"Caesar needs a Brutus, like you and I."
--Anita Lane
Fourth State of Matter
Just before the evening sun set completely over Shinra's private airstrip, a quaint, dual-winged plane came in for a landing, skidding across the tarmac and coming to rest inside the hangar.
A man emerged form its cabin, looking about discreetly for any signs of alarm. The back seat in the aircraft was empty, though there remained a small, damp depression on a cushion where a water-soaked passenger might have sat, and a lingering smell of flowers filled the cabin.
The pilot busied himself with the aircraft, locking the wheels and covering its rust-colored wings and blue propeller with a tarp. He finished, turning to head inside—but stopped in place, his heel raised.
"I didn't realize you were authorized to take that vehicle, General Khushrenada." Said the expensively suited man who had materialized in the once-empty hangar.
"Tseng" Treize swallowed, trying to keep his expression neutral, his voice even. "To what do I owe the honor?"
The director of the Turks stared him down, like a patient crow waiting for something to die. "I understand you have a meeting with the president today. Does he know that you took the TinyBronco to the North Continent?"
"The Turks certainly have long ears." Treize muttered with a self-depreciating chuckle. "I should have been more careful."
Tseng shifted stances, a subtle movement that raised the hostility between them by several degrees. "It sometimes pays to eavesdrop on other eavesdroppers." He said mildly. "Shall I assume you are on your way to inform the President that you've located the escaped Cetra girl? Or would you like me to report the incident myself?"
"I would prefer, Tseng, that you and I not become enemies." The general's hand drifted towards his belt, where several lethal devices were kept. He did not draw. "Please allow me to tell the president of the matter on my own time. I have my reasons."
"I'm sure you do." Said Tseng. "I've heard something about those reasons from a colleague of mine on the board of directors..."
The general's eyes narrowed. It was a long moment before the dark suited man finished; "Reeve Tuesti. I believe you two have met." Tseng's placid face showed signs of amusement.
Treize allowed himself to exhale finally. "Yes. We're acquainted." He met the other man's dark eyes without blinking. "Did Reeve tell you about our common interests?"
"He did. In fact, he made me something a proposal on the matter."
"I see…" Said the general. "And have you had a chance to come to a decision regarding this proposal?"
The director of the Turks stood silent for a long moment, a dark pillar against the last of the incoming light. "Not yet. It's safe to say that if my answer is no, you'll be the last to hear about it, sir. For the time being, consider yourself on borrowed time, general."
Treize frowned at the veiled threat, but accepted it. "I see. In that case, thank you for the grace period. I expect you'll have the evidence you need for your verdict within the month."
"Oh, and general—" Tseng turned, sending a soft wave down his long black hair. "If I may speak on behalf of my organization; you are unlikely to find much sympathy from my coworkers." His face was a mask of professionalism. "Whatever your intentions, I don't think you fully understand what we—the Turks—owe Rufus personally. Under the previous administration, there was an incident involving a double agent… Shinra Sr. slated the Turks for immediate disbandment and execution."
He paused, looking out of the hangar to the horizon. "Rufus salvaged the organization himself. He argued our case before the committee, and then took personal responsibility for our conduct. That was part of the reason that he lost his position as vice president."
The general drew back a fraction of an inch. "I hadn't realized."
"Most people think of the Turks as dogs for hire and underestimate our loyalty." Tseng folded his hands behind his back. "Be glad you didn't make the mistake of trying to offer me money."
"Of course not." Treize snapped, a sudden passion entering his voice. "I'm counting on you to make a decision based on your sense of duty—not only to your employer, but the future. You're an intelligent man, Tseng; I trust you can see where all this is going."
"The future is not my concern." Tseng waved his hand. "I've heard your case, and I will consider it. Until then, it's your move, general." He tipped his head and disappeared into the hangar shadows.
The sun flashed low, sending the blinding reflections of a dozen skyscraper windows under the hangar roof before dipping below the Midgar skyline, painting the city and the uniformed man in shades of purple and gold.
