The Conscience of the King
				Chapter Six: Deep As You Go

	"I am sleeping on a time bomb
	I am waiting for the light to come
	You and I can get away now;
	do you know?"
			--Vertical Horizon	

	A hand; a fist. Grasping, pulling. Clawing. Long dark ponytail
used as reins to pull back a head, exposing the throat to lips and teeth.

	Bodies, quickly naked. The shirt buttons parted, cloth ripping,
being tossed aside. Taunting, laughing eyes, a moan, a gasp.

	A soft cry; a hand trailing nails down ivory chest, leaving behind
scores of reddened flesh. The hand, unmistakeable, wrapping around a hard
and straining cock. Hissed warnings; a slap, a struggle. Shoved down over
the edge of the table, his shoulders pressed into the wood, face turned
sideways, lips open to gasp for breath. Pushed into him, roughly, without
a hint of tenderness or gentleness, ignoring the sharp moan. Hand wrapped
around cock again, pulling, demanding.

	Quick and hard, fucking there on the table. Ripping towards
orgasm, a violent explosion, first one, then the other.

	A long pause, to catch breath, to remember how to breathe without
moaning.

	"Goddamn." The voice was soft. "Just how fucking long has it
been?"

	Rufus didn't answer; he pulled out of the other man, turning away
blindly, reaching for his torn shirt to clean himself. "Too long. Not long
enough. I don't know."

	Tseng's voice was soft and lazy as he pushed himself up off the
table, glancing down and running soft fingertips over the claw marks on
his chest. "No shit. You're dangerous when you get like this."

	"Shut up." Rufus's voice was flat; he took a few steps to the
sink, ran the water, stuck his head underneath it. "God. You like that.
You like it when I do that to you."

	A soft, amused chuckle. "Sometimes. Sometimes not. You never know
until you try, and that's what drives you nuts about it, isn't it?" He
reached for the discarded shirt, cleaning up with a casual sort of
indifference. "What the hell do you see in that boy, anyway? He's not the
type you can do something like this with. You'd break him in half if you
even tried."

	"Shut up," Rufus said again, but his voice didn't hold much heat.
"It's not -- we haven't. Probably won't. It's not like this."

	"Nothing could be like this, kid," Tseng said, satiated laughter
clear in his voice, and picked up his casually-thrown boxers, slipping
back into them. He decided to forego other clothing, simply leaning back
against the table and wincing when the already-forming bruises came into
contact with the hard surface. "That's the beauty of it. Why the hell
would you want to give up something like this -- something like what
you've got with all of us, every single one of us you're fucking -- for
him? He'd want you to, you know. He's the type who expects commitment, and
monogamy, and all those other dirty words."

	Rufus spread his hands on the edge of the sink, leaning over,
sweat-soaked hair falling into his eyes. "We're not dating. We're not even
fucking. I can't explain it to you."

	"But you can't get him out of your head. You can't forget the way
he's tasted, the one or two times you've dared to reach out -- oh, don't
tense up like that, I know damn well you've tasted him. The kid who
wrestled me to the mat after hand-to-hand one day and stripped me bare
would never stand for a few little touches and necking sessions." Tseng's
voice still held its usual sly predatory hint to it, but that tone was
dimmed, as it often was around Rufus -- Rufus, the one person he'd ever
let overpower him, the one person he would actually deign to act
submissive around. "You've got it bad, kid."

	Rufus didn't bother to answer. Tseng laughed again, and headed
into the bedroom. Over his shoulder, he added, "Go fuck him, Rufus. Or
Scarlet, or Reno, or Rude, or maybe even me. Just stop trying to pretend.
It doesn't work, and you sure as hell ain't fooling any of us." The shirt
he was carrying hit Rufus in the back, fell to the ground. "Now clean up,
get out of here, and get some sleep. You damn well need it."

	"Sure." Rufus didn't move, not for a long minute; then, uncoiling
like a snake, he reached down and grabbed the shirt. It was one of
Tseng's, which meant that it was uncomfortably tight across the chest, but
he tugged it on anyway, picking up the rest of his clothing that had
gotten thrown halfway across the living room.

	Tseng's voice stopped him as he was turning to leave. "Hey, kid."
Rufus turned around, lifting one eyebrow, to see Tseng leaning against the
table, naked except for a pair of boxer shorts, his body bruised and
marked. But smiling, that damn enigmatic smile that always seemed to say
/I must be conquered; I will not capitulate./ "Nice work."

	"Yeah," Rufus said, and turned to leave. Already hating himself.

	"Well, that was informative," came the lazy drawl from the
bedroom, and Tseng turned around, his lips curving in a slight smile.
Scarlet leaned in the doorframe, clad only in a sheer negligee.

	"Informative?" he asked, heading into the kitchen. The sound of
running water followed him out, and he came out, sipping from a glass.
"That's hardly the word I would use for it."

	"Well, then, what is the word you would use for it?" The faintest
of smirks lingered on her face. "We found out just what was going on in
his head. I'd call that pretty informative."

