The Conscience of the King Chapter Five: A Little Pouring Out of Treasure "You been leading me beside strange waters, streams of beautiful lights in the night. But where is my pastureland in these dark valleys? If I loose my grip, will I take flight?" -- Bruce Cockburn His hair was damp against his collar as he pushed the button for the penthouse floor, scanning his keycard with an automatic motion born of countless repetitions. As the elevator started moving, he leaned back against the wall, letting out a breath he wasn't even aware of holding. ~Goddamn it,~ he raged at himself, running a hand through hair that, absent its usual styling gel, refused to stay out of his face. ~What the hell was I thinking -- no, the question is with /what/ was I thinking, and it sure as hell wasn't my brain. Dammit, I /promised/...~ But the thoughts refused to stop plauging him, and he sighed again. ~I only hope that I didn't scare him too badly.~ The only thing that kept him from truly agonizing over the evening's events was the look that had been in Reeve's eyes. That small, guarded light that had told him without words that Reeve had, against all odds, been enjoying himself -- until he had pushed too far. That was, above all else, what had kept him from finishing out the night on Reeve's couch; that was what had sent him home through the grey light of Midgar in the middle of the night. Rufus stalked through the elevator doors almost before they opened, pacing irritably down the hallway to his suite of rooms. At this hour, the tower was silent, deserted save for the guards, who nodded to him as he passed. He nodded back, as used to their presence as he was for the need for the ubiquitous security cards. As he opened the door to his rooms, he noticed the light that he had not left on, the soft music he had not left playing, and came to an easy ready stance, crouched against potential danger, one hand reaching for the .38 holstered beneath his shoulder -- -- and relaxed again, but only briefly, as he identified the amused, feminine chuckle that greeted him. One pertly-shaped brow raised in amusement as Scarlet stirred from the couch, uncurling her long legs from beneath her. "Going to shoot me, big brother?" she purred, her tone the familiar dark temptation. "And here I came to see you thinking that you might want to use the /other/ gun." Salaciously, she licked her lips, still gleaming with carmine lipstick despite the lateness of the hour. "Scarlet," Rufus acknowledged, his voice tense, as he kicked off his shoes beneath the small hall table. "To what do I owe this honor." She laughed, a purring rumble. "You were an awfully long time at that party, big brother. I was beginning to think that you might not come home at all. What's the matter -- did your fucktoy throw you out?" "I'm not in the mood for your games, Scarlet," Rufus snapped, shrugging out of his jacket. "What are you here for? This is, after all, my apartment." Something flashed briefly in her cool blue eyes, and then was gone. "Oh, I am certainly aware of that," she said, perhaps a little too sharply, and then tossed her hread, soft blonde hair settling around her shoulders. "It isn't as if you haven't made /that/ fact perfectly clear. I simply thought you might wish a bit of -- company." "No," he retorted, sharply, and then unbent long enough to add, "Thank you. But no. I'm not in the mood; I'm simply going to sleep. Alone." Again, one sculpted brow arched as she drummed perfectly manicured nails against the arm of the couch. "How unlike you," she said, with a smirk. "Are you certain you're feeling all right, big brother?" Rufus barely spared a glance for her, knowing that she wanted him to look, knowing that his refusal to appreciate the show she was giving would drive her mad. "Never better," he drawled, "as soon as I rid my apartment of an unwanted guest." Fatigue and stress shortened his temper enough to make him ruder than he normally would have been. "Go home, Scarlet," he said, flatly. "I'm not interested in playing chase-the-brat-around-my-apartment tonight, nor any night in the forseeable future. I'll be sure to let you know when I am. Until then, I would appreciate it if you stayed the hell /out/ of my apartment until invited back." He could tell by the way she drew back that his expression had gone deadly, but he didn't care; he was sick of her attempts to make him agree with the mad scheme of his father's to pair them off that had first surfaced at about the same time his father had adopted her. She paled, but pride made her snap back at him. "Fine," she said, her tone a world of ice, as she stood and stooped to collect her trademark red heels from beneath the coffeetable. "I'll just trot off to my rooms like a good little girl --" Sarcasm marred her voice -- "until my lord and master summons me." Her eyes flashed. "Just remember, big brother, that I was here first." Leaving him to ponder the meaning of that last barb, she swept out of the room. * -- * In the dream -- and it must have been a dream, /had/ to have been a dream, Reeve didn't think he could have let it go this far if it weren't--Reeve was back in Rufus's apartment; the only illumination in the room was the blue glow of the forgotten TV, which lit up the array of empty bottles on the coffee table in most interesting ways. Not that he was paying attention to that. He did not know where his shirt was, nor did he really care. The things Rufus was doing to him, the amazing things his hands and his mouth were doing, occupied him at the moment; a lost shirt was trivial in comparison. He knew those things should be scaring him, and was even a bit worried that they didn't, but like the piffling matter of his shirt, he brushed it aside. ~See,~ a little voice in his mind whispered, ~this isn't so bad. Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.~ Reeve let out a soft sigh and relaxed against the arm of the couch, being careful not to let his eyes close. Although he had only the most rudimentary notion that none of this was real, he did have the presence of mind to remember that one of two things tended to happen when he closed his eyes in his dreams: a) he woke up, or b) the dream would change. More than likely, it would change into something a lot less pleasant. But the things Rufus were doing to him robbed him of more and more of his control...when they finally brought him over the edge and made him throw his head back against the arm of the couch and scream Rufus's name to the ceiling, his eyelids betrayed him-- --and he found himself alone, in his own bed, swaddled in his comforter. ~God/damn,/~ Reeve thought, groggily rubbing his eyes. The alarm clock on the nightstand told him in large green numerals that it was half past five in the morning, and he rolled over and grumbled wordlessly. As he rolled, though, he became quite clearly aware of a rather... unusual... sensation. ~Well, now,~ he thought with a detachment that, under any other circumstances, he would have found riotously funny, ~how interesting, /that's/ never happened before...