Title: Second Servings
Rating: R for foul language and sexual situations
Pairing: Rufus/Reno, Reno/Rufus
Description: Basking in the afterglow, Rufus contemplates more than just his lover's body.
Author's Note: Bored. In need of smut. Couldn't write any kind of worthwhile fic. This is the result.
He was shameless, really.
Whether fucking or getting fucked, Reno always made sure to steal the show. Loud moans and harsh pants, bony limbs twisting tantalizingly slow against silken sheets, spread wide for the world to see. Nothing was too wanton to put into play, nothing too lewd. He'll drag his teeth along jutting bone, smirk up at you with an adder's grin. Whisper crude obscenities in your ear when he has the privilege of being on top, only to repeat them reversed when you get fed up with his taunts and pin him down against the bed, fingers clenched and tight, eyes hard and cruel. It doesn't seem to matter which side he's on, he'll always end up playing it for a farce, riding each crest of the wave like today couldn't matter less and tomorrow be damned, the future be damned, until he thrusts his hips inward, twists his neck up. Catches his breath on a gasp and a word.
That's when he calls you Rufus. That's when he forgets who's boss.
And then, after the sex had worn out, he'd lie back like this - head propped up against your knees, legs splayed out on the couch, the straggly end of a cigarette poking out from between kiss-bruised lips, bitter and harsh. Slim, jade eyes gaze out at darkened glass, the soft sluice of rain against Shinra tower, as he swings an arm back and forth along carpet floor. The orange glow of firelight behind crystal quartz tinges his skin gold (too pale to be bronze, a consequence of living so long in the lower plates), his hair russet, like the fading embers of Prometheus's torch. Something gifted, but at the expense of its possessor.
Eventually, your hands find more than his hair to toy with, as they slowly trace the angular curve of his cheek, map the sharp slant of his nose, stopping momentarily to graze a nail hard against the bright, jagged tattoos that bracket his face and wonder, for a moment, if you pressed hard enough with a knife, would the skin break to bleed vibrant red? Or dark crimson? An enigma you file away for future thought, when other...matters fail to distract you.
Your fingers dip into the groove of his lips, brushing idly back and forth along the edges in an unsaid order, one he gladly obeys (but not without that grin, that infuriating grin that said You might have the power, but I've still got the reins), mouth parting to suck slowly on each fingertip as you fuck his mouth with each. You trace silvery saliva down his neck and chin, along the inner curve of his collarbone, to circle fast around one round, pink nipple. Watch it harden in the fire's red glow. His breathing quickens, but does not hitch, as he fixes you with a smoky gaze, tongue running temptingly across glistening, wet lips.
Invitation's a thought already realized.
It moves quickly after that, your palm a smooth glide down the remaining expanse of his stomach to settle finally between his legs, fingers threading rapidly through the fine curls that frame his cock. A rippling of breath tells you he knows your intent, and the slight roll of his shoulders against your thigh confirms the reaction. His head shifts to press more firmly to your stomach, as he turns his full attentions on the sensations at hand, the first act of the play, his neck tilting back, his eyes half-lidding, the very corners of his mouth curving up in a barely suppressed moa -
He rolls over then, a smirk spreading lazily over ash-flecked lips. Flicks his gaze up to yours.
"Ya up for another round, boss?"
The answer, inevitably, is yes.