	Tseng shrugged and crossed the room to sit down on the overstuffed
couch, wincing slightly as he did so. "I already knew most of that. It's
not tough to figure out; as much as our little prince might like to think
that he's mysterious and hard to read, all it really takes is a bit of
effort and some thought." He shrugged again.

	Scarlet crossed the room as well, settling down on the couch,
sideways, her legs in Tseng's lap. Absently, Tseng dropped one hand to rub
her calf. "Well, /you/ might have known what was going on in his head,"
she said, sounding irritated, "but we lesser mortals have to have
everything spelled out for us, okay? What have you figured out?"

	"He's got a new toy." Tseng drained half the glass, setting it
down on the table. "One that isn't being all that cooperative, and he
can't bear the thought that someone might be able to say no to him. So
he's going to keep picking, picking, picking, until he gets some results
-- either what he wants, or a firm No. And knowing our little prince, I'd
really doubt it's going to be a firm No."

	"It wasn't from you, was it," Scarlet said, slyly. "He just
reached out his hand, and you went tumbling into his arms."

	One eyebrow raised. "An accurate, if incomplete, assessment of the
situation," Tseng agreed, coolly. "I'm hardly the only one, though. If I'm
not mistaken, you've been throwing yourself at him a little more than
usual, lately."

	She made a face, picking up the glass of brandy that Tseng had
discarded some time before and sipping daintily from it. "And he hasn't
taken the bait. He will, though. He'll come back to me. He always has in
the past."

	"To fuck you. Not to love you." The words could have been intended
as a blow; could have been, but weren't, delivered in Tseng's
matter-of-fact tone. "Which is what you really want from him."

	One of her delicate shoulders rose and fell, the strap of her
negligee falling with it; absently, she lifted a hand to pull it back up.
"I'm not looking for love," she said, in a tone that was more forced than
naturally light. "I'm not the type. If I were, I sure as hell wouldn't
have been screwing your brains out half an hour ago, before our golden boy
showed up."

	Tseng didn't contradict her, though he knew that he could have.
Rufus wasn't the only person he understood that well; he had his few
theories about Scarlet as well. "Well, if you're looking for him, you'd
better get ready to have a long wait. His eye isn't going to start to
wander again for quite some time, you mark my words."

	Scarlet's lips quirked, as if a horrible thought had occurred to
her. "Good Lord. You don't think he's in love with this little nobody, do
you?" She looked at Tseng, as if expecting him to laugh off the idea as
ridiculous.

	Tseng didn't laugh. "I don't know," he said, slowly, running one
thumbnail along the sole of her foot. "I don't know if he even knows what
love is. It's nothing we can do about it, though, one way or another. It's
certainly not going to be a multi-player game." He shrugged again. "Love,
hate, or indifference, nothing we do is going to help our situation at
all. And it may very well hurt it. If I were you, my dear filly, I would
leave him alone and let him get this through his head in his own way. And
then, when our dear Mister Brannon decides that Rufus is too much to
handle, we'll be there to pick up the pieces."

	Scarlet wrinkled her nose. "I don't trust this whole situation.
Any of it. He's never acted like this before, over anyone. Usually, it'll
be a few months, and then he's moved on. Back to me." As an afterthought,
she added, "Or you."

	"There's not much we can do," Tseng repeated. "If you go ahead and
push him about it, I'm afraid you'll find that he'll push back twice as
hard. And then you might never catch his eye again. You wouldn't want
that, now would you, Scarlet?"

	"You sound almost happy about this situation," she accused,
petulantly.

	"Oh, far from it." Something dark burned in his eyes, as he looked
back up at her. "Believe me, I'm just as irritated at the state of things
as you are. But I, my dear, have learned when to push and when not to
push. And, if you will forgive my being crude, I'm the one that he just
fucked, and you're the one he kicked out of his apartment."

	Her eyes flashed. "Bastard."

	"And proud of it." Tseng lowered his head, tracing his lips over
the curve of her ankle. "Just a word to the wise, Scarlet. Let him work
this out in his own way, in his own time. If you don't, you'll never see
him again."

	She purred, deep in the back of her throat, at his touch, and
shifted slightly on the couch; her other leg came up, swinging over his
head to pin him between her calves. "How about you? You're not going to
wander off and decide you're infatuated with some little nothing who
doesn't even know how to play the game, are you?"

	He laughed. "Leviathan forbid," he murmurred, and slid over her
body to pin her down to the couch. In the next few minutes, they managed
to prove that they weren't really all that interested in discussion.

				-- * --

	"Say you don't know me or recognize my face. Say you don't care
who goes to that kind of place."

	Rufus Shinra was grateful for a few things in life.

	"Knee deep in the hoopla, sinking in your fight. Too many runaways
eating up the night."

	Fast cars. Soft women. Money. Good alcohol.

	"Marconi plays the mambo, listen to the radio. Don't you remember,
we built this city. We built this city on rock and roll."

	A good barfight. A good fuck.

	"Someone's always playing corporation games. Who cares, they're
always changing corporation names. We just want to dance here, someone
stole the stage..."

	Gallons and gallons of hot water.

	"Call us irresponsible, write us off the page."

	Soundproof bathrooms. Soundproof bathrooms were a big thing. It
was his secret shame, one that no one ever really found out about, that he
was terribly fond of singing in the shower.