~ And then his brain put two and two together, and he began to blush violently. Certain that his face could have illuminated the room, he got up, changed his pajamas, and took another blanket off the shelf in the closet. That done, he crawled back into bed and shut his eyes with a little groan. Fat lot of good the water Rufus had forced on him earlier had done; his head was already threatening to pound. He ignored it. ~What's your problem, anyway?~ he asked himself, rubbing his forehead. ~You know he's not going to hurt you.~ ~But he /could,/~ that small voice in the back of his head piped up. ~He /could,/ if he wanted to.~ When sleep finally found Reeve again, the sun was well over the horizon. -- * -- Rufus had his head down on the desk, eyes closed as if in supplication for patience, when Tseng's voice reached his ears. "Heya, kiddo. Lousy Monday?" He picked up his head to see Tseng, one hip leaning against the edge of his desk, clad in unbuttoned shirt, his usual dress pants, and a gun harness. He forced a smile as he ran a hand through his hair. "Lousy Monday indeed," he responded, wearily. "Coming up on the end of the quarter, and you would not believe the state that the books are in. I honestly think that Heidegger believes the accounting fairies will come and straighten out his department's expenditures; it's the only possible reason for how utterly screwed up that department is." He added an amused look at Tseng. "And even if Heidegger didn't catch the 'Misc. Supplies' under your expense accounts, I know damn well that's beer and women." "And ammo. Don't forget the ammo. That's what makes it reimbursable." Tseng grinned back, utterly unrepentant. "Come on, kiddo, things will still be there in the morning. Take some time and come out with us. When was the last time you did anything non-work-related, anyway?" "Reeve's party last weekend," Rufus responded, automatically, and he was distracted enough by the work still spread across his desk that he didn't see the brief expression of annoyance that crossed Tseng's face. "And of course I've been working out at night. Hey, come to think about it, weren't we going to get a game of hallway basketball going last night?' "We did," Tseng responded, shortly. "We came by to see if you wanted to play, but you were face-down on your desk snoring." Cool grey eyes studied Rufus, assessingly. "I figured that if you were tired enough to fall asleep on the desk instead of doing your usual stay-up-all-night-working deal, you were tired enough that I shouldn't wake you." Rufus ran a hand through his hair, standing it on end. "I just haven't been sleeping all that well lately," he said, lowly. "The old man's got his knickers in a knot about this whole war thing, and he's dumped more shit on my shoulders to make up for his obsession." He reached for his pack of cigarettes, ignoring the overflowing ashtray on his desk, and fished out a new one. "And of course that means that it's okay for him to run off at 5 to head down to the Honeybee, but I've gotta stay up here until --" He squinted at the clock as he was reminded of it, unsurprised to find that it was already nearly eight -- "all hours of the evening to get shit done." Absently, he lit the cigarette, exhaling a thin column of bluish smoke. Tseng made a face. "Ah, yes, the war," he said, sourly. "The great armies of Shinra making the world free for free-market enterprise -- as long as it's /their/ free market. Still no reports from the front lines?" Rufus shook his head. "Nothing. The old man's 'monitoring the situation'." He glanced at Tseng. "What do you think about this whole deal? I haven't gotten a chance to ask you about it." Tseng shrugged, gracefully, and picked out a cigarette of his own. "What do I think about it? You mean, what does the expatriate exiled Wutaian think about it, don't you?" He smirked, a caustic expression. "I wasn't surprised. I've been telling them for years that things weren't what they seemed; no one wanted to listen to me over it. The ninja caste is far too integrated into daily society to not have been involved. Wutai's such a patriarchial society that if it /had/ been an isolated band of rebels, as they were claiming, the offenders would have been dealt with years ago." He shrugged again. "I'm sure my family is up to their ears in it. It's exactly the sort of political maneuvering that they're so good at. I wouldn't be surprised if my father was coordinating half the army." Rufus looked at him, a bit startled. "And that doesn't bother you?" He made it into a question, though they both knew that it wasn't, not precisely. Again, that same shrug, as Tseng took a sharp drag on his cigarette. "Not really. What am I going to do, turn around and ask to be brought back into the society with open arms?" He lifted one hand, tapped the mark between his eyebrows. "Not with this. The mark of the outcast; I'd be killed on sight. I'm dead to them; they're dead to me." Rufus shook his head. "That sucks," he said, succinctly. A wry smile twisted Tseng's lips. "I'm used to it by now. C'mon, kid; let's go get some food. The work isn't gonna go anywhere." With a prejudicial glance down at his desk, Rufus sighed. "Yeah, you got a point. And I'm starving. Pizza?" "Sounds good to me." Tseng stood, stabbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. "Your treat?" "Why not." Rufus followed suit, spilling some ash out onto the priceless antique desk and not giving a damn. "It's not as if I can't afford it." The two men left the office, Rufus clicking off the lights as they went. -- * -- Even though the news the meeting was called to deliver was horrid in the extreme, Reeve could not help but think that the PR folks must have been piddling their pants with excitement, for they finally had a big job to do. Though most of the reports were barely intelligible through the spurts of yammering emanating from Heidegger's end of the table, Reeve managed to gather that a) some serious shit had gone down in Wutai and b) judging from his pointed but unacknowledged absence from the meeting, whatever it was had had a profound effect on Rufus. That, coupled with the fact that he'd gotten stuck sitting between Palmer and a wall, made getting the hell out of here the first thing on his mind. ~What the fuck do they need me here for, anyway?~ came a rather annoyed little voice from the back of Reeve's brain. ~They don't need an engineer here, they just need the military guys...or maybe the little men in the white coats...