Adult-FanFiction.org : Final Fantasy

At least he's hot	By : laurenloogie Category: Final Fantasy VII > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 978 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Chapter one: pretty eyes

Rufus was a man accustomed to getting his way.

Even by looking at him, you could tell he was used to perfection. His hair was gelled and styled, trimmed and highlighted. His fingernails were polished and clean, the job routinely done by a professional. Even the crease of his white slacks remained predictably and impeccably pressed.

Wealth? As the Vice President of the infamous ShinRa Electric Power Company, he had so much money he could have bought the fucking world. He was born into money and he'd always have money. Even if he spent a thousand gil a day, every day, for the rest of his life, he'd still die filthy rich.

Power? Although he seldom had to enforce his authority in the ridiculous pecking order of Headquarters, it took little more than a raised eyebrow to turn his associates into sniveling, apologetic wrecks. Even if he was dead wrong, no one dared to second guess his opinion. No one except his father, that is...

And sex? Don't even sweat it. He was rich, handsome and famous, three tickets to a limitless supply of shrieking fangirls (and yes, sometimes boys), practically clawing at eachother for a night in the sack with him. Yeah, life was too good to be true.

Infact, Rufus ShinRa's life was so good, it made him want to hurl.

Everyone was nice. Nothing went wrong. No blood spilled, no tears ever fell, and no one ever raised their voice. Rufus could easily have qualified as a subject for a study on boredom.

These relentless facts of life were the main reasons why Sephiroth caught his eye.

The General of ShinRa's army had never spent much time in Headquarters, but now that the war was over, he seemed to cast an everpresent shadow over the hallways and cubicles. Eerily quiet and eternally grim, he quickly became the source of rumors around the office.

'Did you hear? All the soldiers are saying Sephiroth enjoyed killing those poor Wutanese people. What a jerk. He must be insane.'

'Yeah, well Ralf heard he likes to screw dead people. I wouldn't doubt it... did you see the way he dresses?'

'Yeah, well I heard he's got a big... well... you know... I'd play dead for him, if you catch my drift...'

'Too bad, he likes guys from what I heard. No suprise... I read in the paper that the military makes people queer.'

Sephiroth was undoubtedly the center of attention. He also became the center of Rufus' attention... in a sea of yes-men and pushovers, the General was like an island of much-needed conflict.

So, the days rolled by. All Rufus could think about was Sephiroth. That long hair, that pale, perfect skin. Those eyes. He knew he had to have him. This wasn’t the first time it had happened – he’d grown a liking to some of the less-important employees in the past, and the solution had always been the same. Ask and you shall receive, so they say. And if asking doesn’t work, threats do. He rarely had to use threats… he was physically attractive, and most everyone(both men and women) were more than happy to screw him… but once in a while there was the occasion where a little convincing was necessary. It’s pretty amazing what a devoted employee will do to keep their job.

Sephiroth was a little different, though. First of all, the General’s position was too important to jeopardize with petty threats. Second of all, he just didn’t look like the kind of person who took any crap. One glance into those icy mako eyes told Rufus that he was a dangerous man. Yeah, it was going to be tough, but Rufus always got what he wanted. The possibility that he might fail at attaining his goal was just ludicrous. It made him laugh, albeit nervously.

Time seemed to pass with a lethargic slowness... Rufus only saw the object of his desires occasionally, when they crossed each other’s paths in the hallways, and he always found himself unable to say anything to the man. Usually he was pretty good with words, but Sephiroth just made him nervous. Whether it was his intimidating appearance or his notorious death toll from the war, he was rather unapproachable. Rufus was at his wit’s end, his situation driving him mad to the point where he could hardly sleep. He felt as if he were in a paradox, wanting something so bad yet being unable to get it. As far as he could recall, it had never happened before.

Well, nothing gets rid of sleep deprivation better than a little alcohol… or even better, a lot of alcohol. There was a cheap bar under the plate that he frequented, just to get away from his responsibilities for a few hours. Without the white three-piece suit, no one could tell that he was Rufus ShinRa, Vice President. His “disguise” was a ragged pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a black knit cap. At first glance, he actually looked like someone from the slums, but of course, upon closer inspection, you could see that his fingernails were a little too clean and his boots were a bit too shiny. It didn’t matter. No one he knew came to this bar anyway.