Treize inhaled deeply. He shouldn't have expected the Turks to come to him easily. Their organization was a volatile blend of mercenary flexibility, fraternal loyalty, and corporate construction. He'd either have to prove to them that his plan was in their best interests overall, or win them over individually. Or take them down. He hoped it would not come to that. Even with SOLDIER at his disposal, the Turks were not to be taken lightly.
This was shaping up to be more complicated affair than he'd anticipated. He was going to have to tread very carefully from now on. But at least the Cetra girl was safe… in that respect, things had gone well today. How things would have played out if he'd had to fight Sephiroth again, he did not care to think about. It had taken all his courage to draw attention to himself with that summon… Even with a young woman in danger, he'd been too frozen to do anything else.
Treize huffed. What a coward I'm becoming, if the prospect of fighting my own battles so petrifies me. He thought. Someday, when I have less to lose, I will fight you again sir. Perhaps on that day, things will be different.
Something in his pocket buzzed, startling him. He drew out his phone carefully and tried to remember which button activated the screen. After hitting 'volume', 'hold', and a nub that may have been entirely decorative, he succeeded. "Obtuse Shinra technology…" he scowled.
One line of text waited for him, glowing in green: "Report to office immediately. Drinks are getting warm."
Treize's face lightened. "…No rest for the wicked."
Two glasses were set equidistant from each other on the president's wide desk.
"You made it after all. Good." Rufus said while ducking behind the bureau. When he emerged he held a tall, unopened bottle of clear liquid, which he proceeded to pour into the waiting cups.
"Yes. Sorry for the delay. It was kind of you to wait for me." Treize made a short bow and pulled up a chair. "Though, vodka's really not my drink of choice…"
"Too fucking bad. It's what I had under the desk, and I just got back from a long day of picking up my father's messes." Rufus said flatly, downing his first shot in one gulp. "How was your trip?"
"Entirely unremarkable." The general raised his glass without so much as a twitch. "There were reports that Avalanche had been active in the North Continent but we were unable to substantiate the claims. None of the terrorists were apprehended and nothing was found of their passing besides rumors." He took a lazy sip of his drink. For the most part, everything he'd said was true.
Rufus narrowed his eyes. "Really. You went through all that trouble of sidestepping my head Turk and you still didn't find anything. What a shame."
Treize blinked. "Tseng informed me that the Cetra girl has been known to travel with Avalanche, but…"
"-But Avalanche wasn't there. Hm. Well, that tracks with what I heard." Rufus knitted his hands under his chin. "See, a little bird told me you like to play with your cards face-up. I wanted to see if this was true."
The general put down his empty glass slowly and licked his lips, an action which for some reason fascinated Rufus's attention in a way he was not comfortable with.
"I learned something about you today as well… You put your career on the line to save the Turks from extermination."
"Did I?"
"You did." Treize folded his arms. "You're not as callous and pragmatic as you pretend to be, Rufus Shinra."
Rufus sighed, filled his glass and swallowed it just as quickly. "Yeah, well, don't go spreading it around." He picked up the bottle of vodka and stood, wavering a bit on his feet. "Come on… this is where I invite you upstairs like a real host."
Treize laughed, the sound at least as warm as the glow of alcohol making Rufus's head light. There'd been an uneasy seed planted in his chest ever since that night in the elevator. Rufus rubbed his forehead, slicking his bangs back with one hand. Every time he pictured the general in his mind now something quivered and grew and put out another creeping tendril.
His own glass elevator had been repaired in the time between their meetings. From the lift the president could watch the entire city dropping beneath him; a view shared only with birds... Rufus let the bottle hang in one hand, the oil-thick liquid sloshing as the elevator began its ascent.
"Why is it that every time we meet, we end up having philosophical discussions at least 12 stories above ground?" Rufus mused, more to himself than his companion.
"You're a creature of high elevations, Rufus. You can't help it." Treize gave him an amused look. "A curious animal indeed… You're more at home in the zoo than in the jungle. If I took you away from all this artifice and metal, you'd wither."
