Dog Will Hunt (5)

[jaded_grin]

This is my first ever Reno x Rufus fiction, so here it goes.

Warnings: This is a very dark fiction, so please don't read this if you have a problem with emotional intensity, use of the word "cunt" or any general sort of squickishness.

Title: Dog Will Hunt
Rating: Mature (for adults only, so if you aren't one, I take no responsibility for any scarring you may receive!)
Description: Rufus ShinRa finds himself oddly drawn to his Turk, Reno. This is a dark fic that explores several issues for both men and isn't at all a pretty, happy story--but it ends well, I can promise that, and there' s loads of good smut!
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII or any of the Square Enix characters which appear in my story, nor do I make money off of my writing. I do it for the love, people! For the love!

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1           4            6

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5

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            Two days later Reno came skulking into his office, hands in his pockets and a stubborn pout already fixed on his face. Despite Rufus’s warning, he had called in yesterday…the President was nearly one-hundred percent positive that Reno had done it just to irritate him, and it had worked like a charm.

            The moment the man came in he moved to slump down in that chair, sighing. Rufus scowled at him. More specifically, he scowled at that fucking chair. He’d meant to have it removed but never seemed to get around to it. He found that any time he looked at the stupid thing he got lost in some kind of ridiculous, shameful nonsense that made him blush.

            Reno leaned back in the chair in his usual way—legs lazily spread, his left elbow propped and his head tilted to rest on his clenched fist, his right hand thumping restlessly at the chair’s arm. He yawned, clearly bored, not fearful of Rufus’s ire in the least.

            The shocking thing was that Rufus wasn’t even expecting him.

            He was immediately on edge.

            “What can I help you with, Reno?” he mildly asked, punching the hold button on his phone and mockingly giving the man his undivided attention. “Or, rather—what can I do to get you out of my office in a timely manner?”

            Reno yawned again and shifted a little in that chair, settling in.

            “Well, this is a pleasant change,” Rufus murmured, trying to cover his bewilderment with sarcasm. “I’ve never seen you speechless before, I find it rather pleasant.”

            Reno leaned forward toward the desk and languidly picked up the small stone paperweight that Rufus had bought in Junon. It was a small thing, more decorative than useful, but he found that the smooth little stone fit rather well in his hand and he always wound up rubbing it when he was irritated.

            Rufus heaved a heavy, put-upon sigh and asked, “Is there something you wish to discuss, Reno? I haven’t got all day.”

            Very deliberately, Reno spun that little stone between his fingers and held it up eye-level. With that same calculated concentration, he dropped it on the floor where it landed with a soft thump.

            Utterly outraged that this insolent man dare enter his office and abuse his things, Rufus scowled at him and snapped, “Pick that up right this second, you arrogant ass.”

            Reno’s hand went back to rest against the chair’s arm, fingers picking up his restless rhythm. He made no move to do as he was told, just kept watching Rufus with bored, absent intensity.

            Flushing, Rufus stood up and stalked around the desk. He went down on one knee to retrieve the small stone and realized at once that he was the ass and he’d just walked headlong into a deceivingly simple trap.

            And here he was kneeling before Reno’s spread legs.

            The comprehension of his situation made him freeze, keenly aware that he was being watched. His brain screamed a warning to simply stand and return to his seat, but for the love of heaven absolutely do not look up. At all costs, do not look up!

            Of course he did. How could he resist? Too many times this same scenario had played itself to various endings in his restless dreams. Look up and get a true image to overlay his fevered imaginings, look up and really see for himself just how such a perspective would appear. It was too tempting to be denied, and his head snapped up before his brain could even finish its cautionary shriek.

            Eye-level, smooth black cloth and the untucked ends of that white dress shirt. Eye-level, the open vee of those long legs. His gaze traveled up to find Reno watching him with indifferent interest. A cat observing a mouse which it intends to play with and devour.

            Flushing, Rufus made to stand, but Reno slowly shook his head.

            Overcome by some willful, appalling insanity, Rufus obeyed and didn’t rise…Well, not to his feet, anyway.