	The bathroom, like the rest of his suite, was large and spacious.
Slate covered the floor, and floor-to-ceiling windows looked out on the
city below, with a wild outgrowth of various tropical plants that ran to
waist-height. He was mildly fond of gardening, too, and the plants were
one of his rare indulgences; they soothed his need for green and growing
things even as they shielded the bathroom from prying eyes. The shower was
in the center of that room, four glass walls that steamed up quickly. He'd
decided to forego a soak in the hot tub tonight; he was more interested in
hot water raining down on him. And besides, soaking would probably be a
little uncomfortable.

	Rufus wasn't precisely cheerful, despite the choice of song. He
was slightly sore, slightly cranky. He couldn't really quite decide
whether or not to feel guilty about his evening's entertainment, and that
was the kind of feeling that was not only uncomfortable, but unfamiliar.

	Sex had never been an issue for him. Never. He'd misplaced his
virginity some time around the age of fourteen or so, seduced by one of
the older secretaries when he had been home for summer break. The
experience had been pleasant, but not earthshaking. A little while later,
he'd realized that he was attracted to men as well, and decided, after
careful and judicious consideration, that it was safest for all concerned,
including himself, that he just not bring that topic up in casual
conversation. Word quickly spread in the appropriate circles, and he never
found himself at a lack for bed partners, but the matter was simply not
discussed. He didn't consider himself heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual.
He was, simply, /sexual/. And if one person wasn't interested, well, there
were hundreds of others. Most of them just wanted to be close to him, to
see if some of the glory of the Heir To The Throne would rub off on them.
A certain other few were interested in him because of some of his more ...
esoteric interests. A few of them were just his friends, with the same
sort of casual sexuality he possessed, and more than willing to spend a
few delicious hours in pursuit of a screaming orgasm.

	"Who counts the money, underneath the bars..."

	Or three.

	"Who writes the wrecking ball in two wild guitars."

	Never before had he bothered with someone who didn't want him.
Never before had he bothered with more than a token pursuit. He hadn't
needed to; it just wasn't /necessary/. The people he was interested in
were either interested back, or it wasn't a big deal. And if it wasn't a
big deal, there were always the usual partners. Tseng. Scarlet. Reno. Even
Rude, once or twice, on a careless and drunken night or two. A few others.
Always there; always willing. No strings attached, no commitment
necessary. No emotional involvement. And that had been fine, just fine. He
hadn't ever given it a second thought.

	Until now.

	~Reeve.~ And there was the problem; trouble tied up in one very
attractive package, wrapped with one or two of the neuroses that everyone
carries, with a ribbon of childhood abuse not yet overcome to make the
package perfect. And Rufus wanted him. Oh, how Rufus wanted him. That
much, he was perfectly willing to admit.

	Trouble was, Reeve wanted him back. If Reeve simply hadn't been
interested, that would have been the end of it; it would have been a
simple friendship, like any one of a dozen others he had with the rare
completely straight men or completely queer women he knew. True, it would
have been a strain on his self-control, but that self-control had been
practiced and refined through years of the best aversion therapy that he
could have been put through. And the friendship probably wouldn't have
been as close, but he could have lived with that. It worried him how close
they were, from time to time, anyway.

	He turned the water up a notch as it went colder; someone on the
same water pipe must have turned on the sink, or flushed the toilet.

	Reeve wanted him. He could tell that much, from simple body
language, from the way Reeve had responded to him earlier that night. He
could tell that much just by what Reeve said to him; he could tell that
from what Reeve did not say. Reeve wanted him. He was just also scared out
of his fucking mind.

	And Rufus had no idea how the hell to deal with it.

	He'd made promises to himself, that he would take things slowly;
promises to Reeve, that he would never do anything to hurt him. The one
had been easy to keep; he cared too much about Reeve to do anything that
would cause him pain. The other -- well, that was harder. And the problem
was, the two were related. Rufus was certain that Reeve was capable of
responding to him; the first bit of the night's entertainment had proven
/that/ much, at least. He just wasn't at all certain how much Reeve was
willing to accept at any given time, and he was finding that his own
self-control was wearing dreadfully thin. He wasn't used to wanting
something, and not being able to reach out a hand to take it.

	Then there was Tseng. The night's sex had been fairly typical for
the two of them; quick, fierce, intense, with Rufus, as he always was, the
dominant partner. Tseng got off on a little bit of pain, a little bit of
struggle. Only with Rufus, though, as far as Rufus could tell; with
everyone else, he was like Rufus was. Always the dominant. Always the one
who was inflicting the pain, provoking the struggle. Not with Rufus,
though; with Rufus, Tseng was more than willing to roll over and show his
throat.

	Ruefully, Rufus inspected one or two of the more serious claw
marks on his shoulders. Typical, really; he'd gotten off lightly. The
trouble was, the physical marks were barely indicative of the deeper
mental turmoil he was trying to come to terms with.