"Well… As long as I'm in charge of the zoo…" The blonde man unscrewed the lid to his drink and took a swig, unbothered by the lack of nicety. He wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand and went back to staring out the window. "See. This is why I like to drink alone. I talk too much when I'm drunk, and you're a dangerous listener."
The president's suite was chilly and the air tasted like steel. Rufus kept it that way intentionally, finding that it helped him think. When it was a choice between relaxing and staying sharp, he always went with the latter.
The main flat was almost entirely monochrome; the couch was made of pristine white leather; the furnishings were chrome, glass, or black acrylic, and the Mako lighting was carefully coordinated and harsh.
One wall was devoted entirely to an exotic fish tank; inside, three large silver and black eels circulated, occasionally flexing their jaws and flashing their pale blue mouths. The only color came from blue-tinted accent lights that ran along the mini-bar that transected the room.
By contrast, the president's bedroom door was open, and the sliver of wall that could be seen was painted solid red.
"Home sweet home." Rufus muttered, spreading his hands.
"Rufus." Treize stood perfectly still in the doorway. "Don't move."
"What?" The president asked, tense.
Something in the room growled, wild and threatening. The general reached slowly to his belt where he kept a small, ornate handgun. "There's something in your room… another escapee from the science labs, I think. Don't turn around or raise your voice. I'm going to try and distract it."
Rufus's eyes widened. "It isn't big, black, and furry is it? Quick, tell me: does it have a tentacle on its head?"
Treize nodded soberly, moving slowly to position himself between the president and the dangerous animal. A manic grin broke on Rufus's face and he whirled around.
"COME AT ME, FURBALL."
Darknation surged over the edge of the couch in a muscular ripple, head ramming into Rufus's knees and sending him sprawling. He laughed, tumbling backwards and grappling with his pet. "Good girl! Hah! You should see your face, general..."
Treize relaxed his defensive posture, looking sheepish. "You could have told me you have a pet guardhound."
"She's shy around strangers." Rufus stood, brushing himself off, adding with an expression of pride, "Also, she bites." He led the panther-sized animal to a back room, offered it a bloody steak from the fridge, and closed the door gently.
"I don't have any wine." Rufus declared, unapologetic. "Hard liquor or nothing."
Treize sat cautiously on the leather couch, feeling uncomfortably flamboyant in the minimalist surroundings. "That's fine. I'll abstain for tonight if you don't mind."
"Really? Because I'm going to get plastered." Rufus sat across from the general, bottle in hand. "You're free to stay sober and watch me become sloppy and miserable, but I don't recommend it."
In the end, two small black shot glasses were filled and Treize grudgingly toasted his host. Something about the general's ability to radiate confidence in the face of hostility put Rufus on edge. It made him feel vulnerable, vicious.
"Let's talk about you for a second." Rufus said, leaning forward. "Tell me about why you're here. I mean, really here. You obviously hate my policies because you're a bleeding-heart idealist (no offense), but you work for me anyway. Why? I mean, you say my lack of concern for human dignity is repulsive, but you also want to be my friend? That's absurd." He crossed his legs and leaned back.
"Rufus…" Treize sighed, putting down his drink and looking to his companion earnestly. "You have it in your power to change everything about this company, and positively affect the world. I admire that you are working to turn the tide of corruption that was started by your predecessor, but you could do so much more… But instead you forge ahead, heedless of consequence, not realizing you're piloting a sinking ship."
The general's voice was soft but infinitely compelling; his words came naturally and unrehearsed. No wonder people trust him, Rufus thought with twinge of envy.
"This company exists on a foundation of deceit, exploitation, and subterfuge," Treoze continued. "Shinra survives only because it uses the most under-handed means to grab and hold power. You could turn it around tomorrow, if you so chose. You haven't yet, but your could."