            Those glittering blue eyes watched him, faint deliberation in their depths, as if Rufus was some kind of sideshow whose promise of entertainment was not quite believed. He still had his temple propped up on his hand, his lithe body loose and relaxed.

            “Go ahead,” he murmured.

            Rufus flushed again. Go ahead what? Go ahead and push that shirt up? Open those pants and hope that reality frightened this unwelcome lust from him? That it would scare away those restless and aching fantasies? Or, worse, merely feed them fodder to be used against him? Go ahead and bury his face in Reno’s lap in slobbering, abject worship?

            His eyes flicked to the door.

            “Don’t worry, yo, it’s locked,” Reno said, his voice mellow, neither moved nor excited. He just sat there, slumped in that chair as he’d been countless times before, as he’d been in numerous dreams. The man gave him a slow, lazy smirk and asked, “Whassa matter, boss? Scared?”

            Once more, Rufus flushed, embarrassed and angered yet frighteningly aroused.

            He shifted a little, moving towards that lounging body against his will. It took a concerted force of effort for him to stop, to hold still, though he didn’t draw back.

            Reno’s cruel, cold eyes danced with sadistic pleasure and he lowly purred, “You haven’t got the balls, you milk-fed little bitch.”

            Rufus scowled at him, off kilter and confused by his body’s unwillingness to heed his commands.

            Coaxingly, Reno patted the inside of one long, slender thigh and urged in a perfect imitation of Rufus’s own cultured voice, “Come here, boy.”

            It was almost insulting enough to put him back on his feet, and his pride roared in outrage. A vein started throbbing in his temple, a fine sheen of sweat darkened his brow. His eyes fixed on that slender white hand—so deceptively long-fingered and almost delicate, such pure bred hands for a man born in filth and squalor. And what havoc had those hands wreaked? How many lives crushed out with those strong fingers? How many willing bodies plumbed and teased? How many tear-stained faces had they stroked, reveling in cruelty? How would they feel moving through his hair with grim intent, eager to pull and own and hurt?

            His breath came out in a shallow, pained moan, his body painfully hard behind the cloaking confines of his suit. The small sound of the man laughing brought his eyes back up to Reno’s and he glared, locked into a battle of wills.

            It wasn’t one he could ever hope to win. Reno never wavered, never twitched, he just gazed steadily back at Rufus with that implacable smirk on his face. He didn’t even seem particularly concerned if Rufus would give in or not, he just watched him, amused.

            “Damn you,” Rufus tightly whispered, looking away, ashamed.

            “Not for this, yo,” came the jaded reply. “I know what you been hidin’ from me, Rufus…”

            Hot, horrified tears burned his eyes but they didn’t fall. They never fell. He moved forward as if pulled by invisible strings, falling to both knees between those spread legs like Reno was some kind of unfeeling god awaiting worship. And it bordered on worship, this humiliating acquiescence. His hands rose of their own volition, sliding beneath those sinewy thighs to grip tight. With the utter abandon of a thirsting man finding water, he buried his face in the soft heat so enticingly spread before him.

            A soft sob shook him, the intensity too much after so much fretful longing. He pressed his open lips to that warm, slick cloth, taking deep, dragging breaths, his eyes squeezed shut and his body shuddering. It was simply too much, this dream made flesh. His mind screamed that this couldn’t be happening, that it simply wasn’t possible. He wasn’t kneeling in his own office with his face buried in his subordinate’s crotch, greedily pressing his mouth to that covered flesh, breathing him in like expensive perfume. The faint scent of his skin through his suit was enthralling, musky and salty and mouth-watering. His fingers clenched hard on the taut muscle of Reno’s thighs and he rubbed his face against him like a cat.

            Reno’s steady, even breathing never changed tempo, his fingers never ceased that erratic rhythm. He didn’t even have the good grace to get hard, he just sat slumped in that unholy chair and let Rufus press against him.