As Rufus sipped away at what must have been his fifth whiskey on the rocks of the evening, something truly amazing happened. The Great Sephiroth himself walked through the door, accompanied by an eerie hush that fell over the astonished crowd. Even the burliest, drunkest thugs stopped their raucous shouting and timidly lowered their heads, as if the slightest interjection would cause the General to go on a ballistic killing spree.

Even the music stopped. For a weightless, breathless minute, the only sound in the Dead Dog Saloon was the tap of Sephiroth's heavy, steel-toed boots as he grimly strode past the conglomeration of pool tables and gawking drunks to the bar. With a sarcastic deliberation, he dramatically pulled out a barstool and sat down, glowering back at all the eyes that were fixed on him.

And oh my god, I shit you not, he chose the seat next to Rufus ShinRa.

“A shot of whiskey,” he quietly asked, although his voice seemed to resound in the silent-as-death room.

As the portly bartender shakily poured the shot, everyone in the bar slowly returned to what they were doing, once they figured they weren't going to get recruited or chopped to bits.

Oh, great, thought Rufus, tugging his cap further down over his blond hair. Now what? Either he stayed silent and pretended he didn’t know Sephiroth, or he said something. Both options sucked. He didn’t want the man to find out that he walked around in disguise… it was embarrassing. At the moment, getting drunker seemed like a good delay to whatever would come, so he downed the rest of his whiskey in one big gulp, slamming the glass down when he was done. The liquor burned its way down his throat and into his stomach, increasing the warm, numb feeling in his body. He realized he was pretty buzzed. He fumbled around in his pants pocket and found his smokes, pulling one out and lighting it. The nicotine just numbed his senses even more… it was a nice feeling.

“Two shots of whiskey. One on the rocks.”

The words went in one ear and out the other. A few seconds later, a black-gloved hand shoved a drink in front of him. Rufus slowly, timidly, looked over, and his gaze was met with a pair of piercing Mako eyes. He looked away, stunned, as the situation slowly became clear in his mind - Sephiroth just bought me a drink. Rufus felt a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

“What are you doing here?” Sephiroth asked, his voice unreadable. “I figured you were the type to go to classy bars on the plate.”

"Oh, well..." Rufus stammered. He took a long, hasty drag from his cigarette. "You see, the bars on the plate are all the same," he confessed as he exhaled. "Everyone treats me like a celebrity... I can't even relax." He flicked a lump of ash into an ashtray, nervously tapping the menthol light against the side several times. Sephiroth's eyes remained locked on his with a look of detached interest. Rufus noticed that he didn't blink.

"Well, at least you're not a celebrity under the plate," the General said, briefly motioning towards the mass of drunks stumbling around in the bar. "In fact, you're lucky. No one here even knows who you are." He smoothly downed his shot and asked for another, shooting the bartender a menacing 'get-the-fuck-over-here' glare. Rufus followed the green eyes as they swung over to the TV screen.

The Friday Action News was playing. The caption at the bottom of the screen read, in eye-catching, bold letters, SEPHIROTH – HERO OR MADMAN?

"Christ," Sephiroth murmured. "Not again."

A choppy film was on, revealing an open, flat field littered with the corpses of both armored ShinRa troops and plainly dressed Wutanese soldiers. Rufus immediately recognized it as where most of the "shit" went down in the WuTai war. A few fights were still being waged here and there, but it seemed as though the battle (which was long over at this point) was drawing to a bloody close. The camera shakily zoomed in on one skirmish in the distance between two high-ranking, brightly armored Samurai and a single man dressed in black.

The camera steadied. The man wearing black was Sephiroth.

"Give me a fucking break," the General growled, glancing toward the kitchen door where the bartender had disappeared. "How many times are they gonna play this?"

One of the Samurai on the screen faltered, leaving his defenses down for a split second. That's all the time it took - Sephiroth thrust his sword in – wait… no, through - the man's chest, then quickly pulled it back out in one smooth motion. The warrior slumped to the ground, becoming yet another corpse on the field.

The bartender ambled out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. His small eyes drifted up to the TV screen, down to the scowling General, then back up. His jaw dropped in dumb shock, creating yet another double chin in the folds of his neck.

"Change the fucking channel, would you?" Sephiroth hissed.

At this point on the screen, it appeared as though Sephiroth had disarmed the other warrior, although dismembered appeared to be closer to the truth. The samurai shakily took a step away from the General, clutching his sword arm as though he were in pain.

The bartender nervously fumbled around behind the bar for the remote control with a sheen of sweat forming on his balding forehead, as if his very life was on the line. Perhaps it was, judging by the way Sephiroth's eyes had narrowed into a murderous glare.