"Look." Rufus pointed to his face. "This is Shinra. Right here. You can't have one without the other. Shinra's policies are my policies. They're not friendly. They're efficient. I know it doesn't make me popular. It doesn't make me happy. But it doesn't matter. I am the company." Rufus stood abruptly, looming pale and dangerous above his guest. "And you can either get on board with that, or get out, because I don't appreciate it when you try to flatter me, but slander my business in the same breath. Do you know what that tells me about you, Treize? That tells me that you just want a piece of Rufus Shinra, and you think you can get it by appealing to my ego. That doesn't make me like you very much."
Treize met this verbal onslaught calmly, hands crossed on his knee behind the ridge of his glossy boot. "Is it such a sin that I have faith in your ability to change?"
"I can't just… stop wanting what I've wanted my whole career!" Rufus threw his hand in the air with frustrated energy. "It'd mean giving in to everything that's tried to keep me down my whole life. And believe me, I've had to fight that long to keep above water. I've had to give up more than you know to get here, so don't sit there, and tell me, what I should fucking do with my life, because you don't even know. Alright?" He pushed his blonde hair back on his skull and sat back down heavily. Another shot of vodka tipped back in his mouth before he regained composure. "Sorry. I'm doing my best here. Socializing isn't my strong suit."
Treize just smiled, cat-like. "I understand."
"Sure you do."
"No, I do. You're trying to open up to me, but you're worried that trusting me will let me take advantage of you."
Rufus laughed, short and bitter. "Hah! Well thank you for that analysis, Dr. Khushrenada."
"You're not wrong to worry..." The general added cryptically, his smile taking a turn for the predatory.
The president looked at his guest strangely. Honesty was in the air, a product of alcohol and privacy. He decided to test it, see how far the thermal would take him.
"You said you wanted to get to know me better… So prove it." He filled the general's glass. "I ask one question, you ask one. We both drink. First one to chicken out has to finish the bottle. No lies, no spin. Just straight answers from both of us. Deal?"
Treize raised an eyebrow. "Interesting terms. Alright…I accept."
"Let the games begin." Rufus declared. "First question: what's your connection with Reeve Tuesti?"
The general met his gaze evenly. "Reeve was the one who told me about the housing project and the building codes you were planning on circumventing in order to lower costs. He suggested that I make a show of it at our first board meeting, to make Heidegger, Scarlet, and Palmer uncomfortable."
Rufus's head jerked back. He'd suspected that that was the case ever since the conference, but hearing it said so candidly was a surprise. "Huh. You weren't kidding… That was a test, by the way. I knew you couldn't have known about the codes unless you had help, and Reeve was the obvious choice; we don't always see eye-to-eye." He coughed. "Down the hatch."
The two shots vanished and were replaced again, glass clinking against glass.
"My turn." Treize swallowed, still feeling the beverage's sting in his throat. "Why didn't you tell me you were claustrophobic? Why didn't you take the stairs?"
"That's two questions, and I'm not fucking claustrophobic." Rufus spat. "I just have a personal… dislike of dark, closed spaces. My father… goddamnit." He added an extra shot to his tally. "My father put me in a closet once. When I was a kid. He left me there all day, and then pretended like it was my fault. It's stupid, and embarrassing, and pathetic, and I thought I'd gotten over it, but apparently…" He shook his head, a traitorous blush spreading across his fair complexion.
"I'm sorry to hear that." Treize looked infuriatingly genuine. "What a cruel thing to do."
"Yeah. Well. Like you said, I could have taken the stairs. Next question:" Rufus cleared his throat. "What the hell is wrong with your eyebrows?"
Chuckling, Treize ran a finger along an offending prong. "They run in the family. My cousin Dorothy is notorious for them. It's from the Catalonia side— they skipped my mother and went straight to me."
"Fair enough." They drank again, grimacing. They apartment seemed to be heating up.
"How long have you worked with the Turks?"
"Huh." Rufus tilted his head back, nostalgic. "Since I was made Vice President. Best time of my life… the old man never understood what I liked about it, running around in the slums, getting my pretty hands dirty." He snorted. "I'd be doing that again now, if I could. I like things direct and simple.
"Running a mega-conglomerate is about as far away from that ideal as you can get." Treize mused.
