Cold metal clamped around my wrists. Cold words whispered into my ear. Cold, icy cold eyes gazing at me, an expression somewhere between lust and malice. I'm terrified and turned on in equal measure. A hand rests softly on my shoulder, so light that I can barely feel it through my thick Turk jacket and white button-up shirt. It slides down my back, soft and casually possessive and the shiver that runs through me has nothing to do with the air vent above my head. Rufus Shinra's not a man to be fucked with under normal circumstances, and this is as far from normal as it gets for him.
"Damn, bossman." My voice somehow manages to come out normal -or close enough to it anyway -as I test the give in my restraints. Since they're Turk grade handcuffs, the answer is 'not a lot'. "If you wanted my attention -"
"Quiet." Just one word. His voice is as cold as the handcuffs and I find myself falling silent even as my spine stiffens in protest.
The hand on my back unexpectedly slides around the curve of my hip, nails scraping the inside of my thigh through comfortable black suit pants that are rapidly becoming far less comfortable. My breath escapes in a soft hiss and a low throaty chuckle sounds from behind me. Bastard. Even his laugh sounds smug.
"Good boy," he says, and the words raise more of that aroused resentment. So damn sure of himself ...
I risk looking up, assessing my situation. Rufus meets my eyes, leaning back against his desk, watching me appraisingly. I'd seen that look before -cold, casual calculation, usually directed to whatever poor sap sat on the visitors' side of that desk.
"Something you want, boss?"
There's a flash of irritation on his face and I smile even as I know I'm about to pay for it.
He pushes me down onto my hands and knees, yanking at my belt. I make a noise of protest as he pulls at my trousers, dragging them down around my knees. Even without looking, I know he'll be watching me with that same proprietorial gaze. I keep my legs together, taking the growl of frustration as he pulls my knees apart -hard enough to leave finger-shaped red marks -as a small victory. He steps around in front of me, grabbing my chin and turning my head from side to side like he's weighing a potential purchase.
"Suck," he says, harsh command and something raw fraying the edges of his voice. He's taken off his trousers and briefs -when the hell had that happened? -and the pressure of his thumb on my jaw -pushing my mouth open -gives me a damn good idea of what's coming next.
Rufus is quiet -or at least, he tries to be. I take him into my mouth as deep as I can without choking, humming with pleasure as his breath catches. I roll my tongue around him, sucking him as hard as I can while I drag out my moment of power. He's grabbing the desk so hard his knuckles turn white and the single, strained sound he makes shoots through me as a delicious ache.
He almost drags me off his hardening cock, pulling on the handcuffs so I'm forced to stand or have my arms twisted off. He grabs me by the throat, fingers curling just enough to make my breath rasp. An image flashes through my head -Rufus pinning me down, forcing himself inside me as those fingers tighten on my windpipe -and I moan involuntarily. It seems to satisfy him. With a quick, vicious flash of teeth, he drags me forward, bruising my hip with his grip, crushing my lips against his as he rubs his hardness against mine. I gasp at the unexpected friction and he deepens the kiss, forcing his way inside. I close my eyes for a moment -then open them again in a panic as I fall forward. Rufus has stepped to one side, letting me smack into the edge of his desk hard enough to wind me for a second. I can already feel the strong, quick fingers dragging down my back, and I bite back a moan when they slip from the edge of my shirt to scrape over my hips.
"Boss!" The sound's hoarse and desperate. It takes a second to realize it came from me.
"Rufus," he corrects me, emphasizing the point with a single, lubed finger. I wriggle, trying to get used to the feeling. I should just be grateful he's loosening me up today.
"Fuck, Rufus, get a move on!" I squeeze my muscles around his finger, smirking at him over the curve of my shoulder. The hand on my hip tightens for a moment and my smile widens.
"Impatient," he scolds and before I can do more than notice the rawness in his voice, he's added another finger. A dull ache creeps up the back of my spine and I open my mouth to complain- oh!
Lights dance behind my eyes as he presses against that place inside me, sparking like Fire materia and electricity all in one. All discomfort is forgotten as I arch back into his hand, barely managing to restrain a moan.
"You ... really think you can break me that easily, Rufus?" I ask, but my voice is rough and low, my length twitching as sheer stubbornness stops me from fucking myself on his fingers.
