ended up sustaining injuries while in a Turk’s home, the shit would really hit the fan and it’s obvious that he knows it. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like to,” he says finally, soft and low like a moan. He continues holding Rufus’s gaze but eases off, the pressure of his arm shifting down, elbow grinding into the softness beside Rufus’s shoulder, wrist bones grating against clavicle like a warning.

Regardless of his lungs filling, the steel bands that have wrapped itself around Rufus’s chest tighten, and there’s hardly enough breath in him to hiss, “Go ahead.”

There’s a moment when it feels like neither of them are moving, when nothing is moving, just motes of dust catching in thin slices of light, but then Rufus’s name is melting off Reno’s tongue, a low, smoky purr that’s pushed into his mouth by a torturously slow kiss. Fingers fan over his face, thumbnail scraping at the hollow of his throat.

The sound Rufus struggles not to make warps into a choked hiss when Reno’s fingers clamp tight, the front of his shirt is gathered up, and a foot hooks around his ankle. “If you’re just fucking with me, you’d better tell me now,” Reno says, and the floor rushes up to greet Rufus with a hard linoleum kiss. Weight drops onto Rufus’s chest, an incubus crush as Reno straddles him, knees tight to his ribs. The hand around his throat forces his head back.

“You got any limits, or this,” Reno squeezes harder for just a moment before letting go, “this isn’t what you want, you say it now.”

Rufus’s heart is pounding so hard he can hardly translate sound into meaning. When he does, he nearly laughs. He’s always fucking with Reno, and Reno’s always coming back for more. “Limits,” he says, rolling the word off the tip of his tongue. He thinks about Reno’s limits, what he guesses would push him from bend to break.

“Nothing on the face,” Rufus says. He catches Reno’s wrist, fingers drawing tight around seemingly fragile bone, and licks the sweat from the centre of Reno’s palm. Maybe there’d be a day when he’d refuse Reno nothing, but that was too dangerous to even consider. “Other than that, just make sure I can walk out of here when you’re done with me.”

His lips brush against Reno’s hand as he speaks and when silence hums in the air, Rufus pushes his tongue between Reno’s fingers. Slowly, he draws two of Reno’s fingers into his mouth, sucks them like he’d suck dick, and the heat in his guts surges when Reno’s eyes go heavy for a moment.

He lets Reno’s fingers slip out of his mouth and paint his lips wet. “You won’t fault me,” Rufus says, “if I don’t go easy, will you?”

With no more warning than that, he bites, viciously, teeth marking crescents into the fleshy heel of Reno’s thumb. He plants his feet against the floor, lifting his hips and twisting to try and toss Reno’s weight off his chest. But keeping a man down is what Reno’s trained for, and he just moves with Rufus, shifting his centre at the right moment to slam Rufus’s shoulders right back to the tile again.

Reno is razor beautiful when he says, “You couldn’t go easy if you fucking tried.”

That’s not entirely true, Rufus thinks, but then there’s pressure on his throat again, fingers carefully poised, and Reno’s wriggling down, ankles hooking over his shins to pin his legs.

“Don’t fight back too hard,” Reno adds, and his cock is hard and insistent at Rufus’s hip. With the hand showing the angry red marks of the bite, he starts flicking open Rufus’s shirt buttons. “Fun’s over if you pass out.”

Rufus arches into the stroke of fingers down his chest, the brush of rough knuckles towards his nipple, and snarls when Reno rolls one to a peak and twists. The hand on his throat flexes before tightening gradually, cutting off his air in stages.

“Might keeping choking you until I’m doing it while I’m fucking you,” Reno says, and he’s clearly getting off on the idea, hips moving jerkily to grind himself against Rufus. “Nice cold piece of metal across your throat while my dick’s hot in your ass.”

“You’ll need to restrain me properly,” Rufus taunts. He’s known the bite of cuffs on his wrists before, but not with Reno. Aside from having Reno’s fist in his guts, the closest he’s come to being vulnerable sexually in front of his Turk has been having his arms tangled in his coat once or twice. He swallows deliberately slow and twines a bit of Reno’s hair around his fingers before gripping it close to the root and jerking Reno’s head back.

It’s a molten hot flare of frustration when Reno won’t let him up enough to suck at the long expanse of throat he’s exposed.