            “Look at you,” he finally said, and when he spoke it wasn’t with his usual slangy, impossible-to-understand, under-plate drawl. It was sharp and viciously cunning, calculated to wound. “Snuffling at me like some kind of goddamned dog. You like that, Rufus? You catch that scent? That’s your secretary, yo. I bent her over her desk and fucked her stupid before I came in here. Fucking cunt squealed like a slaughterhouse pig, but when she came, she came. Soaked me down to my fucking knees. So go ahead, take a deep breath, eat that up like a good dog—‘cause that’s the smell of a fuck you’ll never get.”

            Rufus was too far gone in a haze of shocked rapture to care about what he said, and the cunning part of his own mind knew that Reno was just trying to shock him, to upset him, to make him bewildered with anger. How clever of him to spend his lust with such a trap in mind, to guarantee that no matter what Rufus did he wouldn’t get hard from it. Clever, but Rufus knew it for the ploy it was. It was another game, that was all. Reno would taunt him, would laugh at him, would say that Rufus didn’t do it for him, and all because he’d busted his balls in the secretary before coming into the office and putting this careful plan into motion.

            He pressed his face harder into that tainted flesh, relishing—yes, relishing—even the scent of a woman’s leavings on that lean and lazy body. With his own perverse desire to elicit reaction, Rufus pushed that shirt up with his nose and pressed his lips to Reno’s bare, hairless belly.

            The muscles fluttered once in reflex reaction before pulling tight, nothing more. He lapped at his skin with long sweeps of his tongue, tasting some kind of cheap soap, salt, and sex. There was no mistaking that musky taste, and he shuddered, as appalled as he was aroused by the idea that he was licking up the remains of a frenzied rutting. That delicate white skin was stretched tight over rangy muscle, not enough fat to even give his teeth purchase, no—Reno was all lean mass and long limbs.

            “You want to, Rufus, go ahead,” Reno offered, and a chuckle shook his lean body. And still he lounged in the same position, lazy and unmoved. “Lick me clean with that blue blood tongue of yours, you high bred piece of ass. Get a taste for honest lust and a hot pussy mixed with cum, yo.”

            Rufus was finished being taunted, being teased with possibilities. He’d sworn to himself that he would call Reno out on his ridiculous offers, turn them on him, use them to embarrass him instead of the other way around.

            Yet when he lifted his hands to undo those black pants, Reno languidly gave him a shove that tumbled him backwards, away from the object of his intent.

            He didn’t even move from the chair, just absently moved one muddy, booted foot to settle firmly on Rufus’s crotch, pressing lightly with obvious warning.

            “Always such a stuck up cunt,” he mused, idly pressing harder, still drumming his fingers, still looking on the dangerous edge of sleep.

            Rufus lay frozen, sprawled in an undignified pile against the front of his desk. He was breathing shortly, shallowly, as outraged as he was aroused. He stared in shocked disbelief at that muddy boot so firmly wedged between his legs, leaving a print that would stain his white pants, scorching him through to his very soul. It was frightening to be pinned in such a sensitive area by such a perilous person. It scared him badly, but his throbbing body ached beneath the heavy press of that boot and his hips trembled. He clenched his teeth, wishing he could just get up and pretend none of this had ever happened, but he’d been lost the moment that stupid stone had hit the floor and things could never be the same.

            “You and your pop, both of you so high and mighty,” Reno said, falling gradually back into his usual incomprehensible manner of speaking. “Always wanting us to do your dirty deeds and keep your lily white hands clean, always patting our heads and calling us good dogs and feeling generous when you toss us the scraps from your goddamned table.”

            That boot pressed harder, rocking a little, digging painfully into his balls and pressing just beneath his weeping head in a way that made Rufus squirm, gasping, flushing and ashamed.

            “Yet here you lie,” Reno whispered, and his smile was smug, malicious, full of intense cruelty. “Ready to cream yourself if I so much as look at that pathetic thing you so proudly claim is your cock. So, come on, Rufus, show me what a good dog you are, yo.”

            “You fucking bastard,” Rufus hissed, teeth clenched. He writhed beneath the firm, painful press of that slowly rocking boot, feeling it work up, feeling an orgasm threaten that no vapid and vain girlfriend had ever been able to evoke.