"You can't have everything, especially when you have everything." Rufus slid his head back upright, rubbing his forehead. "Woof. I hope you lose. I don't know if I can manage the rest of this bottle."
"They're your terms." The Mako-eyed soldier winked. "You can always change them. Who was your last lover?"
Rufus snapped alert, blinking at his guest incredulously. "You sure like to aim for the personal stuff! Alright...ah. If you must know, I've lost track. I don't remember who last sucked me off. Happy?"
"That's not really what I asked…" Treize leaned in, expression mischievous. "Do you have a partner, Rufus?"
"Obviously not." The president glared. "Women are better at power-tapping than the slum black-marketers. My old man wasted half his life cycling through failed marriages; I'm not about follow in his footsteps."
Treize frowned. "I see you have a very poor estimation of the opposite sex. How disappointing. Some of the strongest and most admirable people in my life are women."
"Well, how nice for you. In my line of work, women are good for exactly one thing, and that's something I can pay for. Now it's payback: Who was your last lover, general?"
The golden-haired aristocrat did not answer immediately. He swirled the liquid in his glass thoughtfully and took a sip, staring into empty space.
"Oh come on, you can dish it out but you can't take it?" Rufus sneered. "Who was your last? Tell me."
"…Sephiroth."
Rufus tried not to bite off his own tongue. He coughed, sputtered, put a hand on his chin and stared. "You're shitting me."
"That is an exceedingly distasteful phrase. And no. I'm not." Treize closed his eyes for a moment, wavering. "We met after I graduated from first phase. My hair was still growing back…"
Rufus did a private mental victory dance. He resolved to search the archives for pictures as soon as possible.
"I was leaving the training grounds for the first time since I'd been promoted to 3rd Class. We were on the trans-continental train; by coincidence I found myself sitting across from him, and we were able to talk. He was very kind… you can imagine how nervous I was, a freshly graduated cadet meeting the hero of SOLDIER. It turned out we'd been quartered together on the trip. It rather progressed from there… and I believe… I've had quite enough to drink." Treize sighed, stretching his long legs out from the couch.
Rufus's mouth went unexpectedly dry. The coil that had been living in his stomach since he first shook hand with the refined interloper constricted sharply.
"But… didn't you end up fighting him?" The Shinra heir's eyes went wide. "What happened?"
"…That's a story for another day, Rufus. It's not something I care to relive at this particular moment." For a flickering moment, the general looked considerably older than his thirty-odd years. "I still haven't answered your first question though…"
"What was that?" Rufus asked benignly, pouring himself one last shot for luck.
"Why I am here. My purpose for staying with Shinra, despite my objection to its methods. Why I've been so concerned with getting close to you."
Rufus began to feel uncomfortable, his blush returning unbidden to his face. Even with half a bottle of vodka in him, he didn't think he was nearly drunk enough to hear whatever was about to be imparted to him.
Treize turned his feline eyes on the president with brutal, lucid honesty, and not a hint of intoxication.
"I'm here to betray you, Rufus Shinra. I'm going to take over your company."
The price of power is loneliness, baby. Everyone wants a piece of you. Don't trust them, Rufus. Don't trust anyone. Don't let them see you weak; don't let them see blood in the water. Don't cry, don't you cry.
It was his mother's favorite advice to give, often recited while leaving.
They're gonna walk their dirty boots all over you, boy. Don't you let them.
She'd shake him firmly by the shoulders; long nails dug in, and kiss his forehead.
I love you sweetie. And walk out, her blonde hair fluffed, her makeup perfect.
Rufus took after his mother. He was delicate, pallid, and fine-boned with hair like corn silk; resembling her in all the ways that embarrassed and infuriated him. His hands were white and graceful, so he'd covered them in cut-off leather gloves. His hair was soft and shimmering, so he'd vigorously flattened it against his skull. He was small and unimposing, so he wore thick rough-soled work shoes and large untailored jackets. The tough boys in the slums had laughed at him; he'd learned to fire a shotgun with surgical accuracy. He hated the thought of germs and filth, and he'd forced himself to work in the slums. He'd been terrified of tight spaces, and refused to take the stairs.