The feeling is engulfed by lust when Reno seizes his wrists and grinds his hands to the chill of the tile, his grip tight enough to bruise. “You think your boys would come in here and hold you down for me? Or maybe I should make a call, see if Rude and Tseng will do the job.”

Rufus’s arms are pushed higher over his head. Usually he’s the one making those sorts of threats, wondering aloud if Rude would facefuck Reno hard enough to make him writhe on Rufus’s dick.

“Phone’s in my pocket. We could find out.”

“You’d get off on being held down and fucked hard, wouldn’t you.”

Reno’s tone is a little harder, darker, and even though Rufus is sure it’s an empty threat, he wonders for a brief moment if Tseng would submit to the order if Reno made him give it. A tiny shiver webs across his skin even before Reno stretches out on top of him, mouth brushing wet over his.

Finding the breath to speak again, Rufus says, “As much as you’d get off seeing me with a dick forced up my ass and one or two more being shoved into my mouth.”

Reno lifts up briefly to skim his gaze down past Rufus’s chin. “Such a fucking slut.”

“And you can’t keep your eyes off my throat. Curious how much I’d get off on that? Metal, you’d said. What would you use, hm? Your favourite toy? I can see it, hanging up there.” Rufus jerks his chin towards the counter, before letting his eyes slide towards the knives bristling on a magnetic strip nailed to the wall. “Or would you like to try something sharper?”

Reno’s head drops again and his lips tremble, catch against dry skin. His nails dig into Rufus’s wrists. “You’re betting your life on the idea that you own me,” he says.

“So I am.”

Growling, Reno surges up, snatches the e-mag that’s been dangling at the corner of Rufus’s vision, and with a low whine it’s snapped out, powered on, and the tip is gouging into the softness under Rufus’s chin.

An icy trickle of something that might be fear hits Rufus’s spine for the first time in a long, long time. “I put my life into your hands often enough that what’s the difference now?” he says. It’s difficult to keep his voice even, force the rough sound of pleasure out of it and hold that rippling edge of maybe-fear contained. He permits a cool smile, knowing full well what the difference is, what it’s been since Reno had needed his help walking out from between tall rows of dimly glowing tanks.

“I do own you,” Rufus says, and it’s as much truth as it is lie. Reno’s eyes narrow, his mouth twists. Most everyone thinks that Reno is a little unbalanced, a bit of a wild card. How much of his unpredictability, like his occasional bursts of clumsiness and incompetence, is just for show? And how much of it is a bullet in the spinning barrel of a revolver just waiting for the right trigger pull.

Rufus closes his eyes. Plenty of people have accused him of being a little unbalanced too. And fuck knows firing a weapon gets him off. He tongues at the inside of his lip before looking up at Reno again.

“Maybe one day I’ll put a fucking mark on you to remind you of it.”

“Don’t think we’ve been alone since-” Reno starts, and he doesn’t need to finish the sentence for the memory to hang in the air like the crisp smell of mako. The e-mag at Rufus’s throat digs into his jaw, dangerously close to crushing his windpipe. The way Reno hangs over him is like storm clouds brewing, a hurricane on the horizon. His smile is lightning. “So, Rufus, what if you’re wrong?”

Reno drags in a shuddering breath, the sort that just ripples through a man’s body, and his fingers flex. He leans down again, takes a kiss while Rufus struggles to stay relaxed and ration his air. “What if I’m just a crazy fuck who likes your dick?” Reno hisses, and his hand shoves down the front of Rufus’s pants. Nails scrape and then his balls are squeezed soft and vulnerable in the trap of Reno’s fingers.

There isn’t enough breath in Rufus’s lungs for him to answer. Darkness eats at his vision. Fire crackles in his chest.

Spin. Spin. Click.

Pressure vanishes, metal laid flat and cool along the side of Rufus’s face, flush to his temple. He gulps in air too quickly and chokes. A violent cough wracks his body and Reno doesn’t wait to kiss him again. Teeth strike teeth, Reno’s tongue pushing and shoving to taste him, greedily suck the breath forced from his lungs as fingers twist and pinch, cause pain to explode in his groin. He tastes tin, and his head swims, Reno’s words echoing back to burrow into his brain.