	~Why the hell do you feel so damn fucking guilty, anyway? It's not
like you hurt him. It's not like you ever hurt him when you fuck him like
that. So what's the matter?~

	Reeve; that was what was the matter. Rufus kept imagining the look
on Reeve's face in that instant of orgasm -- sweet, uncontrolled, amazed
-- and then, just barely, imagining the look on Reeve's face if Reeve
found out what Rufus had gone to do, not even a full hour after Reeve put
on his pants and left Rufus's office.

	/"Why the hell would you want to give up something like this --
something like what you've got with all of us, every single one of us
you're fucking -- for him? He'd want you to, you know. He's the type who
expects commitment, and monogamy, and all those other dirty words."/

	~Shut up, Tseng,~ he told the little voice in his head. Problem
was, it wasn't Tseng's voice. It was his own. That little nagging bit of
him that he'd always called his conscience -- the little nagging bit of
him that was usually quite easy to ignore. Not this time.

	~Fuck.~ That about summed things up.

	"Don't you remember..."

	There was really only one possible thing that he could do.

	"...we built this city..."

	Make sure that Reeve never found out.

	"...we built this city on rock and roll..."

	Easier said than done.

				-- * --

	Reeve woke up with the sunlight in his eyes. For one brief second
he sat up in the bed, beginning to panic -- he'd be late for work, he'd
overslept, why the hell hadn't the alarm clock gone off?

	~Duh. It's Saturday.~

	The brief surge of panic had woken him up, though, and he fell
back down into the bed, eyes wide open, the adrenalin kick just enough to
take away any prospect of possibly getting back to sleep.

	He knew why he hadn't thought it was Saturday; the Friday night
preceding had been utterly devoid of any of their usual Friday night
pursuits. No bar-hopping, no group dinner, no cheerful bullshit and
recitation of the week's stupidities. Just a rather unpleasant board
meeting, and an argument with Rufus. And then --

	He examined his reactions in the clear light of day, not quite
surprised to discover that he was still pretty okay with the night's
activities. He still felt good. No nightmares, no hidden trauma. No, he
had slept like a baby -- as evidenced by the fact that the sun was well on
its daily progress -- and woken up still feeling lazy and satiated. Last
night had been /good/.

	~And I'm having dinner with him tonight.~ That thought, amazingly
enough, didn't scare him either. In fact, he found that he was looking
forward to it. He knew that Rufus wouldn't be willing to wait for him
forever, and, oddly enough, he was okay with that. The feeling of Rufus's
mouth on him, Rufus's hands on his skin -- well, it had seemed to break
down some of the walls that he wasn't even certain he was still carrying
around with him.

	Quite simply, his instincts had decided that Rufus was okay.

	Reeve laughed a little to realize that, and then, liking the
sound, laughed a little more. ~Take that, Doctor Shitomi,~ he thought, to
the memory of the child psychiatrist who had tried to convince him that it
was okay to trust people again.

	After a few minutes, he decided that just lying around in bed
wouldn't do him much good, and threw back the covers. Breakfast was a cup
of coffee and some cornflakes, and he settled in at his computer to check
his email as Cait Sith, his little black-and-white kitten, crawled into
his lap and loudly demanded attention. It was only a few minutes before
his terminal beeped with a talk request.

> talk: from rjshinra@ramuh.shinra.com
rbrannon@ramuh {2}: talk rjshinra

>> You slept late. Or did you just not bother to log on? 

> No, I just woke up...

>> Lazybones. How are you feeling this morning? 

> I feel -- good. I do. I feel /good/. I -- thank you. For last night.
Thank you.

>> *whew* That's a load off my mind. I was worried. You have plans for the
day?

> Yeah, I was just gonna sit around and catch up on some paperwork. It's
starting to overrun my desk again.  

>> Time to get the firehoses. That's about what I was planning for the
day; I've got some calls to make, a few people to see. I wanna stop in and
see Seph at Midgar General, too.

> God, I'd forgotten about that. Is he gonna be okay? 

>> Yeah. From what I could tell, he got pretty banged up, but he'll be
okay. I'm betting that I'll find him mad as a wet cat and spitting nails
that he's stuck in bed. I'll give him your best.

> Please do. What time should I come over? 

>> Eh. Show up around sevenish, and if I'm not in, I'll leave word with my
security guard that you're supposed to be let into the apartment. I'll see
you then.

> Sure. Anything I should bring? 

>> Wear cute underwear. ^D
rbrannon@ramuh {3}: _


	Reeve blinked at the screen. Wear cute ...

rbrannon@ramuh {3}: talk rjshinra
talk: rjshinra is not currently logged on.
rbrannon@ramuh {4} : _

	Well, damn. He could feel the blush starting to spread, but
somehow wasn't all that surprised to find himself mentally going through
his collection of undergarments to find something appropriate.

				-- * --

	"Come on in." Rufus held the door open, gesturing for Reeve to
come in; Reeve took a few steps, as always looking around curiously. "I'm
just finishing up some work."

	The tension that Reeve had half-feared failed to materialize, even
as he kicked off his shoes. "You're always just finishing up some work.
Have I /ever/ been up here when you /weren't/ just finishing up some
work?"