Rufus is almost purring. "Yes," he says simply and pushes against my prostate again. I moan this time; it would have been impossible to stay silent. "Rufus!"
He begins to move his fingers, slowly fucking me from behind. In-out-in-out ... "Such a good boy," he says, smooth and smoldering like a good scotch. "Aren't you?"
I don't answer and know immediately that I've made mistake when those long, clever fingers stop.
"Aren't you?" he asks again, and I nearly keen in protest as he rubs against my walls with frustrating gentleness, just enough to remind me what I could have. I need it faster, harder, more ...
I whimper, trying to appeal to the man's better nature. Except of course, there's absolutely no reaction from the man behind me. He's toying with me, tormenting me with slow, lazy strokes. If Rufus ever had a better nature, he'd probably had it shot as an enemy of the company. With a vicious twist, he slips in a third finger. I can feel the slow burn, muffled under the sudden burst of pleasure.
"Yes. Rufus, Rufus, please ..." I'm babbling now, hands scrabbling for purchase on the desk's smooth surfacing.
"Good boy," he repeats and I nod frantically, pushing back into him and meeting every thrust.
"I'm your good boy." The words come out as angry as I dare, with that disrespectful impatience that Rufus hates and loves. "For the love of Holy, hurry up and fuck me!"
I look back over my shoulder and just the sight of him makes me throb. His eyes aren't cold now, they're grey-blue as steam on a cloudless day and the smile on his face ... the combination of fear and arousal hits me just as he pulls his fingers away.
I whimper at the empty feeling, even as I hear him scrabbling with something behind me. I can hear the pop of a cap and then -God, Rufus!
He fucks me from behind, fast and hard. His nails rake down my back, his breathing quick and shallow. His voice is a cruel purr as he tells me what a slut I am, what an obedient puppy I am, how I belong to him. I barely know at this point. I would have agreed to anything as long as he promised not to stop. Pride has gone the way of self-restraint and I moan into the desk as he fucks me. His strokes become irregular even as I feel my own orgasm building in my toes. Please don't stop, please pleasepleaseplease ...
Rufus grabs my hips so hard I cry out, although whether with pain or pleasure at this point, I don't even know. I whimper, the only plea I'm capable of making. I cry out, unashamed and too far gone to care as I feel Rufus' hand close over me, jerking me off in time with his own uneven breathing and the punishing pace he's set.
He comes with a soft moan, clenching my hip as though he can prolong the moment if he just holds on. His hand keeps moving even as he shudders, and feeling him come inside me with that sound of surrender undoes me. I can feel it building like a wave, and if I'm not careful, I'll drown in the pleasure.
I call his name as I come, white hot pleasure-pain-completeness coursing through me as my whole world shakes itself apart around me.
It reforms slowly, piece by piece. First, the pressure of the desk digging into my stomach. I would move, but the idea of it makes ever muscle in my body protest. Besides, I can't even feel my feet. If that weight weren't on top of me, I'd probably fall bonelessly onto the plush white carpet.
It takes me a second to realize that the weight is breathing in my ear, steady and slow. I would try to turn around and get a better look, but it feels so nice and the weight is strangely comforting.
"Good boy," it Rufus says approvingly, stroking a finger lightly over my neck. I shiver; everything feels so sensitive, it's torture and divine at the same time. I bask in the compliment like a lizard with a big hot rock. It's not 'oh Reno, you were an animal,' or 'did you feel Planet move, or was that just us?' but I'll take what I can get.
There's a long sigh from somewhere above me reluctant and almost . . . wistful? I wish I could make my brain start working again, but it's still drifting back to reality and really, what's the hurry?
"You've got ten minutes," Rufus informs me, stepping back into his trousers with superhuman steadiness. "I have a representative from the WRO due at two-thirty."
Oh. That was the hurry.
"You know, Boss," I say, with all the lazy good-naturedness that follows (most peoples) amazing sex, "you're kind of a bastard."
I turn around, stumbling a bit on my shaking legs, just in time to see Rufus . . . smiling at me? Before I can say anything, he steps forward and catches my chin. He kisses me hard, with a sharp nip at my bottom lip. I mentally blame my post-sex unsteadiness for my weak knees.
"I know," he says, with a laugh in his voice. Real honest amusement, because of me . . . "Nine minutes, Reno."
Bastard.