Rufus sucks on Reno’s tongue, hard, even as he drags in ragged, deep breaths through his nose. He licks his teeth when finally Reno pulls back to stare at him. “If you’re just a crazy fuck who likes my dick, then I’m—fuck—disappointed in you.” He surges up, strains for the inches and catches only the slightest taste of the sweetness of Reno’s mouth.

“You’re a pretty fuck,” Rufus continues, panting lightly. “But I don’t like to waste my time with—” He swallows, unable to say what it is he categorises Reno as anymore. Reno is at his apartment more than he is it seems, and each time he considers it, warning bells start to jangle, the sort that feel more dangerous than any immediate threat of violence could hope to be.

Rufus clears his throat. His fingers curl tight and release. He aches to bury them in Reno’s hair, hold him in place and kiss him until he can’t taste the sharpness on his tongue anymore. “I haven’t been wasting my time, have I?”

“Don’t know,” Reno says, words clipped. His hand combs through Rufus’s hair, slides free to rest flat on the floor beside Rufus’s head. “You got plenty of pretty fucks out of me. Don’t think I ever said no to a fucking thing you wanted.”

He crawls forward, knees splayed to pin Rufus’s arms again. Bone grates into tile when Rufus fights it.

The e-mag skids over his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, ends up pressed to his lips. Reno switches to a backhanded grip, angling the weapon down to force the tip into Rufus’s mouth with a roughly whispered, “Open up.”

Its unforgiving against Rufus’s lips, promises to chip his teeth if he doesn’t guard them like it’s a dick in his mouth, and beneath the taste of the metal is the low hum of the current waiting to go live.

Rufus moans.

“You’re a sick, twisted fuck,” Reno says, pushing it deeper into Rufus’s mouth.

Reno’s gaze turns slit-eyed and full of malice, and battered metal presses against the soft tissue in the back of Rufus’s throat until he gags. He’s working so hard to fight the urge to vomit that he nearly misses the sound of Reno unzipping. But there’s no missing the sudden heat of a hard cock pushed against his cheek.

“You get off so damn hard on giving me more than you think I can take,” Reno snarls. He fucks Rufus’s mouth lazily with the e-mag, smacks his dick against Rufus’s cheek, lips, leaves wet little trails of precome for the air to lick cold. The shape Reno’s mouth eases into—slack, tongue wet and pressed to his teeth—says that he fucking loves it as much as Rufus does.

Reno growls, hunches forward, and his cock nudges at Rufus’s mouth beside where the e-mag stretches it wide. “So,” he says, “you tell me. You waste your time or not?”

Rufus chokes, raw sound following a wet cough as Reno drags the metal out of his mouth. It clatters to the floor, and Rufus’s eyes automatically snap shut when wetness strikes high on his cheek, slides down his face towards his waiting mouth. The ache in his arms spikes when Reno slides back, lets him push up onto his elbow and moan around the slick flesh pushing past his lips. Greedily, Rufus sucks at Reno’s softening cock, and his hips lift to fuck the air.

He licks the side of his mouth when he’s forced off Reno’s dick and Reno wriggles down, mouth brushing over his. The wet glide of Reno’s tongue gathers up the come cooling on Rufus’s cheek, and Reno’s breath is heavy with it when their lips touch again.

“Bet you really, really want to get off now,” he says, storm clouds still lingering, and picks himself up, gathering his e-mag as he rises. He slumps against the counter, snags Rufus’s beer since his own is full of ashes, and takes a long hard pull.

Rufus doesn’t move a muscle. His cock tents his slacks, and he aches to just take it in hand and relieve the pressure built up in his balls. It wouldn’t take much, a few strokes, but giving Reno the control he wants, maybe even needs after the labs, is worth the torment of remaining still.

“Are you going to let me come?”

“Are you really giving me that choice?” Reno counters, whip-crack quick, and he moves just as fast. His boot lands heavily on the outline of Rufus’s cock, heel pressing just hard enough against Rufus’s balls to make him go tense.

“Take it or leave it,” Rufus hisses. He bares his teeth, breath cutting swift and short again. Lust simmers in his skin, and he’s grateful that the heavy weight of Reno’s foot is something at least.

“How bad you wanna come?” The toe of Reno’s boot slips down, traces a shaky path to nudge at tender flesh. “How about I let you up, you tug on that pretty dick of yours and make a mess on my balls. Then you can lick your own come right off me.”

Rufus’s dick swells, shifts under fine cotton, and Reno grins like the devil. “Or you want to lick it out of my mouth instead? Maybe suck it out of my ass?”

