The Bark to Your Bite

Reno/Rufus. R. ~600 words. D/s. For Spring Kink.
Rufus says he likes things scripted, orderly and predictable. Reno’s none of these things.

Rufus only plays at keeping it clean.

Sprawled in a deep chair, Reno wraps the heavy chain draped cool over his bare chest tighter round his fist. The links clink, bite into flesh as he rests his cheek on his knuckles. His other hand grips the chair’s arm, fingertips white as the upholstery.

Rufus’s hair was damp from his shower. The black leather clutched tight in his hand turned pale skin to a stark, bloodless white. White as the corners of his lips where they drew into a tight, thin line.

Reno reaches for the cig burning to ash in the tray without him, the jingling of the leash bringing Rufus’s breath in a hiss. Rufus shifts, his hands flat on the floor between his spread knees, his head bowed with fine blond hair falling forward to hide his eyes. It’s the first move he’s made since dropping to his knees. Reno’s skin prickles with an eager sort of warmth.

Feel free to leave if you’ve decided you don’t want that fuck after all, Rufus snapped, all that crafted patience stripped away with a few careless words. You know where the door is.

“Move your hands,” Reno says.

“Where?” There’s no ‘sir’ tacked onto the end of it this time, no title like he used before Reno told him to forget it, as soon as Reno found out it cost him more. Rufus says he likes things scripted, orderly and predictable. Reno’s none of these things.

“Anywhere but your dick.”

This isn’t the first time Rufus has been collared for him. It’s not even the second, or third, or fourth. Until that buckle snaps shut and the leather rests warm on Rufus’s skin, Reno’s almost sure he’s dreamed every time before. But no matter how much Reno jerked off thinking about what was under that fine suit, he never would’ve come up with this on his own.

Rufus hesitates. He looks better like this, the smooth polish cracked and worn, the calculating gleam gone from his eyes. His life is in Reno’s hands day after day, they’re both used to that. Handing this over, at first letting and then having no choice about the vulnerability he shows Reno, that’s something more.

Eventually, he straightens, his head still down and his hands settling on the tops of his thighs. His posture would be perfect, his breathing carefully controlled and hands steady, except this is the one time he doesn’t have to be. It always takes him a couple of mistakes to figure that out.

Reno grinds his cig out and winds up last of the chain’s slack, forcing Rufus to lean forward again, chin up, eyes down. “You know what your problem is?” he says, dirt from his boot staining pristine white slacks as he nudges Rufus’s legs further apart, presses the sole heavily between them.

Rufus’s cock is thick. He twitches like he’s trying to keep from grinding against the worn leather and road-beaten rubber. “No,” he says, the word not quite a groan.

Reno jerks the chain, puts more weight behind his foot shoved into Rufus’s crotch. Rufus breaks faster, easier this time around, noise like moans spilling off his lips as fast as he can draw breath. Reno eases up, his own breaths short and cock aching. It takes him a little while to find his voice as Rufus slumps forward to lay a shaking hand on his boot. Reno doesn’t kick it off like before. Rufus’s fingertips trace a trembling, grateful path over the buckles.

“Ain’t that a shame,” Reno says.


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