Adult-FanFiction.org : Final Fantasy

Great Minds Think Alike	By : LunarPlexus Category: Final Fantasy VII > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 733 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy, nor do I make any profit from this story...rats!

Chapter List
- 1-Great Minds Think Alike
- 1
~Great Minds Think Alike~
By:LunarPlexus
Plot: Again, not a whole lot of that! Reno comes home to an angry Rufus.
Warnings:Lots of language, slashy male goodness, oral and anal. Might be slightly disturbing…
Disclaimer:I don’t own Final Fantasy, nor do I own Reno and Rufus, and I make no profit from writing this…on the contrary, I would gladly pay to own Reno and Rufus.
He walks in the door smelling of whiskey again.
I’ve spent half the day sitting at this little table, waiting for him. He didn’t come home again last night.
He shrugs off his jacket, doesn’t glance at me. Unties his hair, shakes it out. He’s slouching, as usual. I watch, and do not speak. He stalks over to the kettle and flips the switch, yawning. It boils in less than a minute, I’m nursing a fresh coffee. He makes his coffee and slumps into the seat opposite me.
(I missed you.)
I’ve been sitting here half the day, when really, I should have been doing important things. Running Shinra, running people, being me. He rubs his temple, wincing. Poor, poor Reno. He drank himself into a fantastic hangover again. It must be so hard for him. Being a drunk and a Turk at the same time, what a weight to carry. He’s looking at me now, accusing.
(Get ready to fight.)
“Well?” He demands.
I raise an eyebrow.
“Planning to rip into me for not coming home again?”
Ah, the accusatory tone, I love this ‘morning after’ business. He does nothing less than beg me to put him out of his misery, and always with a curious and unwarranted aggression. I couldn’t care less why he didn’t come home, I only know how I feel. I need some kind of revenge for spending another night alone, and I love playing with him.
“Rip into you?” I ask.
He slams his coffee down, thunder on his brow.
(Fire up, please. Please.)
“Don’t act stupid, Rufus,” He growls, have your little tantrum, an’ move on.”
“Clearly,” I smile, “You’ve got both stupidity and tantrums covered.”
He scowls at me, and takes another sip of his coffee. I’m seething inside, but consoled by the fact that I’ve frustrated him once again. Even I know my anger is ridiculous. The truth is, I love this drunken, dysfunctional Reno. I love this pathetic game we play. I like him best at his worst, though I’ll never say it out loud.
We’ve been doing this for years now, and it’s always been the same. I’ve never suffered the delusion that I can control this blazing man-child, but I cherish these moments because I’m reminded that I can still push and pull him in different directions.
(Show me I’m still better than you, love.)
Different directions? One, really. I have the formidable skill to irritate him, but little else. I don’t have the power to make him happy. Small loss, for he doesn’t have the power to make himself happy.
We don’t think alike, he and I. He thinks like a psychopath, yet I’m drawn to him.
“Reno, you continually stink of alcohol” I’m still smiling, “that’s not necessarily indicative of some sort of problem, though.”
(Go on, bite.)
He hates my sarcasm, he’d much prefer we scream and shout. This is exactly why I don’t do it.
*   *   *
Rufus loves to fuck with me.
We’re having this same old scene, same old shit. I didn’t come home again. I make a habit of this, for a few reasons. Sometimes, it’s part of work, sometimes I drink too much, and sometimes I just want to drive Rufus nuts. He never cares what the reason is. I think he somehow convinces himself I do it because I don’t want to be at home with him. I don’t know what goes on in his head, but we sure as hell don’t think alike.
He thinks like a fucking psychopath, but I’m drawn to him. Sometimes, I mean to come home and can’t. I wanted to come home last night. I don’t know what he was thinking, but I know what I was thinking.
(I missed you.)
But, I come home to this shit again. Shoulda stayed out, but I need to sleep. I had a nasty job to do last night, and I’ve only been at the Heaven for an hour.
“So tell me, where did you pass out last night? A nice comfortable gutter?”
He can’t yell and shout like a normal person, and if he’s smiling, you just know he’s pissed. This is a really old routine. He’ll get all sarcastic and control himself for a bit, and bite at your ankles. Ultimately, he’ll let loose and shriek the roof down…then beg me to fuck him.
Oh yes, that little blonde freak is so repressed, he can’t tell if he’s angry or horny. Nut. Our sex always comes after an argument. He’ll piss me off bit by bit, I’ll throw shit back at him, then before you know it, he’s tearing my clothes off and dragging me on top of him. This time…no exception.