~ Again, the yelling escalated to a nigh-unbearable level, and with sigh Reeve reached into his briefcase, dug around for painkillers, and swallowed two. Somehow, the old man managed to at least temporarily restore some semblance of order to the room...enough to declare that the rest of the meeting regarded information only for military officers and such. ~Thankyouthankyouthankyou.~ Reeve stood up, but not before having his toe trodden on by the fat git to his left. Instead of trying to get around Palmer, he simply stepped over his chair and bolted for the door. With that bit of high unpleasantness out of the way, his first priority was to seek out Rufus and try to figure out what the hell was going on. He headed quickly to Rufus's office and knocked softly on the door. "Come in," came the response -- the tone it was delivered in drunken, almost slurring. "Unless you're here to tell me something else I have to do for 'the good of the company', in which case you can just fucking well piss off." The door cracked open a bit, and Reeve peeked in through it. "Good of the company, my ass. What the fuck's going on around here? I just sat through a half-hour meeting about, as far as I could tell, absolutely nothing but a lot of yelling." The sight that met his eyes was enough to startle him. Cool, composed Rufus, the man he had yet to see in any form of situation that involved the loss of self-control, had disappeared; the man sitting at the desk was barely recognizable. Rufus was half-lying sprawled over his desk, his tie long gone, his shirt half-unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up; his hair was wild, as if he had been running his fingers through it, and an uncapped bottle of whiskey -- the level of liquid dangerously low -- was clutched in his right hand. A bitter, hollow laugh escaped his lips. "Oh, it's you, Reeve," he said, picking up the bottle and drinking directly from it. "The only other sane man in the company. Come on in. Have a seat. Have a drink. Let's drink to the monumental /idiocy/ of that old man sitting atop his decaying empire." Reeve froze for a moment...then carefully, as if he were walking through knee-deep sleeping rattlesnakes, he picked his way to Rufus's desk. "What...what happened?" Again, that hollow laugh. "We got reports from the front line in Wutai again today," he said, bitterly. "It turns out that I was right all along, and it is an organized resistance-- more so, that the council is behind it one hundred percent. The casualties were atrocious. Such an amazing loss of life..." His voice was scarred with sarcasm. "It just goes to show that Daddy dearest doesn't believe in doing things halfway. If he's going to fuck up, he's going to fuck up completely. Did you know that Sephiroth was injured? Sephiroth, the greatest solider we've ever had?" He drank from the bottle again, barely seeming to notice the burn of the alcohol as it went down his throat. "God damn it," he hissed, "I /told/ him. And did he listen to me? Fuck, no." For a moment, Reeve just stared at Rufus...and then he sat, rather ungracefully, on the edge of the desk. "Oh, shit..." Hardly aware he was doing so, he reached for the bottle and took a sip of its remaining contents. Rufus pushed the bottle closer to Reeve as he reached, his face marred by a snarl. "Throwing away lives like candy," he growled, lowly. "What the /fuck/ is the point? We're not gaining anything, we're not making any progress..." He shook his head and re-claimed the bottle, downing another gulp. "But of course, I'm just the token offspring." Reeve just shrugged, making an utterly non-amused chuckling noise as he did. ~Yup. Work for Shinra. Make some good stuff happen. Light up the biggest city on God's green earth. Good call. Good fuckin' call. Shoulda stayed back home and fixed cars or some shit.~ "If he had half a functioning brain cell, he would have pulled out of there months ago. I think the last thing I heard when I was leaving was something about sending /more/ goddamn troops in. Why can't anyone see how fucking /crazy/ that is?" The bottle slammed down against the desk as Rufus's temper eroded a bit further. "Because I'm the one who pointed it out," he snarled. "Because no one ever listens to me, no matter how much sense I make. I'm just the president's little boy, good to wave at the masses and mouth the official corporate lines when they need me to." His hand hit the desk after the bottle, the sound violent. "God /damn/ it." Reeve winced a bit at the noise, then carefully reached out for the bottle again. "I listen to you..." He drank again, coughed softly, and set the bottle back down. "But then I guess I don't really count." Rufus rose to began pacing. "Hell, you have no idea how much I appreciate it, Reeve, but I am so goddamn sick of the old man looking down on me as if I'm less than dirt. Why the hell did he pay for all that fancy education if he didn't want me to use it?" Another of those little shrugs. "Probably just to make himself look good. Hell, I don't know." He closed his eyes...opened them...watched the room dance around a little before settling down, and shook his head. "There's a lot of shit I don't know and wish I did. All I know right now is, there is some serious shit going down and it's going to take a lot of other people down with it if it doesn't stop fast." The trail Rufus paced brought him dangerously close to Reeve -- ten steps one way, ten the other. "For fuck's sake, you're preaching to the choir here. I've been mentioning that sort of shit for months now. It seems like you're the only one who's even remotely interested in listening." Reeve took one more drink from the abandoned bottle and looked up at Rufus, one eyebrow raised. "I have functioning brain cells. Of course I'm going to listen to it." Rufus paced irritably, like a caged tiger, the alcohol already consumed doing little but making him crankier. "That sure as hell makes you a minority of one." He shook his head, ran a hand through his hair in irritation, the anger fairly radiating from him. "I'm sorry. I'm not fit for human company right about now." "It's okay." Reeve smiled faintly at Rufus, and shrugged. "I was just...kind of worried when I didn't see you at the meeting." A dark chuckle, and Rufus turned to pick up the bottle of whiskey again. "I would have punched someone." Another dark chuckle. "I sort of wanted to punch Palmer. He stepped on my foot on the way out. I'm just now getting the feeling back in that toe." Rufus shook his head. "I swear, one of these days I'm going to snap, and the 70th floor will be awash with blood." Reeve winced a little at the words, and took another drink from the bottle. Rufus barely noticed Reeve's reactions; he turned, staring out at the window, his face dark and clouded. "It would at least make sure they notice me. I swear, smetimes I think that if I went up in