It was in his nature to fight himself, and he was stubborn. He could do this all day, every day. Being miserable just proved he was winning.
There were few things he was genuinely proud of and his tenacity was one of them. He'd stuck it out. He had his company, and he would make it the biggest, most bulletproof organization on the planet.
It was a power company; it churned out control and energy and authority. It was the only thing in Rufus's life that mattered, and he would let someone take it from him when they pried it from his dead, bleeding fists.
"You're funny." He rasped in a low whisper, lip curling. "But that's not something you get to joke about with me."
The general stood, tall and graceful; there as apparently something in his artificially enhanced metabolism had already lessened the effects of alcohol. Not wanting to be caught at a disadvantage, Rufus fumbled for a small bottle he kept for such occasions. Thank every god for Hojo's miracle detox-drug… he thought, spraying its contents into his mouth. Funny—being sober had never been so important, and yet he'd never wanted to be drunk more than he wanted it now. His eyes watered, the fuzziness beginning to clear from his head.
"It wasn't a joke." Treize continued smoothly, closing the distance between them.
Rufus rose clumsily, tripping as he tried to back away in vain; but his reflexes were still muddy. The general caught him up, hands closing on his wrists, close enough to suffocate.
"Leave." Rufus gritted his teeth, panting. "Get the fuck out of my house, and get the fuck out of my company."
"It is too late for that." Treize stared into his eyes and it was like being hypnotized by a viper. "I won't lie to you. My purpose here is to remove Shinra Inc from your control; I'm going to break its monopoly, put a stop to its abuse of resources, and end your uncontested authority in Midgar and the rest of the planet before you destroy it with your thoughtless greed. I'm going to do this with or without your sanction… and I –will –not –harm –you."
He let go of the president's wrists.
"Why the hell would you even tell me that?" Rufus yanked his arms back.
"Because I haven't yet done it yet. And until I do, I'm still yours." Treize touched his chest in his customary gesture of deference. "And because it's no different from chess. We both know each other's motives. The pieces are on the board for both of us to see. The trick lies in simply playing the game." He tilted his head, almost coy.
Rufus let out a barking laugh. "Are you serious? What makes you think I'm going to play out your little fantasy when I could just have you shot between the eyes?"
"Because you think you can win. Why else?" Treize continued, unmoved by the threat of assassination. "And because you need me. Your enemies on the board hamper you, and I'm going to get rid of them."
Rufus squinted at him, questioning.
"The wheels are already in motion, sir." The general gave an ironic half-bow. "I trust you, Rufus. You have not a drop of subtlety in your veins- only ruthless conviction. It is a combination of traits that I both require from a superior, and find personally irresistible." He moved closer, closing distance on the president again, and extending his hands.
"I want to be your opponent. Just as I want to be close to you."
An electric current seemed to run between them, sparking and gaining energy, ionizing, pulsing, and transcending mundane states of matter, mobile and molten—a feeling like plasma, like mako itself.
"You want, you want, you want…" Under the dark turtleneck, Rufus's adam's apple dipped. "Seems like that's all you talk about, when in reality you're taking things out from under me." His voice was high and artificially firm. "Do you know what I want? I want to see you go down in flames, general. I want you to climb all the way to the fucking top, and fall right back down to the bottom, and when you're there—I want you to see my fucking face above you, laughing. And I want…" Rufus's voice suddenly broke, vulnerability eclipsing his face for half a second. "…I want you."
Treize blinked slowly and said nothing.
"No. That's not… I mean..." Rufus's red-rimmed eyes fluttered.
There were too many conflicting impulses firing at once. Feelings welled up in him, as similar and as incompatible as water and gasoline. His diaphragm convulsed, hard.
"…I have to go." The words came out choked as Rufus rushed blindly into the bathroom past his guest. There, he vomited clear liquid until he could bring up nothing else, and then slid to the floor, trying to breathe.
Over the sink he scrubbed his face till it was sore. It took him a long while till he felt clean again.