The two men on the screen were now absolutely still, in some kind of stand-off. Perhaps they were negotiating.

“Geez, where is it?” the bartender fretted, pawing through a drawer filled with batteries, paperclips, and other worthless crap.

And here came the money shot, the big climax. The Samurai dropped to his knees in a heartrending display of surrender. Sephiroth, a black-cloaked incarnation of death itself, mechanically raised his sword and held it in the air, becoming a symbol of sinister power, of death over life. Time seemed to freeze. The stunned reporter behind the video camera gasped and said something like “No shit.”

Then, in one bloody arc, the head came off. Clean off.

Yes, our poor Samurai was brutally and unceremoniously executed.

“Oh, god…” the bartender sighed, triumphantly pulling the remote out of the drawer. A couple paperclips and rubber-bands flew out with it. With grave determination, he pointed it at the screen and changed the channel to inoffensive, uninteresting sports.

Sephiroth sipped on his whiskey and set it back down. “Thanks,” he said, letting a cold, sardonic smile curve his lips.

Quite a few people were watching this whole uncomfortable scenario, but no one dared make a remark. Everyone, everyone was scared shitless of Sephiroth. Who wouldn’t be?

The queasy feeling in Rufus’ stomach wasn’t exactly fear. It felt more like excitement. A sick anticipation. Yeah, most everyone was afraid to talk to Sephiroth, but why should he be worried? He was the Vice President, after all. No one, not even the murderous General, could possibly be crazy enough to threaten him. Doing so was suicide, simply put.

So drink another shot, he told himself. Tell him a joke. Flatter him if you have to. You’re not going to get another chance like this. Not in a million years.

Following his own advice, he tilted back his head and drained the shot of whiskey, then looked over at the General, who was morosely swirling the last finger of liquor around in his shot glass and glowering at the TV.

“Hey, it’s just the news, you know?” he said in a feeble attempt at consolation. “People’s brains are like sponges anyway, they can only absorb so much information before it’s wrung out by a new onslaught of media. In a few weeks, that story will be gone and long forgotten.” Rufus wasn’t exactly sure that would be true. The head came clean off, you know?

“I should have killed that fucking reporter,” Sephiroth growled. He finished the shot and slammed the glass back down. That was enough warning for the bartender, who quickly and obediently filled both their glasses to avoid a possible confrontation.

Choosing a different route of conversation, Rufus asked, as nonchalantly as possible, “So what exactly did you say to that samurai before… well… you know?”

A diabolical grin played across Sephiroth’s lips, followed by a scowl of exaggerated severity. He turned from the TV and looked the Vice President squarely in the eyes and said, with bone-chilling authority, “Get on your knees.”

Rufus swallowed nervously. Half of him was disgusted and appalled, but the other half – the half that had become fatally attracted to danger – had just fallen in love.

So time ticked by. As Rufus became more inebriated, he acquired the courage to pry further into Sephiroth’s personal life, like why he drank whiskey:

“Since the war I’ve had insomnia.”

What he thought of President ShinRa:

“He’s a fat, conceited prick.”

And his general views on ShinRa Headquarters:

“It’s a disgusting hive of lies, deception, and greed.”

Well, it seemed they had enough in common to hit it off… sort of.

The hours rolled by in an increasingly drunken haze. Perhaps it was the whiskey, but Sephiroth actually became pleasant to talk to after a while. He was extremely intellegent, had a biting sense of humor, and could hold a good conversation on politics, which Rufus was obviously very adamant about, being the president's son. As time passed, the bar slowly drained of people until they were the last customers there. Rufus was so drunk he had to squint to see right, and Sephiroth was cradling a large bottle of whiskey, having abandoned shots hours ago. They were a hilarious sight – the high holy general and the vice president completely shitfaced.

“Ahh, what a night… eh, Seph?” Rufus slurred, swaying precariously on his barstool. It was taking all his concentration not to fall right off. Sephiroth smiled with heavy-lidded eyes, sloshing the remainder of the whiskey around in the bottle. He stifled a yawn.

“Maybe we should get going…” he listlessly responded. “It’s fuckin’ late.”

They both looked at the clock on the wall. It was 3:54.

“Yeah...” Rufus murmured.

With great determination, Sephiroth stood up, staggering a little in the process. “Shit,” he cursed softly. “It’s gonna be a long walk.” Rufus nodded wearily and slowly slid off his seat, gripping the table for support. As soon as he shifted his balance, the room started rocking side to side like a boat on the high seas. He fought the urge to vomit.