flames, there isn't a living soul who'd piss on me to put the fire out. I like to think I have some sort of power and authority, but whe it all comes down to it, there isn't a damn thing that I can change." Reeve just watched Rufus's back as the other man gazed out his window. "I think you might have changed a thing or two," he finally said, softly, as if he might have been talking to himself. And maybe he was. Rufus shook his head, bringing up one hand to make a short gesture of annoyance. "Damned if I can figure out what that might be," he says, his tone more frustrated than angry. "I show up, I shuffle papers, I do all the bullshit that Daddy dearest doesn't want to deal with, and what do I get in return? A pat on the head and a 'This is something you obviously don't understand'." He glared out at the city below, as if it could somehow give him answers. "Nobody gives a damn about what I think. Nobody gives a damn about me." Slowly, carefully, Reeve slid off the edge of the desk and padded close to where Rufus stood. "No," he protested, softly. "No...that's not true..." He swallowed. "/I/ do...and I think...I'd do anything for you." Rufus froze, and then -- hearing something in Reeve's voice, something that penetrated even the haze of self-pity -- turned around, his sapphire eyes fixing on Reeve's face. "Anything?" he asked, his voice low and somehow dangerous. Reeve froze as well, his eyes locked on Rufus's...and then he nodded, slowly. "Anything." Rufus looked back at Reeve for a long moment, his expression somehow strangely assessing -- and then he closed his eyes, for half a second, opening them only when he seemed to find the control he was searching for. "Do you know what you're saying?" he asked, his voice a soft counterpart to the roar he had used not five minutes ago. Reeve just looked back at him. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears, could feel his knees beginning to give in -- but he held his ground, and held Rufus's eyes. "I -- I don't know if I do or not. I don't know if I have any idea what the hell is going on here, and I sure as hell know that I don't understand you." He heard his voice come close to breaking underneath the tension, and closed his own eyes for a moment, searching for his control. "But you're my friend. And I -- I care a hell of a lot about you. And ..." Gently, Rufus rested a finger on Reeve's lips, telling him without words to hush. "Who are you, Reeve?" he asked, softly. "You're real. You're the first real person I've met in years. How can you stand to --" Reeve opened his mouth as if to say something, but Rufus shook his head. "No. No, don't talk. Just ..." He let his hand curve around Reeve's cheek, stroking softly; Reeve could feel the barely-leashed tension in that touch, though it was slowly transmuting itself into something odd and wild and strange that he didn't have a name for. "Reeve -- do you trust me?" Reeve closed his eyes, hearing any one of a thousand possible answers to that question -- and was startled to hear himself answer, simply, "Yes." Rufus simply nodded once, as if a very important question had been answered, and let his hand fall from Reeve's skin, turning to pick up the bottle of whiskey again and taking another long sip from it. Just as Reeve was beginning to register some small, vague feeling of disappointment -- and he wasn't sure what for, wasn't sure even what he had begun to hope for -- Rufus put the bottle down and turned back to him, crossing the space between them with a few quick strides and resting a hand at the nape of his neck to bring him close for a kiss. Rufus's mouth tasted of whiskey and tobacco, flavored with desire; his kiss was soft, growing slowly in intensity until Reeve could feel his pulse speeding up further. It was not precisely gentle; he could feel the barely-leashed tension in Rufus's body, the control that Rufus had placed around his temper and his passion. One small corner of his brain noticed that, and the scared six-year-old voice began shouting at him again -- but for once, he didn't seem to notice. He brought his hands up to Rufus's arms, his fingers curling around rock-hard biceps, feeling the small twitches that indicated without words just how much Rufus was holding back. He knew that he should pull back, that he should break away -- but the larger part of him was too occupied in kissing back. He barely noticed when Rufus's fingers twined up into his hair, loosening the ponytail and tugging the rubber band loose, tossing it aside with little care for where it landed. Gently, Rufus's hands cupped his face, tongue coaxing his lips to part, fingertips sliding with infinitesimal care along his jawline. He was startled to find that his eyes were closed, his breath ragged -- and startled more to find that he was enjoying the feeling. After an eternity of seconds, Rufus drew back, nipping lightly at Reeve's lips as he ended the kiss; he chuckled, softly, as he saw Reeve's face, and Reeve blushed slightly, imagining what he must look like -- face flushed, lips parted, hair loose and wild. "I," he started to say, and then blinked, sharply, as his eyes filled with tears. Rufus didn't seem to find it odd, not at all; he folded Reeve into his arms, holding him against one shoulder, a hand tracing gentle patterns against Reeve's back. "It's all right," he said, barely audible. "I'm not going to hurt you." Reeve shook his head against Rufus's shoulder, feeling small and insignificant. "No, that's -- that's not it," he said, his voice choked. "It's not you. It's not -- it's not this. It's that --" He stopped again, closing his eyes against Rufus's shirt, breathing in deeply and almost tasting the scent of Rufus that was composed of cigarette smoke and aftershave, coffee and whiskey, with that overall unique flavor that seemed to belong only to Rufus. It almost comforted him, and he found the control necessary to continue. "I -- I don't know what to do." Very softly, Rufus bent his neck, running his lips along the edge of Reeve's temple, before slipping further down to breathe in Reeve's ear, "That's all right. I do." One of Rufus's hands slipped downwards, slightly, his thumb tracing the line of Reeve's collarbone through his shirt. "Just trust me, Reeve." "I -- I do --" Reeve shivered at the touch, his thoughts scattering under the tender assault. "I have. It's not you -- it's me..." He could feel the tears waiting, hot and treacherous, and almost wanted to weep -- so close, so close, though he didn't know what he was so close to -- After a moment, Rufus drew back again, and just looked at Reeve. "Come here," he said, softly, catching Reeve's hand in his own, drawing it to his lips and scraping his teeth lightly over the curve of Reeve's thumb. He led Reeve around to stand just in front of the small couch, turning and locking the door to the office with a swift gesture before moving back to stand in front of Reeve, at a comfortable enough distance. Again, one small part of Reeve was grateful for the space, and another, much larger part was crying out for him to cross that divide, to let Rufus take him into his arms, to do whatever Rufus wanted -- ~No! What are you thinking -- don't let him touch you like that!