When he woke up, Rufus found himself lying on his bed, fully clothed and partially covered. He did not remember how he had gotten there—the last thing in his memory was a lot of unpleasant ceramic.
Tenderly he slid off the bed; everything seemed to work still, though his sense of balance was taking a while to come back online. He stumbled softly to his wardrobe, suddenly disgusted by the clothes he was still wearing. He stripped down to his slacks and dark sleeveless turtleneck, feeling lighter.
Feeling his way to the doorframe, he crossed into the living room in search of something hot to drink.
He was not entirely surprised to see the general asleep on his couch, hand tucked under his golden head for a pillow, but his heart did a quick summersault all the same.
Whatever volatile chemicals had sent his emotions into a firestorm earlier that night had dissipated, leaving him numb, chilly, and rational. There would be ample time for self-flagellation later; for now, all he wanted was a strong cup of black coffee.
Espresso thick as oil and velvety as chocolate streamed into a glass mug, steam rising into the chilly air, tinted blue-green under the accent lights.
I could kill him. Rufus thought, swirling the dark drink slowly. I wouldn't even need to call someone. He's right there. Shotgun's easy enough to load.
Rufus paced quietly to the right arm of the leather sofa, looking down on his guest's face. So trusting… saying what he said and then falling asleep right where I can get him.
He kicked the base of the couch with the vigor of a ball player. "Hey! Wake up."
He was in the perfect spot to watch the general's unnatural, dilated pupils narrow sharply from black moons to pinpricks in a sea of blue. Treize's eyelids fluttered unevenly; he brushed an auburn shock of mane off his forehead. "…Ah?" He tilted his head back to look at his employer, mouth sleepily ajar. "Ah."
"I see you decided to sleep over."
Treize sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the sofa and resting his elbows on his knees tiredly. "Forgive me. I thought it would be… prudent to stay and see if I still had a job..."
Rufus stared at him, replying laconically; "Of course you still have a job. You're a vicious son of a bitch with designs on my company…" His nose wrinkled. "What else is new. At least you're upfront about it."
Treize met the Shinra heir's frigid gaze with an expression somewhere between curiosity and triumph. "I see. And you're not worried? If I win, Shinra will never be the same."
Rufus raised a finger. "…The 'if' is precisely why I am not worried." The president took a sip of his bitter midnight fuel. It burned him all the way down.
Silence reigned while the clock ticked past the dragging seconds.
"SO!" Rufus barked suddenly, pleased to see it made the general jump. "Talk to me. Tell me about Sephiroth." He dropped himself insolently next to Treize on the couch, propping his legs up on the coffee table.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Your sex life!" Rufus crossed his arms. "Tell me the details! I'll be damned if I'm the only one who humiliates himself tonight. And anyway, you lost the game earlier."
A slight blush touched the aristocratic cheek— a small but heady victory for Shinra. Rufus forged ahead gleefully. "Would you say he was well hung, or extremely well hung? Early-finisher, or endurance runner? Was he on top or bottom?"
Treize actually looked away, lips pursed. Rufus bit his cheek to stop from grinning madly.
"…You're trying to catch me out as a stereotypical upper-class prude." He intoned quietly. "Before I prove you wrong, I'd just like to remind you that Sephiroth did try to kill me, right after he murdered your father, and half of my squadron. That puts rather a damper on any fond memories I have of our relationship…"
Rufus felt a tiny flutter of guilt, which luckily, was easily drowned.
"But I will try..." Treize was visibly composing himself.
There was a long pause before he continued: "Like a beast, is the answer to your first question; early, but frequent, to the second; and mostly standing, but both if I was lucky." He turned his steady gaze on Rufus once more. "…Satisfied?"
"Not even close." Rufus wet his lips. "Come on—all's fair in love and war. I want you humiliated, remember?"
Treize sighed and leaned back, eyes on the ceiling. Rufus found himself watching the man's throat as he swallowed, feeling his pulse rise.