Pulse throbbing in his skull, his limbs, Rufus wants it all. “Anything,” the word sounds as shaky as he feels, and he swallows several times over. His mouth remains wet. “More than anything, everything. I want to fuck your hand, fuck mine, your ass, your mouth, your fucking throat.

“Want to watch my come dripping down to those tight, gorgeous balls of yours. Lick it up or suck it up, I don’t care which. Fucking love to eat come.” He groans as Reno’s foot twitches, and a hard shudder makes his elbow lose purchase. His shoulderblades hit tile again and he arches before settling back, knees spreading wide.

“Yeah, you do, don’t you,” Reno sounds smug, turned-on, and like he’s more than a little awed at the slack Rufus has given him as he orders Rufus to open his pants and show off just how hard his dick is.

Rufus’s fingers shake as he fumbles at his zip, the simple task seeming five times as complicated as it should. His thumbs hook into his underwear to push it down as the rest of his fingers splay to peel back the placket of his trousers, the fabric faintly smudged with dirt from Reno’s boot.

At the sight of Rufus’s cock thrusting up hard and shining away from his belly, Reno bites his lip, and the heat churning beneath Rufus’s skin turns molten. Reno’s foot slides forward, sole skidding over Rufus’s knuckles to rest heavy on his dick again. Reno’s gaze snaps up to meet Rufus’s and his teeth drag slowly off his lip.

“You pick one. You pick just one, and you can fucking have it. Fucking anything you want.”

Then Reno’s foot twists, like he’s grinding his words in, but for all the buzzing in Rufus’s head, this time each and every syllable came through loud and clear. Rufus’s fingers claw into the fabric of his pants, pinch at the skin beneath, and he moans as loud and shameless as the whore Reno had suggested he play.

“Shit, you’re not gonna just lose it are you? After all that? Fuck!” Reno eases up, but Rufus latches a hand to his ankle, forces him to hold in place.

“Made my choice,” Rufus says, and he lets his head drop back as he fucks himself against the rough sole of Reno’s boot.

He isn’t sure which one of them is moaning louder when he comes.

Still panting, still holding steadily to Reno’s leg, Rufus forces himself to sitting and swivels around to his knees. Reno seems frozen in uncertainty, and Rufus doesn’t give him time to question. Prying Reno’s foot up, Rufus lowers his head with no hesitation to lick at where his come is smeared along worn, rubber treads. The bitterness of daily filth scorches his tongue, a dozen foul tastes spreading through his mouth to coat his teeth before the salt-sweet of his own come blunts the tang.

His eyes remain closed, tongue lapping up the thickly smearing strings of his come until there’s nothing left to lick but grit. After a while, Reno eases his leg back, the tension in his calf making his muscles jump and quiver, and Rufus follows, rocking forward to bathe the rest of the leather to shining with his spit.

“Fuck,” Reno says, sounding as if all the breath has left him. “Oh, fuck.”

Rufus doesn’t stop, tongue following the path of grommets and laces, the creases worn down by walking, and above him, he hears the sound of Reno hastening to jerk off again.

By the time he’s slid a hand up Reno’s pants, forced the cuff up high enough to bare a sliver of skin, Rufus’s tongue is numbed and dry. He swallows and moves his lips up to brush a kiss against Reno’s calf and then over the curves of his boot again.

“Fucking know the kind of shit I walk in?” Reno’s saying in hardly more than a whisper, his hand working furiously. “Went down for that faster than a Market girl.”

“I do attempt to keep my word as often as I can,” Rufus replies softly. He thumbs at the top of Reno’s boot, nail scratching at his shin, and rests his cheek briefly against denim worn velvet-soft.

“Sure, boss, but I didn’t ask…” Reno’s stance widens and he shudders, hard.

Instead of inquiring as to the odds of Reno even thinking to ask, Rufus settles back on his heels, smirks, and opens his mouth slow to display his tongue and offer Reno a good place to blow his load.

It earns him another visible shudder and a hand in his hair seconds before there’s thickened flesh and another mouthful of warm come spreading slippery on his tongue.

“Shit. Shit, that was hot.” Reno sinks down in front of him, hands groping desperately for his face to hold him still for a kiss before he’s swallowed it all.