	A soft laugh. "Once or twice, I think. I've just got some projects
that I'm running." Rufus crossed the floor, heading over to his desk,
where his PC and his laptop were apparently quite happily conversing. "And
it's best for me to work on them when network traffic is slow. You do
anything interesting today?"

	He'd spent the day poolside, completely ignoring his paperwork
while taking out his soul and examining it, but Reeve didn't really feel
the need to let Rufus know how deeply he'd been shaken by the previous
night's activity. "Not really. A little bit of sunbathing."

	"There are worse ways to spend a summer Saturday." A few clicks,
and the computer powered itself off; Rufus rose from the desk chair again
and stretched. "You hungry?"

	"Yeah, a little." Reeve leaned against the wall, watching Rufus
carefully. "What'd you have in mind?"

	"Well, there's a place over in upper Four that I haven't been to
in ages. One of those places where everyone's got their noses up someone
else's ass, but the food's decent, and the atmosphere is pretty good."
Rufus ran a casual hand through his hair. "Sound good?"

	~Guess my shoes go right back on,~ Reeve thought, with just a hint
of disappointment. He hadn't been expecting to be seduced the moment he
walked through the door, but -- "Sounds fine to me."

	And so they went.

	The restaurant gave off that unmistakeable four-star air,
but truth be told, it didn't seem all that fancier than most of the other
establishments in the neighborhood. The waiters dressed a little snazzier,
the patrons had their noses a bit higher in the air, and the descriptions
of the various entrees on the menu were padded with a bit more bullshit,
that was all.

	Oh, and the prices were a bit steeper.

	Not that a thing like that mattered; not to Reeve (a fact he was
/still/ trying to get used to), and certainly not to Rufus.

	Still, Reeve found it very hard to believe that someone would
actually pay /that/ much for a three-inch morsel of beef whose name
literally translated to "cute steak." Steak, he believed, was not meant to
be cute. It was meant to be large, rare enough to moo when stuck with a
fork, and accompanied by a massive baked potato dripping with butter and
sour cream and cheese and other things that would probably make his
arteries want to jump ship. And that was precisely what he had ordered.

	What he got was a decent-sized steak, done to perfection--as in,
the cook had apparently walked the cow past the stove and served it
up--accompanied by a baked potato the approximate size of his big toe,
with a tiny pat of butter begrudgingly applied. Rufus, who had ordered a
similar steak, had also gotten one of these anemic spuds.

	"Excuse me," he sighed, upon seeing the tiny potato as it was set
before him by a waiter who bore more than a slight resemblance to a
penguin, "but is this the biggest potato you have?"

	Rufus snickered softly, but made no comment. The waiter sniffed a
bit. "Is it not to your liking, sir?"

	"Well, it looks fine. It also looks like it was pulled out of the
ground way before its prime. Do you have any /real/ potatoes back there?"
He waited for a response, and got none. "Bring us more of them, please.
With sour cream, cheese, bacon bits, and the rest of the stuff normal
people eat on baked potatoes."

	Taken slightly aback, the waiter nodded stiffly. "Yes sir." He
then toddled back off to the kitchen.

	Reeve shook his head and grumbled softly as he cut into his steak.
Just as he was about to take a bite, he noticed Rufus eyeing him with a
strange, slightly amused expression. "What?"

	Rufus raised an eyebrow. "I'm trying to decide whether I've been a
good influence on you or a bad one. That almost sounded like something
that would have come out of my mouth--minus the 'please,' maybe."

	"Oh." Reeve looked a bit embarrassed. "Maybe a little of both."

	"Hmm." Rufus took a bite of his steak. "And why do you say that?"

	Reeve pretended to concentrate on scraping the guts of the tiny
potato away from its skin as he thought about that. "Well..." He frowned a
bit and digged around with his fork, distributing the meager pat of butter
throughout the potato. "I don't know...the good part--I think since I've
been hanging around with you, I might have grown a little more of a
spine."

	"Mmm-hmm." Rufus took a sip of (probably very expensive) wine and
smirked a bit. "So what's the bad part?"

	Reeve opened his mouth to say something, closed it again, and
blushed a bit. "Uh. Well, there are--ah--certain things I think about a
lot more than I used to." He cleared his throat. "Like cute underwear."

	A similar grin crossed Rufus's face as he performed a similar
excavation on his potato. "So. Did you?"

	"Huh?"

	"Wear some." The tone was as casual as if Rufus were asking Reeve
what time the bus pulled up at the stop across the street.

	"I...uh..." Reeve blushed a bit more and started to answer, but he
was interrupted by a plate bearing three more tiny baked potatoes being
set down at his elbow by the penguin. Rufus received a similar plate. And
the coup de grace--the coveted carousel of potato condiments appeared on
the table between them. "Thank you," Reeve said to the waiter (who toddled
off without so much as a "will there be anything else?") and immediately
dug in to load his spuds down with good stuff. As he crammed a spoonful of
sour cream into one of them, he noticed Rufus eyeing him with no attempt
to mask his amusement.

	"Well?"

	"Oh." Reeve cleared his throat. "I didn't think I had anything all
/that/ cute, so...well, I bought some." He fidgeted in his seat and mashed
a wad of shredded cheese into his potato, which was by now pushing maximum
load.