~ The part of him that had always tried to keep him safe was drowned out by the larger part of him, which was insisting, ~This is Rufus. You trust him. You ... you want him. And he wants you -- and he will be good to you...~ But he couldn't be certain, not completely. He trusted Rufus, but the man was so unpredictable -- he had been drinking, and there was always that odd tension, and -- "Look at me, Reeve," came Rufus's voice, softly, and Reeve yanked his eyes up almost against his will, the ingrained reflex to /obey/, to protect himself with his compliance, too strong to override. He found Rufus looking back at him, eyes hot and tempestuous, and he suppressed another shiver. The other man's voice was gentle, almost surprisingly so, as he said, "It's all right, Reeve. I'm not him. And I'm not going to hurt you." "I know," Reeve whispered, unable to drop his eyes from the promise that Rufus's eyes held. Rufus's gaze didn't waver; he didn't move. "You've got the choice here, Reeve," he said, still softly. "You can either walk out of here right now and we forget all of this ever happened -- or you stay." The golden purr in his voice made it quite clear what Reeve's staying would entail. "And either way, I won't hold it against you. You've got the power, Reeve. It's your call." Reeve felt like a deer caught in the headlights as he looked back at Rufus. He wanted to turn and run; he wanted to take that single step that would bring him closer to Rufus. And he was terrified that either way, whichever choice that he made, that he wouldn't be able to live with himself in the morning. ~What if I stay? Do I want to stay? Do I want this -- do I want him? I know I do, but God, how can I ... And what if I leave?~ Though the thought of losing the friendship -- the only friendship he'd found in this Goddamned city -- scared him, the thought of losing the only person who'd ever been able to get this far past his defenses scared him more... He took a deep breath, before he could lose his nerve, and closed his eyes. "Stay," he said, his voice sounding foreign in his own ears. "I'll -- I'll stay." He opened his eyes again, not knowing that there was a plea naked and visible in them. "God, Rufus --" Again, that small gesture to shush. "I know," Rufus said, answering whatever Reeve was about to say -- and somehow, Reeve could believe that yes, Rufus did know, that Rufus could see the entire gamut from stark terror to fledgeling arousal that raged within him. "No more words. We don't need them. Just let me." Before Reeve could react, could register a protest, Rufus took that little step to close the distance between them, not quite touching Reeve yet. True to his words, he did not speak; he simply held Reeve's eyes with his own, those eyes seeming to promise more than Reeve had ever seen in another's face before. Slowly, his hands rose to Reeve's chest, each motion feeling like it took a thousand years; the look in his eyes helped Reeve keep the panic at bay. Trust me, those eyes seemed to be urging; look at me, don't look inside yourself. Reeve let out a little gasp as Rufus's hands slid down his chest, inch by tantalizing inch; those hands curled into fists at Reeve's waist, pulling at his shirt, tugging it gently from beneath the simple dress pants. Once the fabric was freed, Rufus almost seemed to hesitate for a moment, and Reeve could feel the panic rising again -- but Rufus's eyes held his, still, and that electric tension that filled the gap between them kept the terror from overwhelming him. With that same deliberate motion, Rufus lifted his hands, and began to unbutton Reeve's shirt. Each button conquered seemed to make Reeve's blood sing a little more; his skin felt electric, the fever beginning to grow. Rufus's eyes were like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man; Reeve bit his lip, sharply, as the third button parted. ~No,~ whispered the familiar voice in his mind, and he fought down the sense of panic at realizing that the decision was, finally, out of his hands. Rufus was not the type of man who offered a decision twice. There was half a second when he almost spoke out, almost gave voice to the demons of the past that rose to choke him -- the words were on his lips, as the callused hands slid down past the fifth button and feathered down his chest, reaching for the final button. And then he could see that Rufus saw those words too, could see that little tiny urging in Rufus's eyes -- and he remembered the dream. Remembered the sensations, the ecstacy -- remembered the imagined feel of Rufus's hands on his skin, the dream-induced wonder of Rufus's mouth on his... ~But this is no dream,~ he thought, his hands curling into fists at his sides, to keep them from rising to push Rufus away. ~And I'm not going to wake up ... oh God.~ And further thought was suddenly beyond him; for Rufus had reached the last button, and skimmed his hands back upwards, brushing lightly over Reeve's nipples as he gently coaxed Reeve's shirt off his shoulders. It was as if he had suddenly stepped into his dream, as if all of his worst fears and greatest hopes has combined to provide him with this one moment out of all of the rest. He caught himself thinking, as his eyes slitted shut with the pleasure, that he couldn't have been dreaming; because when he opened his eyes again, Rufus was still looking back at him, that secret smile on his face, waiting patiently for him to catch up with the sensations. Rufus's touch seemed to promise patience, though he had not said the words -- would not, Reeve thought, and fought down another wave of panic; he knew better than to think that he had any say on the matter at all anymore. He could feel his breath, loud and harsh in his ears, as Rufus ran his surprisingly callused hands down Reeve's sides, bringing them back up to slip along Reeve's back, cupping his shoulderblades and curling his fingers back along to skim Reeve's collarbone, even as his lips descended to gently feather along Reeve's neck. Rufus seemed content with that simple touch for the moment, but he could not know how it sent Reeve's knees weak and trembling; ~he must be able to feel my pulse getting ready to race out of my throat and go for a run around the building,~ Reeve thought, crazily, even as his hands once more grasped at Rufus's arms for support. Still wordlessly, Rufus drew back, just as Reeve thought that he would surely