“Oh, fuck, bad idea. Bad idea,” Reno says, mouth tearing away from Rufus’s. He scrapes his teeth over his tongue. Disgust twists his features and his hands drop down to tighten on Rufus’s arms. “How could you even do that?”

Rufus has no answer. His body is weighted, and even the simplest of movements don’t come easily. Reno’s features threaten to blur as Rufus blinks away the encroaching daze.

He nudges aside long strands of hair to suck a deliberate mark into vivid life on Reno’s neck, and his hands drag up along the bones of Reno’s spine until he’s cradling Reno’s body. If his own limbs feel like they’re swimming in syrup, Reno is boneless in his hands, pliable. Rufus rises up on his knees to carry Reno to the floor and rest his head against Reno’s chest. “You drive me crazy,” he says, breath smothered against soft skin. The air is saturated with the heavy smell of come and musky sweat. “Absolutely crazy.”

Reno is quiet for a moment until Rufus feels him crack a genuine smile. “Yeah, I get that a lot. Takes a certain kind of freak to appreciate it.”

A laugh shivers its way through Reno and as it fades, Rufus draws back, reaching up to grab hold of the counter and haul himself to his feet before the illusion of hard tile seeming more comfortable than it is really sets in.

“Need to clean up and get going,” he says. It would be best if the idiot sweating it out in the trunk of the sedan was conscious when they delivered him to the labs.

“You want a shower, boss?” Reno asks, still a sprawl on the floor.

Everything is back to how it should be, tenuously perhaps, but settled into an equilibrium that will hold long enough for things to be less raw between them. Rufus considers Reno’s offer, there’s time for one, and a quick rinse would rid him of the sweat clinging tacky to his skin as well as help clear the fog impeding his thoughts. “If you don’t mind.”

“Rarely object to a sexy guy occupying space in my shower,” Reno says, a fresh grin stretching his mouth as he gets up. He guides Rufus to a small bathroom and ducks out to fetch a towel.

“No complaints about my ability to do laundry,” Reno says, coming back with a folded towel in one hand. He drops it on the sink and slaps a hand down on it. “Fuckers are line dried, so they’re a little crispy. But hey, at least it doesn’t feel like you’re just pushing the water around on your skin.”

Already well aware of Reno’s dislike of the plush towels hanging in his bathroom, Rufus ignores the dig. “How long does it take for the water to warm?” he asks, holding one hand under the spray.

Reno squeezes in close and thrusts a hand past the curtain to feel for himself. He shrugs. “Hot as it’s going to get, boss. You’ve got us on ration, remember?”

The vague memory of signing something to the effect comes back to Rufus and he apologises off-hand as he strips. Reno makes a sound of disbelief and lingers for a few seconds before slipping out and leaving Rufus alone.

With the water as cool as it is, Rufus makes do in half the time he’d allotted, and once out, scrubs himself dry twice as vigorously. His skin prickles from the rough cotton instead of heat, and as he seeks to make himself presentable again he spots the second toothbrush in the cup next to the small sink.

Rufus twists it around, wonders to whom it belongs and whether or not the owner is the type who truly appreciates Reno’s ability to make a man do things he otherwise might not.

He shares a cool smile with his reflection, then brushes away as much of the dirt from his slacks as he can.

On his way out, he finds Reno smoking and remarks on the cliché. Reno just shrugs. Rufus crooks a small, wry smile, and nicks it off his lips, taking a long drag before offering it back.

“Keep it. Token of my appreciation,” Reno says.

“Enjoy the rest of your time off.”

“Yeah, yeah. You can give me a nice pension for all my loyal service,” Reno says, shadowing him to the door.

Rufus hangs the cigarette back on his lip before the urge to kiss Reno one last time hits. Bitterness still lingering on his palate, Reno probably wouldn’t much appreciate it.

Reno tosses off a little wave as he leaves, and the door swings shut with an extra kick to latch it. Rufus is poised on the landing of the stairwell with smoke swirling in his lungs when he hears the locks turn.

Avers is on point, halfway down the flight of stairs. Henner’s gaze flicks to him between regular sweeps of the surroundings. Rufus wonders what sorts of questions they have now. After one more drag he tosses the cig down and grinds it out, nudging it towards the baseboard where it’s lost among other detritous.

“Let’s finish delivering our package,” he says, descending.

“Yes, sir.”


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