	"Don't worry." Rufus smirked and doctored his potato as well. "I'm
not going to make you describe them to me." Was there an unspoken /I'm
just going to see for myself later/ floating just below the surface of the
comment?

	They ate in silence for some time. Reeve concentrated on his food
and tried not to think too much about the obvious reason behind the
request for cute underwear--not because it frightened him (well, it did, a
little), but because it had another effect on him which in other
circumstances might not have been so unpleasant. As it was, he was very
grateful for the tablecloth and the camouflage it provided. Still,
tablecloth or no, he was sure Rufus damn well knew what he was trying not
to think too much about.

	When their steaks had been reduced to tiny blobs of fat and knobs
of gristle (not much of either, to the restaurant's credit--fat and
gristle were two of the few things Reeve was very picky about in the food
department) and the empty skins of the accompanying potatoes lay flaccid
on the plates within their foil exoskeletons, Reeve finally noticed what
was missing from the table.

	The ashtray.

	Rufus had noticed it too, and now they both sat, cigarette in
hand, scanning nearby tables for one to lay claim to. There were none.
"Excuse me." Rufus waved the waiter over.

	"Was everything to your liking, sir?"

	"Almost." Rufus eyed him with a mixture of indifference and
annoyance.

	"May I take your plates? Would sir care for another glass of
wine?"

	"Sir would like an ashtray." Reeve coughed into his fist in a weak
attempt to stifle a snicker.

	The waiter puffed himself up a bit and sniffed. "I'm sorry, sir,
but this is a non-smoking restaurant."

	"That's nice." Rufus flicked a much more annoyed glance at the
waiter out of the corner of his eye. "Bring us an ashtray."

	The waiter wibbled for a moment and took off with a loud sigh.
Reeve just dropped his forehead to rest on the palm of one hand, laughing
silently but quite hard. "I can't take you anywhere," he finally wheezed.

	"Now I remember why I quit eating here," Rufus replied with a
rolling of his eyes. "Good food, but shitty service. Especially
considering the fact one could just about buy the whole damn Tower for the
cost of a meal for two here." The waiter returned, this time with the
manager in tow. "You forgot the ashtray, didn't you?" Rufus sighed, upon
seeing the waiter's empty hands, and Reeve went into another fit of
subdued laughter.

	The manager looked about to say something unkind...and then
realized who he was about to say it to. In a blur of motion, he dragged
the waiter away from the table, said a few words to him, and made a few
frantic-looking gestures. He then returned to the table. "I'm terribly
sorry, sir. I didn't realize--"

	"Well, now you do." Rufus eyed the manager with barely-masked
annoyance. "Bring us an ashtray, and then bring us our check. If the
ashtray is here in under two minutes, I won't even bother checking in with
the Shinra Revenue Service to see if your accounts are up to date."

	Amid a flurry of "yes sirs" and "right away sirs" the manager
sprinted off to the kitchen. He returned a moment later with something
that resembled a tiny pie pan. "I'm afraid we don't have any ashtrays
anymore. Will a tart pan do?" Some distance away, the waiter surveyed the
scene with an expression resembling that of a wet cat.

	"Close enough for government work," Reeve replied. "Thank you."

	Apparently grateful that it had been Reeve who replied, the
manager trotted off to fetch the check. Rufus and Reeve lit up gratefully.
A couple seated at a nearby table shot them a nasty look; Reeve ignored
them while Rufus shot them an equally nasty look. When the check arrived,
borne by the manager himself, Reeve noticed that the wine and extra
potatoes had been scratched off the tab and the adjusted total hastily
scribbled at the bottom. "Amazing what a little bitching can accomplish,"
he remarked, pulling out his wallet.

	"Put that back." Rufus plucked the check out of Reeve's hand. "My
treat."

	"Oh." Reeve blushed and reluctantly stuffed his wallet back into
his pocket. "Well--thank you."

	"It's nothing." Rufus slipped a few bills into the folder
containing the check -- Reeve noticed that the total was just barely
enough to cover the amount of their meal, with just enough of a tip to be
insulting -- and laid it at the corner of the table. "So. What do you want
to do now? Go to the bar and get plastered like we forgot to do last
night, or just go home?"

	"I, uh..." Reeve swallowed as those thoughts he'd tried not to
think came bubbling up to the surface once more. "I think I'd like to go
home." He flicked a sheepish glance up at Rufus. "With you."

	"Really." The twinkle in Rufus's eye and the slight curve of his
lips hinted that the two of them going to the same "home" had been exactly
what he had meant. Reeve nodded and cleared his throat. "Any particular
reason why?"

	Reeve whimpered softly and rubbed his forehead.
"Uh...well...yeah."

	Rufus remained silent for an excruciatingly long moment. "Well?"
he finally prodded, and Reeve stabbed his cigarette out in the tart pan
with another small whimper.

	Thinking those thoughts was one thing. Giving voice to them was
another entirely. And Rufus was sitting there, watching him with no small
amount of amusement, waiting for him to do just that. In the middle of a
crowded restaurant, no less, and on top of that in a crowded non-smoking
restaurant where their combined clouds of cigarette smoke were already
drawing a fair measure of unwelcome attention from staff and patrons
alike.