no longer be able to stand; it was as if the younger man had been able to read his mind, or read the responses of his body. Gently, Rufus bore him backwards, urging him onto the couch; Reeve found himself obeying that touch without even thinking about it, glad for the respite of being able to sit. He opened his eyes after a minute, startled to find that Rufus had knelt before him. Rufus's smile was slow, lazy -- a bit deadly, a bit promising -- as he looked up at Reeve, ceding the advantage of height only to replace it with the advantage of experience. Briefly, he rested one of his hands against Reeve's cheek, the touch soft and tender, before running his hands down Reeve's arms, slipping his fingers briefly into Reeve's own and then setting both of Reeve's hands to each side on the couch. Reeve could feel the soft leather of the couch beneath him as he curled his hands into fists, struggling against the contradictory impulses to curl into a little ball to protect himself and to run his hands through the wisps of Rufus's honeyed hair. ~So beautiful,~ he thought, and the incongruity of the situation struck him again: this man, this pefect, beautiful man, wanted /him/. Perhaps that was the moment that it all began seeming real to him, the moment that it stopped feeling like some sort of crazy erotic dream and started feeling as if it were actually happening. He hissed, softly, just a single intake of breath, as Rufus rose up on his knees and began kissing his way up along one of Reeve's bare arms; that hiss was nothing compared to the soft cry that was wrung from him as Rufus's lips brushed once, twice, over one of his nipples. That touch seemed to electrify him even more; he could hear his fevered blood ringing in his ears, and one of his hands opened and closed fitfully against the couch where it had been placed. "God," he murmured, forgetting Rufus's adjuration against speech; it was a half-distinct word, more moan than voice, wrung from his lips against his will. It seemed to amuse Rufus, who looked up slyly even as his teeth lightly nipped at Reeve's sensitive flesh. After what felt like forever, Rufus drew back; one of his hands found the curve of Reeve's hip, stroking the sensitive valley between leg and torso through the fabric of Reeve's pants. His voice was thick with a combination of tenderness and delight as he asked, "Are you all right?" Reeve shook his head, slightly, but it wasn't negation; he was trying to shake off the fog of sensation that clouded him, returning long enough to open his eyes. "I --" he started, hearing his own voice loud in his ears. "Yes -- no -- I don't know -- god, Rufus, /don't stop/..." His words startled him, but even as he spoke them, he could feel the aching truth to them; he felt fevered, his body rock-hard, his skin jumping at the barest whisper of Rufus's breath across it. Another smile was his only response, as Rufus bent his head once more; his tongue traced down the lines of Reeve's chest, feeling the subtle twitch and jump of muscles beneath him. With infinite care, he took Reeve's belt in his mouth, undoing it quickly with nothing but teeth and lips. Reeve nearly jumped as Rufus's hair fell over his stomach, light and feathery, but that was quickly eclipsed by the shiver that posessed him as Rufus slid his hands along Reeve's hips, leaving nothing but naked flesh behind them as they went. The panic rose in him again -- ~what are you doing, /how/ can you be doing this, don't you know what he's going to do to you~ -- but Reeve once more fought it -- and was startled to discover that it was quieter than it ever had been, startled to discover it to be pushed aside for these new and fascinating discoveries. Rufus seemed to sense his disquiet, choosing to bring his lips to Reeve's knee, kissing slowly and softly up his thigh. Closing his eyes, Reeve took another deep breath, and forced himself to relax. It seemed, as Rufus proceeded, that the touch -- strange and unfamiliarly gentle, so opposed to any touch he had felt before -- almost erased the memories; as Rufus's fingers skimmed over his hip, he closed his eyes again, breathing deeply to overcome the fear and the arousal. ~I ... He's not that man,~ he thought to himself, and it was a strange combination of the little inner voices that usually plauged him. ~He's not going to hurt me; he wants to make this feel good. And ... oh, good god damn, but does it feel good!~ A soft moan escaped his lips as Rufus's lips teased over the head of his shaft; that moan was eclipsed by another, more heartfelt moan, as Rufus took him into his mouth. Reeve's head sagged back against the couch; his fingernails dug briefly into the leather beneath him. "Rufus -- my god, Rufus --" For once, there was nothing mixed in the touch but simple eroticism, and he could feel his heart racing. Without even noticing, one of his hands rose to tangle in Rufus's hair. Lazily, Rufus tasted him, tongue curling around his shaft in a teasing sort of caress; the edges of his mouth were smiling. Slowly, he took Reeve fully into his mouth, his throat closing around Reeve. He held there for a moment, giving Reeve time to grow used to the sensation. The edges of Rufus's hair whispered along the back of Reeve's hand as he dug his fingers more tightly into that soft handhold, his mind unable to think of anything more than how good it felt. "Rufus -- oh god, I --" The words broke off as Rufus drew his head back, and he felt a wave of disappointment as Rufus broke that touch to lean his head back, looking up at Reeve with a definite gleam in his eye. "Yes?" Rufus inquired, running the fingers of one hand along Reeve's upper thigh. "I -- oh god, don't stop -- please don't stop --" He could hear the breathiness in his voice, but it didn't seem forced, didn't seem wrong. "You feel so /good/..." Rufus's smile widened, taking on a definite hint of predatory satisfaction. "Good. That's the point." And with no further words, he brought his lips back to Reeve's length. Hands, demanding and yet gentle all at once, closed on Reeve's hips as Rufus drew his head back, tongue lightly flicking that sensitive area of nerves just underneath the head of Reeve's cock. Reeve hissed on an intake of breath, even as his hips tensed, bringing him rearing up off the couch even as he fisted his hands in Rufus's hair -- and the last of his whispered objections melted away. The scent of arousal and desire filled the air between them, even as Rufus once more took Reeve into his throat. setting up a half-syncopated rhythm of suckling and nibbling, licks and teasing tongue-flicks. It was a sweet, ageless time for Reeve before he recognized anything so conscious as thought, and when he did, it was simply, ~This is right.