            The curse only caused Reno to press harder, hurting him for an agonizing second that in no way diluted his lust.

            “Hump me like a dog, Rufus,” Reno told him, his voice soft and bored, his cocked head still resting on his fist, his steady gaze fixed on Rufus’s face. “Take a little of that shit you dole out, you self-important fuck.”

            Rufus’s pride demanded that he have Reno killed immediately, but his own deeper, more recent resolution to play this game in a way that the man would least expect prevented him from getting up.

            Instead, he gripped that ankle with both hands, feeling the stiff leather of that combat boot beneath the silky cloth of his pant leg. He gripped tight and rolled his hips up, gasping a groan and eyes rolling. It felt fucking incredible, this debasing and humiliating punishment designed to demean. It was intended to break him, to fuck with him, to knock him off balance and put him beneath this animalistic creature he called his Turk. Instead it transported him, and he pulled that heavy boot harder against him, working himself against the sole of Reno’s shoe, against hard rubber that had stepped in untold puddles of blood, piss, and puke, that had connected soundly with numerous skulls and unsuspecting faces, that brought him to and from Rufus’s office, that held him steady while he pissed and gave him leverage while he indulged in a swift fuck in one of the janitor’s closets.

            Rufus found himself in the middle of a raging orgasm before he could even expect it, his hips bucking wildly beneath the steady force of Reno’s relentless boot. Indeed, as he gasped his climax aloud, eyes rolling up in his head, the man pressed even harder as if to relieve his aching explosion. His body twitched, convulsing hard on the carpeted floor of his office. He held Reno to him with frantic, strong hands, arching up roughly against him until every last drop of cum had shot its way out of him to nest among his clothing and only the relentless, breathtaking echoes of an orgasm still wracked his shuddering body.

            He’d never felt so dirty, used, or blissfully pleased in his entire life.

            Reno shifted ever so slightly, moving back into his previous sprawled position, no flush on his high cheekbones, no sign of enjoyment on his handsome face. No doubt, endless hours of choreographed, graphic sex had inured him to arousal of the conventional sort. He seemed sleepy and mildly bored, ready to either fall asleep in that chair or go find something better to do. Those glittering blue eyes fell on him, half-lidded and lazy, so seductive with untold depths of violent promise.

            “Good dog,” he whispered.

            Rufus glared at him and stood, glad that his body betrayed no signs of weakened knees or post-climax tremors. He straightened his suit with a fussy, snobbish moue of annoyance calculated to irritate Reno, picked up his dropped paperweight, and moved around to sit behind his desk.

            “You’re dismissed, Reno,” he said, picking up his pen as if they’d just finished discussing the weather instead of some epic, subtle battle of wills.

            Reno laughed, a tinge of actual humor in it this time. With a languid smile and a nonchalant, half-assed, and mocking salute at Rufus, he uncoiled from that malicious instigator of a chair and walked to the door in his usual lazy, slouchy manner.

            It was a long time before Rufus stopped trembling, a long time before his pen stopped shaking enough to write legibly. He dropped it and shoved his hands into his hair, sitting in his soiled clothing, feeling tacky cum drying against his loose pants. He looked down and saw a perfect, muddy imprint of Reno’s boot on his pants and shuddered, gasping, just the sight of it enough to make his spent and abused body twitch.

            His wild gaze fell upon that seemingly innocent and innocuous chair. It sat there with the placid, static presence of an inanimate object, but Rufus was beginning to believe that the thing had a life of its own and an uncanny power to provoke Reno. Not sure if he should burn it or have it lovingly reupholstered, Rufus let his head drop to his desk and groaned, his brain filled with enough fantasy material to last him for the rest of his life.

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1           4            6

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Comments

[garinarayne.livejournal.com]

Guh. That is unbelievably hot.

Not sure whether to feel sorry for Rufus or be incredibly jealous of him.

Addictive and intense, and wonderfully written.

[jaded-grin.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I'm really pleased that you're enjoying it!

[dragons-f-wolf.livejournal.com]

That was amazing, just amazing. **drools**

[jaded-grin.livejournal.com]

Thanks!