	~Oh shit.~

	Reeve drained his wine glass in one mighty gulp; it proved to be a
paltry bit of liquid courage, but in the end it was adequate.

	"I want you."

	Rufus nodded slowly and ground his own cigarette out. "Are you
sure?"

	~What the hell--no, I'm not sure! I--oh, fuck it.~ "Yeah."

	Rufus pushed his chair back and stood up. "Then let's go."

	And Reeve followed, wondering just what the hell he was getting
himself into now.


			-- * --

	"Evening, sir. Evening, Mr. Brannon." The security guard standing
at the entrance to the residential section of Tower North nodded to the
men. "Oh, sir, Tseng said to tell you when you came in that you left your
underwear in his apartment last night."

	~Shit.~ Behind Rufus, Reeve froze; Rufus could feel the accusatory
stare pinning his shoulderblades, knew that he couldn't take the time to
stop and deal with it, knew that he couldn't show any reaction. "Thanks,
Mike. Have a good night."

	The guard took in the two of them and gave Rufus a little smirk.
"You too, sir."

	The atmosphere in the elevator was, to put it mildly, tense. Rufus
pushed open the door to his apartment after unlocking it and kicked his
shoes off underneath the endtable, tossing his keys after them. Reeve just
shut the door and leaned against it in a pose all too commonly Rufus's,
watching Rufus with a look that wavered back and forth between hurt and
pissed.

	It was Reeve who finally broke the silence. "I suppose you're
going to tell me some bullshit story about how you had to go up there to
fix some computer problems he was having, or something." His voice was
quiet, strained.

	Rufus closed his eyes, and then opened them again and turned to
face Reeve. "No, actually," he said, his own voice calm. "I'll tell you
the truth. Yes, I fucked Tseng last night. And he apparently wanted you to
know that, since I didn't leave anything there last night."

	"I see." A moment's pause. "I guess I'll be -- going home --"
Reeve turned, blindly fumbling for the door; the simple latch proving too
much for him to undo immediately in his upset.

	"Don't go." Rufus took a step forward, then another, startled to
find that he really didn't want Reeve to leave. "At least don't go without
letting me say something."

	"Say something?" Reeve's voice cracked, just a little. "You know
what, Rufus? I came in here intending to go ahead and finally sleep with
you. To finally -- what, I guess you'd put it, let you /fuck/ me. And then
I find out that last night -- after one of the most amazing experiences of
my entire life -- you go upstairs and -- and just --" He broke off, unable
to continue; he took a deep breath, fighting back the tears.

	"And just /what/?" Rufus demanded, sharply. "And just go ahead and
have sex with someone I've been sleeping with for years? And just go ahead
and do something that happened to be between two consenting adults,
neither one of whom is attached or committed to anything? And just go
ahead and do something with the charge that I left my office last night
with?" His anger evaporated as quickly as it had come, and he added, a
great deal more quietly, "I'm not superhuman, Reeve. And I didn't realize
until afterwards how hurt and upset it would probably make you."

	"Upset!?" Reeve's voice was shrill, and he took another deep
breath, trying to find calm. "I'm not upset, I'm fucking livid! Do you
have any idea how stupid I feel? How many /other/ people have you been
sleeping with while you were trying to get into my pants? And how many
other people think that we're sleeping together? Seriously think that,
instead of just it being a rumor? I saw the look that security guard gave
you. God. You must think I'm some kind of naive idiot."

	"No," Rufus countered, wearily. "I don't. I think that you're
someone who just doesn't understand the kind of rules that usually come
into play around here. And I didn't bother to tell you, because I guess I
thought you'd already know." He ran a hand through his hair, then turned
around and headed towards the tiny kitchen, digging two beers out of the
refrigerator.

	Tseng's voice, Tseng's words. /"He's the type who expects
commitment, and monogamy, and all those other dirty words."/

	"And I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Rufus continued, without
turning back around, feeling Reeve's eyes on his back. "And I'm sorry that
it's like that, but it is. It always has been. It has to be. If I spend
more than one night with a woman, the grapevine has me married to her and
raising children within two days. If I spend more than one night with a
man, the names start getting whispered again. Queer. Fruit. Fairy. And
sooner or later the old man hears -- he hears everything in this company
-- and he calls me into his office again and tells me that I'm getting
married to Scarlet next week. And just as soon as I talk him out of it, it
starts up again. That's just how it's always been. And I think it sucks,
and I think it's a lousy fucking way to run a life, but it's the way it's
been since I was fifteen years old and so I'm just damn used to it by now.
And I should have told you. I thought you knew by now. I thought you knew
that I wasn't the type of person to settle down and commit to forever with
/anyone/. I just don't understand the people who /can/ do that sort of
thing. I thought you knew that I wasn't offering love eternal and a house
in the country. And when I realized, it was already too late."

	He did turn then, to look Reeve in the eye; Rufus could see that
the other man was calming down, could see that the hurt and anger was
passing, being replaced by a curious blend of sympathy and upset. And for
the first time in years, he almost wished that he /could/ understand the
type of people like Reeve, the type who /did/ want forever.