"If you really want to know… We used to meet in the showers after sparring; we played a game of making it as quick and silent as possible, and I always did a piss-poor job of keeping quiet. It's a wonder we were never caught together. When he took me the first time as a cadet, he was quite shy. The longer I knew him, the more aggressive he became. I don't recall becoming more passive to match—we'd just grind at each other until one of us gave in or felt like submitting."
"More details, general." Rufus's lip curled. "Get to the shameful stuff. I'm not convinced you're sufficiently humbled yet." It was the control, he realized. Despite everything that had happened that day, he knew he could still make this man, genetically modified for strength and speed though he was, do anything he wanted. That was what was making him so hot, not all the talk of closeness or trust.
"He used to have me play orderly. He'd get off on having me on my knees, whether it was to spit-polish his boots or suck his cock."
Part of Rufus's brain refused to process Treize's refined mouth saying those words. When they did finally register, he had to uncross his legs.
"He liked it when we kept our uniforms on. Sometimes…" the confessor licked his lips, lids closing from embarrassment, or pleasure, "I wasn't allowed to touch him— he'd make me kiss his boots, or choke on his sword hilt, or lick his gloves."
Rufus made a show of stroking his leg lazily with one hand. Treize followed the motion out of the corner of his eye; his voice took on a rough quality as he went on.
"He'd tell me that I couldn't have his cock until I begged for him to give it to me. I'd make a point of resisting, but that was a game I never won. He wouldn't always give me what I wanted—sometimes he'd make me wait. But I would always beg."
Rufus leaned across the space between them and took hold of the man's long-fingered hand. He pulled it across to his lap, showing it where to cup, encouraging it to fondle the seam of his pants. He heard Treize's breath catch.
It was so easy—much easier than talking.
"Would you beg me?" He asked. "I wouldn't hold out on you if you did."
"Rufus—" Treize croaked, sitting up, "You have no idea… how much—"
"Shut up. Fuck me."
For a second the SOLDIER General looked almost pained. Then his body was across Rufus's, his hands on the blonde man's face and in his hair as they kissed so violently it felt like an explosion.
"I'm not queer." Rufus said when he remembered to breathe again. "I don't want to, you know…"
"Understood." Treize nodded, fighting with the clasp of his collar. The heavy braided jacket eventually slid off, followed by knee-high boots, socks and garters, a leather belt, and ironed slacks. Hands moved silkily down rows of buttons, freeing their garments and tossing them aside.
He seemed to gain a dignity and stature with each article of clothing removed, while Rufus had always felt himself somehow diminish when he undressed.
The bared creature in front of him had narrow, tiger-hips; broad shoulders; a gloriously tapered, leanly muscled being of tawny gold. It had nothing to be shy about. Treize appeared wholly and essentially comfortable in his own skin.
Rufus, by contrast, felt a vague disgust for his pink and downy-haired nakedness. He'd spent a lot of time doing nothing but drinking, sulking, and getting blowjobs at the Gold Saucer before his return from exile. Softness permeated his body, smoothing all the sharp angles and planes.
This did not seem to diminish his partner's arousal.
"Look at you…" Treize murmured, admiring Rufus's lightly freckled, porcelain complexion with hands and tongue. "You are so beautiful."
"You shut your goddamn mouth." Rufus huffed, blushing.
Treize did not comply, but instead pressed a kiss into the base of Rufus's erection, tonguing the length of it before slipping it softly, wetly between his lips.
The back of Rufus's head hit the armrest, an unrestrained animal sound escaping him. He was beginning to think this had not been a good idea. Sex had seemed simpler than discussion an hour ago, but now he could see how it would make the unfurling political situation between them much, much more complicated.
Because he was going to want to do this again. He was going to want to do this again, a lot.
A few hours before dawn crept up on the city, the SOLDIER general and the president of the world's largest industrial empire lay entangled and sweat-slick on the no-longer-pristine white leather couch.
"I don't usually say this, but stay. Please stay." Rufus panted, feeling himself drifting into a comatose sleep.
Treize laid a kiss on the crown of his tousled head. "Nothing would please me more."