~ He could feel it building inside him, that strange and unfamiliar wonder -- like the focus of his world had narrowed, had boiled down to just Rufus's mouth and his own body. It had never been like this before, never -- and he could hear himself gasping, feel the hair in his eyes, as he tossed his head back and forth on the couch -- the sensation building, his body tensing -- And then, he could feel himself explode, and all thought and awareness was lost. He did not know how long he sprawled across the couch, body somehow more relaxed than it had ever been; it was a long, long time before he was even aware that he was still naked, and Rufus had settled himself cross-legged between Reeve's legs, regarding him with an expression that was halfway between amused and tender. He noted, absently, that all traces of Rufus's fit of temper were gone; the other man was as relaxed as Reeve had ever seen him. "God," Reeve finally whispered, finding his mouth dry. "Rufus, that was --" A bit of a laugh was in Rufus's voice as he rocked backwards, bringing himself to his feet with a single, fluid motion. "I know," Rufus replied, and reached out two fingers to tip Reeve's chin up, claiming his lips for a brief, almost gentle kiss before turning and striding across the room to the bar. Reeve could hear water running, but could not overcome the sweet lassitude that seemed to seep into his bones long enough to look; when Rufus returned, he picked up his head long enough to accept the glass of water that Rufus was offering. As Reeve drank, Rufus lifted a hand, brushing a lock of hair out of Reeve's eyes. "Are you all right?" Rufus asked, a hint of concern in his eyes. It was a long moment before Reeve felt that he could reply, and he used that moment to take a sort of mental inventory. He was startled to find that he felt all right -- more, that he felt ... almost more whole. "Yeah," he finally said, wetting his lips. "Yeah, I ... I enjoyed that." Hesitantly, he lifted a hand to touch the back of Rufus's wrist. "Rufus, I -- thank you." A half-second, and then a smile spread across Rufus's face, one of the rare beautiful ones. "You're welcome," he replied. "I've been wanting to do that for a long time." Reeve hesitated, and then asked the question that had been hovering in the back of his mind for a long time. "Have -- have you? Why?" Rufus hesitated, brushing an idle hand over Reeve's knee. "To be honest with you," he replied, his voice threaded with laughter, "I don't know. You're certainly not my usual type." "You mean -- you normally prefer women, don't you." Suddenly feeling awkward, Reeve reached for his discarded underwear, slipping them up his legs. The chuckle in Rufus's voice grew a bit more pronounced. "No, actually, I'm quite fond of both. I meant that I don't often go for the shy and retiring type." He captured one of Reeve's hands just as Reeve was about to reach for his pants, pressing a soft kiss into his palm. Reeve stilled, and then forced himself to ask, "So who do you normally go for?" Not paying much attention to the slight tremor in Reeve's voice, Rufus chuckled again and began nibbling lightly on Reeve's fingers. "The type who know what they want and go after it." He looked up to see Reeve averting his eyes, and somehow seemed to know what Reeve was thinking. "Hey." His voice was gentle as he reached out again to tip Reeve's chin so that their eyes met. "I'm not saying that I'm not interested in you. Just that you're not my usual type." Reeve averted his eyes again. "...Oh," he said, in a small voice, and took a deep breath. "You probably want -- want me to -- return the favor, don't you." Instead of answering, Rufus took a long moment, just looking up at Reeve. Just as Reeve was sure that he'd made some sort of mistake, some terrible error, the smile returned; this time it was more rueful. "I won't say that I wouldn't appreciate it," he replied, "...but you know, if you offered, I'd probably have to decline." Something strange and deep was in his eyes as he looked back up at Reeve. "I told you that I wasn't going to push you, and I'm sorry that I broke that promise, but I'm not going to keep breaking it." "No -- no, don't worry --" Reeve could hear himself start to babble, and with an effort, he stopped. "I mean, I -- I enjoyed that." He could feel his cheeks flaming. "It's just --" Rufus lifted a finger to rest against Reeve's lips. "Shh," he said, but though it was gentle, it had the force of an order. "I know a little more about what happened to you than you might think, and I'm not going to do anything that I don't think you can handle." Reeve closed his eyes, briefly. "All ... all right," he said, softly. "But I -- for some reason, it was okay. That was okay. That was more than okay." Rufus nodded, once. "I know," he said. "I wouldn't have done it if it hadn't been." Reeve looked away again. "I -- I should go," he whispered, not really all that certain if he meant it or not. Rufus seemed to sense that confusion, and rose to his feet, brushing a hand over Reeve's hair once, briefly. "I'll let you go think," he said, softly. "But -- come back tomorrow night? We'll have dinner, and we'll talk." As he moved to pick up his clothes, torn between the desire to escape and the crazy desire to throw himself into Rufus's arms, Reeve nodded. "Okay," he said, softly. And then before he could make any more mistakes, he escaped into the bathroom to get dressed. * -- * There was an unusual rattling in the bowels of the Shinra Tower parking garage, a jingly sort of noise, interspersed with distracted mumbling as one drew nearer the source, if there were indeed someone else there to hear it. But the only person this noise was audible to was the one who was making it. Here, in the depths of the parking garage, next to a nondescript little economy car he'd bought in college and never bothered to trade in, was a man with two engineering degrees who suddenly found himself unable to negotiate the complicated mechanism of his car door lock. At some point, Reeve finally realized that he was trying to unlock his car door with his apartment key. ~And you plan on /driving/ this thing out of here when you can't even get the damn door open?~ After more jingling to locate the proper key, Reeve opened the door and plopped himself down behind the wheel. And caught a look at himself in the rear-view mirror as he did. Good God. His shirt was partly unbuttoned, his tie thrown on as an afterthought, and his jacket--~oh fuck, where's my jacket?~--well, that would wait. What he needed now was to go home, maybe have a beer or two, and flop himself into the pool for a few hours. He started the engine, put the car into reverse, and backed out of his parking spot-- "AAH!" Something dark and shapeless slid down the windshield, temporarily obscuring Reeve's vision. In his panic, he came within millimeters of slamming on the gas instead of the brake.He fumbled for the shifter and threw it back into "park," staring at the thing that had fallen onto his windshield. Dark blue. Fabric. With a little rectangular tag reading "Figaro and Sons Tailors" neatly stitched under a slit of a pocket. ~Oh, for crying out loud!