	 /"You've got it bad, kid."/

	~Shut up, Tseng.~

	"And if you turn around and leave now, I won't say anything,"
Rufus finished, ignoring the whisper of memory in his head. "I won't say
anything, and I'll never mention it again. And if you stay, nothing's
going to change. I'm not going to suddenly decide to settle down and say
anything about forever and ever. I'm not offering you anything but the
chance to figure out what the big deal is about. I'm offering you the
chance to try and wipe out some of the memory of what happened to you when
you were younger, with someone who actually gives a damn about you. I'm
offering -- oh, hell, I don't know what I'm offering." He closed his eyes
again. "Say something. Say anything."

	A half-moment passed before Reeve did. "I guess -- I guess I just
didn't understand," he said, slowly. "I didn't understand /you/. I thought
I did, but I didn't." He closed his own eyes, taking yet another deep
breath. "Look. I'm not asking for forever. I don't think I'd know what to
do with it if I got it. It's just that I sure as hell wasn't expecting to
find out about all this. I -- I was never part of all of this in college.
I never had anything to do with this whole scene. You people are just
/alien/ to me."

	"I know." Sensing that the critical moment had passed, Rufus
picked up both cans of beer and brought them back over to where Reeve was
standing, handing one of them to the other man. "Look. Let me show you
something. It might explain a few things. C'mere."

	Reeve took the beer, opening it absently, not paying attention to
things much at all. "Where?"

	Rufus finally smiled, a little curving of the lips that was tinged
with just a bit of self-mockery. "Pardon the cliche, but step into my
parlor." He indicated the one door that Reeve had never been through, the
door to his bedroom.

	~This had better not just be some kind of a ploy to get me in
there,~ Reeve thought, but he stepped through the indicated door. And
froze.

	Had he really thought that road overlooking the construction site
to be so impressive, those months ago when Rufus had taken him up to what
seemed to be the end of the world and bidden him look? If that was, then
this was ten times over. He didn't even notice the other features of the
room; his eyes were riveted on the floor-to-ceiling windows, clear and
perfect glass, that comprised one whole wall of the not-insubstantial
bedroom. Slowly, he walked over to stand just in front of the windows, one
of his hands reaching up to skim the surface of the glass.

	"That's my city," Rufus said softly, from behind Reeve -- too
close, Reeve thought, but did not move, his eyes fixed instead on the view
of the city from higher than he'd ever seen it before. "The earliest
memory I have of my life is stumbling into my father's office when I was
-- oh, two, maybe three, and looking up to see Midgar. To see my city.
Ever since then, I've known that it was mine. The old man might make the
decisions, might call the shots now, but when it all comes down to it,
he's old and I'm young and I'm going to one day be the one that makes that
city live or die."

	One of Rufus's hands rose to brush, ever so lightly, the back of
Reeve's neck; Reeve shivered, twitched, but did not pull away. "Do you
know what it's like, growing up knowing that?" Rufus continued, softly.
"No. No, you can't. I don't think anyone can. Some of the people around
here have a pretty good idea, the ones who were there watching the whole
time, but out of everyone I've ever met, I was the only one who ever grew
up knowing that one day the whole world would be his to own. All I had to
do was stretch out my hand." His words were calm; arrogant, yes, but the
kind of arrogance that had to simply be accepted as truth.

	Reeve didn't say a word; his mind was racing, watching, listening,
feeling Rufus's heartbeat not two feet away. Rufus's voice, low, rumbled
in his ear. "And I grew up knowing that. And I grew up around people who
knew that. I grew up around people who wanted to be part of that. And the
way they usually tried to be part of that was by trying to get their hooks
in me. I had a few nasty little relationships before I realized what was
happening, and that was about when I realized that I had to stop caring.
That I had to stop letting myself care. And you're the first person I've
ever said anything even remotely like this to, because you /didn't/ grow
up here, and you're /not/ trying to get your hooks in me. You're real."

	The hand at the back of Reeve's neck traced down his spine. "And
it's probably the most cliched thing I could say at this moment, but
things are different with you. It's not a power struggle, it's not a
question of who wants what from whom. And if you don't understand where
I'm coming from -- if you can't understand what I'm doing here, if you
don't understand what I want out of all of this and what I'm offering in
return -- well, in that case, you're right, you should go home." Rufus
took a deep breath. "But I hope you'll stay."

	"I can't say you lied to me," Reeve said, quietly, still looking
out the window. "You never lied to me. But I feel like I've been lied to.
I feel like --" He stopped and sighed, tried again. "I don't understand
you. I don't pretend to understand. I just --" He turned, finally, and met
Rufus's eyes, his own eyes uncertain. "I don't -- I don't want to leave,
Rufus."

	The barest hint of hope sparked in Rufus's eyes. Wordlessly, he
held out his hand.

	~What am I doing?~ Reeve's thought was an old and familiar one,
one that had been getting more than a little bit of mileage in the past
few weeks. Yet in spite of -- or perhaps because of -- that look in
Rufus's eye, he took the half-step necessary to put his hand in Rufus's.