“Seph…” he slurred miserably, squinting up at Sephiroth’s double-figure. He could barely discern the man’s features in his bleary haze. “Will you walk me home?”

“I was going to whether you asked or not,” he replied. He put an arm around Rufus’ shoulder for balance. “Just tell me where you live.”

They staggered out of the bar, Sephiroth hastily slapping a hundred gil on the table to cover their tabs. The night was cool and foggy, giving the dark streets a surreal quality. Rufus clung onto Sephiroth’s waist, afraid that if he let go for even a second he’d fall down. As they zigzagged down the street, he couldn’t help but feel lucky, getting such an opportunity to be close to the general. While they had been loud and obnoxious in the bar, they grew silent as they walked through the empty city, attuning their ringing ears to the distant sounds of cars honking and motors running… the muted noise was soothing to a resident of the city.

Sephiroth had been right. It was a long walk. No taxis ran after 3 am, so they wound up walking for an hour straight before they were back at Rufus’ place. It was mostly an hour of silence, broken once in a while by the occasional “shit” as one of them tripped, and the relentless scrape of Rufus’ matches as he lit smoke after smoke. The exercise sobered them both up enough so that they were able to walk in a straight line after a while, and Rufus’ double vision eventually condensed to one blurry yet comprehensible image. Despite the fact that he could probably walk on his own after a point, he kept his arm wrapped around Sephiroth’s lean waist, and Seph’s arm remained slung over the younger man’s shoulder. They didn’t say a word about it… it was like a silent agreement, to stay close like that. They stumbled up onto the stairway that led to the front door of Rufus' apartment complex still in eachother’s arms, catching their breath.

“Well, looks like we made it,” Sephiroth breathed. He cast Rufus a sideways glance with a rather sheepish grin on his face, as if to say so what exactly are we doing? Rufus glanced back up at the man, taking in the way the city light cast an ethereal glow over his pale features. He felt himself begin to blush. Slowly, cautiously, he slid his hand up from its fixed place at Sephiroth’s waist, and ran his fingertips lightly up his spine. The taller man shivered, arching his back ever so slightly. Rufus bit his lip. It was more obvious now what they both wanted. He shifted under Sephiroth’s arm so that he was facing the taller man, and looked up with a mischevious smirk, his hand still running lightly up and down his back.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, hardly believing the words as they slipped so effortlessly out of his mouth. Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed, a barely discernable smirk on his lips, as he took Rufus’s chin in one gloved hand and leaned in, so close that Rufus could feel his heat.

“You’re drunk,” he replied softly. Only his eyes betrayed his calm features – that Mako green gaze was so intense with lust it could have melted ice.

“So are you,” Rufus whispered. Not waiting for a response, he grabbed a handful of silver hair and pulled, closing the gap between them. A thrill like a shock surged through him when Sephiroth's firm, perfect lips pressed against his, tasting vaguely of Jim Beam. The taller man snaked his hands around the small of his back, pulling him in closer as he teased him with a slow, lingering kiss. Sephiroth's a good kisser, Rufus thought absently as the general slipped in his tongue, causing a slight groan to escape his mouth. He felt gloved hands slyly pull up his shirt and slip underneath the fabric, gently caressing his bare back. As his tongue probed further into the younger man's mouth, his hands teasingly slid up his back, and then sunk lower, fingertips just slipping under the waistline of his pants. Rufus groaned again, completely captivated under the general's expert foreplay. Just as he was becoming erect, Sephiroth broke the kiss, a smirk still on his lips. Calm and collected, he looked the polar opposite of Rufus, who was as flustered and horny as he had ever been. Answering the obvious question in the vice-president's eyes, he said,

“We're outside, you know... I'd hate to get caught fucking you right here...“

Rufus blushed, the blunt words sending a chill down his spine. No one ever spoke to him like that. However, the general wasn't quite like anyone he'd ever met. Meeting the callous words with an equally evil grin, he opened the front door and stepped inside.