~ Reeve rolled his eyes and let out a short, embarrassed chuckle. He then rolled his window down, reached out, grabbed the sleeve of his jacket, and yanked it into the back seat. ~Get a hold of yourself,~ he thought, once more putting the car into reverse and carefully backing out of his spot. ~If you're going to freak, at least wait until you get home and off the road.~ But the strange thing was, he didn't really feel like he was going to freak at all. He felt...well, how /did/ he feel? He had no point of reference to compare this to. Well, maybe that dream the other night, but that wasn't even close. Comparing what had just happened to that dream he'd had would have been like comparing filet mignon to Slim Jims. He drove the few blocks back to his apartment building, maybe a little too slowly and carefully, mestled the car just as slowly and carefully into its reserved spot in /that/ parking garage, fumbled with the door handle, let himself out, and punched the button for his elevator. While he waited for it to arrive, he became aware that he was, once again, sans jacket. He started to go back for it...~Bah, hell with it,~ he thought, with a dismissive gesture toward his car. The elevator opened with a ding and a hiss to deposit Reeve outside the door to his apartment, and once again he undertook the task of selecting the proper key to fit the lock. And damned if he didn't try the car key first. ~You are a mess,~ he thought with a wry smile as he let himself in, ~a complete and utter mess.~ The first thing he did upon getting through the door was to make a beeline for the kitchen and snag a beer from the fridge. This he took to the patio, where he sat himself down in one of those godawful uncomfortable patio chairs, popped the top, and took a long, healthy drink. ~That really happened,~ he thought, staring up at the sky, trying to absorb the reality of what had transpired between Rufus and himself not an hour ago. ~It really happened...and I think I'm okay. No, scratch that. I'm definitely okay.~ But in retrospect, he was a little glad Rufus had declined his offer to return the favor...he still didn't think he could have brought himself to do that. Not yet. Some of the old wounds were still rather sore, and this one--no, he wouldn't think of that now. Not now, not so soon after allowing someone to get this close to him, to give him that kind of pleasure. And later? Well, that was the purpose of the beer in his hand. To make good and damn sure he wouldn't be thinking of that later. * -- * "You look like it's been a rough night. And you smell like payday at the bordello." Rufus's head snapped up as he finished locking his inner office, to see Tseng, in the darkness, lounging on the couch that visitors usually sat upon. ~Not now,~ he thought, irritably; but his voice showed none of that irritation. "How long have you been sitting there?" Tseng got to his feet with the smooth, fluid motion that was his trademark. "Long enough. I passed your friend on his way out of here. He looked worse than you do. I'll assume that you finally got into his pants, so you can stop being such a jackass about things." Rufus's eyes narrowed, the faint light from the hallway reflecting the glint in his eyes. "Back off, Tseng." Tseng's lips twisted in a faint smile, and he lifted a graceful hand to brush his hair back behind his shoulders. "You have been, you know. A complete and utter jackass. I don't understand what the big deal is. He's just another conquest. Another notch on your belt. Fuck him and get over it." Rufus shoved his keys into his pocket with a little more force than necessary. "I'm not going to justify myself to you, Tseng," he snapped out. "And I'm damn well not going to explain the situation. You're not my father, and you're not my keeper, and it's none of your fucking business." The smile grew a bit wider, and Tseng's tone turned taunting. "I see. You still haven't managed to get him, have you? I'll bet that all the time I was sitting out here waiting for you, you were sitting in there thinking thoughts about baseball and cold showers. Oh, how the mighty have fallen." He ignored the single warning step that Rufus took towards him. "The great Rufus Shinra, lord of all that he surveys, rejected by one lowly executive. It's almost sad." With no warning, Rufus lunged forward, a single hand closing around Tseng's throat. Tseng made no move to stop it, though Rufus knew full well that the other man must have seen it coming. Rather, Tseng simply licked his lips and smiled that damned enigmatic smile. "What now?" he asked, silkily. "Will you strangle me? Beat me? Shoot me, perhaps?" He cocked his head to one side, eyeing Rufus with a typical predatory gaze. "Whatever you do, be sure to do it quickly. You know I'm faster than you are." Rufus bit off a muttered oath, and let Tseng go, running that hand through his hair in a futile attempt to straighten it. "You're trying to get to me, aren't you," he said, in a flat and accusatory tone. "What's on your mind, Tseng?" The smile altered, even as Tseng lifted a hand to Rufus's chest, toying idly with one of his shirt buttons. "What's ever on my mind, hmm?" he purred, softly. "I'm the professional asshole, remember? It's my job to annoy the shit out of you." Unmistakably, his fingers made a promise as they trailed lower. "I haven't had much of a chance to do it lately. You've been ... preoccupied." Rufus grabbed Tseng's wrist in an iron grip, preventing him from straying much below the beltline. "I've been busy," he said, his voice a low growl. "And I damn well know that you've been busy, too, so don't go giving me any of your attempts at guilt. You know damn well that this isn't anything more than a friendly fuck every now and again." Tseng cocked his head to one side, and a low rumbling chuckle escaped him. "Oh, I'm all too aware of that. And I wouldn't want it any other way." His eyes gleamed with some complex emotion. "I'll be in my rooms, Rufus. If you decide you want to get rid of some of that... edge." With no further words, he turned and strode off, freeing himself from Rufus's grasp as if it were no more than a butterfly's kiss. Rufus watched him go, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, fighting off the ever-present contradictory urges to strangle Tseng and to fuck him senseless ... and then, with another muttered curse, he picked up one of the couch pillows, threw it across the room, and stalked off. Without listening to whatever it was that his conscience was trying to tell him.