Lights Off

Rufus/Reno. R. 500 words.
Reno used to pay attention to the set of Rufus’s shoulders.

Reno lets himself in. He’s surprised to find Rufus’s office dark. For a moment, he thinks he’s called it wrong — he’s never seen Tseng stay late when Rufus doesn’t unless there’s trouble on the way, and the Department’s radar has been clear for days.

He shuts the door to block the spill of light from the hallway. After a moment, his eyes adjust. As he saunters across the soft carpet towards the silhouette by the window, Rufus says, “Working late, Reno? That isn’t like you.”

A year ago, maybe more, Reno would have said that was a jab at his work ethic and a warning to back off all rolled into one. Reno’s not stupid enough to say Rufus’s bark is worse than his bite, but he’s mellowed out when it comes to Reno being Reno.

“You know me, boss,” Reno says. “Always on the clock.”

Rufus makes a sound like a laugh. He doesn’t turn from the glass when Reno’s arms slide around his waist, or do much more than raise an eyebrow as Reno’s fingers start plucking at buttons.

Reno used to pay attention to the set of Rufus’s shoulders, the tone of his voice, all the little cues that would say he wasn’t in the mood. Sometimes, Reno still does, just so he can convince Rufus otherwise.

“Staring out a dark window’s not much like you, either, boss,” Reno says, fingertips finding the bare skin of Rufus’s stomach, lips grazing the shell of his ear. “You starting to get broody on me or what?”

“Hardly,” Rufus says. He taps a finger on the pane to bring Reno’s attention to the city below. “We’ve begun repair on the Sector 7 station.”

“Yeah? Thought you were gonna leave that one.” Sector 7 is one of the things Reno doesn’t think about often. Just like he doesn’t think about watching the tower go up in flames, or what it means when he wakes up to the gentle slide of Rufus’s tongue between his lips.

It’s not that he’s got regrets, it’s just that thinking about it doesn’t do any good.

“It became an inconvenience,” Rufus says, which is about as close to justification as he ever gets. “You left quite the mess behind.”

Reno says, “You don’t pay me to keep it clean,” even if it’d been old man ShinRa who’d signed the cheques back then.

“No, I don’t,” Rufus agrees. When Reno’s fingers brush his lips, his mouth opens, tongue sliding warm and wet over the tips.

Rufus goes easily when Reno pushes him up against the window, spreads his legs when Reno’s hand pushes between his thighs. Reno’s fingers find his hole still loose from the last time, still a little slick inside, and Rufus moans.

It didn’t start out this way, but it didn’t take them long to get here, either.

Reno’s palm leaves a streak on the cool glass, blurring what’s left of Midgar’s sharp neon lights. It doesn’t matter, because Rufus isn’t looking anymore.


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