Rufus didn't live on the ground level. No, it was a long elevator ride to get to his classy penthouse flat on the 43rd floor, but that didn't stop Sephiroth from having his way. As soon as the elevator doors shut, he shoved Rufus against the glass back wall that overlooked the city and flipped him around so that his face was pressed up against the window. As the ground fell away beneath them, Sephiroth attacked his neck, sucking and biting the skin as his hands slid down his chest and found his erection, pressing at the seems of his worn jeans. Rufus stared out at the city panning out before him in a helpless ecstasy as his cock was teased through the denim by expert hands. The glass fogged up with a sigh for a second when Sephiroth roughly grabbed his hip and ground his hard length against his ass. Rufus murmured a curse as they ground against each other over and over, Sephiroth's erection rubbing against his entrance through all the fabric. Pressed against the window, he could just discern their reflection against the green lit cityscape. A shiver ran through him when he caught a glimpse of the general's face - his emerald eyes were cold and feral, glowing with an animalistic hunger. There was something dirty about that look, as if it didn't belong on such am angelic face.... perhaps Rufus was being paranoid, but something about it was deeply unsettling. He forced himself to look away, and his vision swung down to meet his own wide blue eyes, feverishly bright with lust. Lust, and something else... was he afraid? The city fell away, and away, and as they floated dreamlike towards the apex of the building, he felt a growing sense of isolation.

The ping of the bell as they reached his floor was a welcoming sound to his ears. He felt a moment of nausea as the elevator lurched to a halt, and stability again as the metal doors parted, revealing the familiar hallways of his floor. Sephiroth let him go with the unwillingness of two magnets being pulled apart, and followed him closely out the door. Their soft footsteps padded through the carpeted halls until they reached his apartment. He nervously fumbled the keys, cursing as he tried several on the large keychain before he found the right one. The door clicked. Before he opened the door, he glanced up at Sephiroth quizzically, to see if that stoney glare was still in his eyes. Instead, the general was looking around the hallways with a distracted interest, one hand absently scratching the back of his head. Rufus laughed inwardly and opened the door. Perhaps he was seeing things... it must be all the whiskey still in his system.

“Well, here we are,” he said, flicking on the lights. His apartment was just what you'd expect from a gay, rich man - immaculate and fashionable, laden with expensive furniture and artsy sculptures and paintings. It was so perfectly decorated it looked more like a “Modern Homes” magazine spread than a real house. He took a lot of pride in it, and secretly got really pissed when someone criticized it. Sephiroth whistled as he strolled inside, taking in the scene.

“It makes my place look like a dump,” he stated matter-of-factly. His green gaze arced around the living room and finally settled on Rufus, looking him up and down like he was a fancy sculpture. The familiar smirk returned to his lips as he asked, “So where were we?”

It took them little time to get back to where they were, Sephiroth managing to dispose of his coat and belts without breaking their furious kiss. He had a body like a god's - marble-pale skin and toned, defined muscles - that put Rufus to shame. Being vice president was a hard job, but it wasn't very physically taxing, so while he managed to stay slim, he wasn't by any means muscular. Sephiroth was so buff you could see the grooves of his six pack, tapering to a distinct V between his lean hips. It was a body sculpted to kill. As they stumbled down the hallway that led to his bedroom in a frenzy of groping and necking, Sephiroth suddenly paused, his now bare hands tangled in the folds of Rufus' threadbare T-shirt. For a second there was nothing but the sound of breathing, hanging in the quiet, filtered air.

“Take it off,” he said bluntly, dropping his hands and taking a small step back. Slightly taken aback, Rufus looked up at him, and there was that look again - eyes narrowed and intense, face solemn. It disconcerted him so much this time that he couldn't do anything... he was frozen like a deer in headlights, caught up in those cruel, unwavering green eyes.

“Did I stutter? Take off your FUCKING shirt.” The words were cold and threatening, staccato and sharp like the crack of a whip as they left his lips. It was the opposite of the romantic, flirty tone he had used earlier in the night - perhaps that had been nothing more than a front. Rufus' face was hot - he knew he was probably blushing a nice shade of crimson - and his heart was pounding. Was the real Sephiroth nothing more than a psychopath pretending to be a gentleman? What had happened to those charming, pretty eyes? He was definitely afraid now, his suspicions in the elevator confirmed, yet for some reason, he was still fucking horny. His cock was so hard it hurt, straining against the seams of his jeans. Slowly, mechanically, he took off his shirt, wincing under the scrutiny of Sephiroth's hard, unblinking glare. It was the first time in his life he'd ever felt embarrassed to be shirtless. He timidly looked back up at Sephiroth, folding his arms over his bare chest.

“Now what?' he asked, meaning for the words to sound crass and sarcastic. Instead they just sounded afraid.

Sephiroth smiled. It reminded Rufus of a wolf baring its teeth. “Now I'm gonna fuck you,” he replied.
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

At least he's hot