“Why d’you have to fuck with me, Rufus?”
“With you? With you? I came home last night, did you?”
“Then fucking shout at me and get it over with! Don’t turn everything into the end of the fucking world!”
He gives me a level stare, and clears his throat.
“Am I a drama queen, Reno? You don’t come home, I have no idea where you are, who you're with. I don’t know where you’ve been, you nasty little guttersnipe.”
I still haven’t learned how to ignore him.
“Don’t call me a guttersnipe, you stuck-up bastard, you need me. I spend all my time out there fighting your fucking battles! You don’t know what I was doing last night, you never know what I’m doing in the name of Shinra!”
“Reno, there are a million other people out there that could fight in the name of Shinra.”
I stare at him, that jumped-up asshole.
“And I’d wager most of them DON’T STAY OUT DRINKING ALL FUCKING NIGHT!”
This is typical Rufus. He’d never forgive me if I stopped drinking and staying out, he’d be bored if I was perfect. He still gets to me, don’t know why. I lost it. I grab my coffee cup, hurl it at him, and miss. It hits the wall and shatters, and he doesn’t even blink. I want to make him bite.
“I hate you, Rufus.”
(Bite.)
He blinks, eyes light up, fire starts to spit and spark.
“I love it when you lie to me.”
And he launches himself at me.
He flies at me like a crazed thing, and smashes his lips to mine muffling the stream of abuse pouring out of me.
”Crazy fuc-mmmff…”
This is how it always works. We’ve been doing this for years. He can’t feel passion without rage, or at least he can’t show it without an excuse.
He claws wildly at my shirt, the buttons fly everywhere. I could stop him if I really wanted to, I’m a Turk, after all. I never do. At this point, he’s mad. He’s deranged, and he doesn’t care if I’m willing or not.
(When something comes to life in your eyes…)
That’s never been an issue though, because the minute he sinks to his knees and drags my pants down my legs, my reluctance falters. However sick it may seem, his madness is alluring. I’m already hard, and he’s not disappointed when he gets my underwear down to my ankles. He swallows me whole with almost rabid desperation, and that’s it for me. There’s a real danger my legs will give out, but I’m not stopping this now.
He goes to work, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me close, so close it’s a wonder he can breathe. I can’t help but melt under his caresses.
No, assaults. Merciless assaults on my senses, mind, and heart, which I’ve always been powerless to stop. He forced his way into my life, and he’s been harassing the shit out of me ever since.
“Stop…”
He’s never listened to a word I’ve said, that pompous asshole. He just doubles his efforts and digs his nails into my lower back. I grab a handful of his hair and try to moan quietly.
The man nobody dares defy, always carrying himself with dignity…when he’s dirty, it always shocks me. The contrast is exciting, and I always remind myself that nobody else sees him like this. It drives me crazy.
He knows I’m close though, and he’s selfish. He’ll never let me get away without fucking him. He resurfaces, dragging his nails up my body and attacking my mouth again. I’ve never known a sweeter mouth than that of my Rufus. For all the ignorant crap, vapid accusations, and snobbery that comes out of them, they’re the most beautiful lips I’ve ever kissed.
(I need to touch you.)
He runs his hands up my chest, around my neck, through my hair, mapping me out. He snaps the band that keeps my hair back and tangles his hands in it.
“I need you to touch me.”
He breaks the kiss for just long enough to mutter into my mouth. He’s almost pleading, he always ends up like this. As if there was ever the concern that I wouldn’t do every little thing he wants me to do to him. It’s my turn to lose control. I slip his shirt over his head, keeping him as close to me as possible, seizing his hip and pulling him tight against me, so I can feel his hardness against mine. I unzip his pants and slip my hand inside, he shivers and sighs as I squeeze him, hard enough to hurt maybe. He pulls my hair and thrusts into my hand, tilting his head back with closed eyes. I can’t resist that silky white neck, and I have to sink my teeth into it.
Everything always happens so fast between us, I never have time to catch my breath. But our drama plays out like this for a reason, everything we do. Nothing is ever simple, there’s never a black and white answer. We have an unspoken bargain, Rufus and I. He’s there for me to prove I don’t take anyone’s shit…as long as I take his. Everything he gives me comes at a price, and I’ve never been able to decide if it’s worth it.
I don’t know what he needs me for.
He’s everywhere, all around me, even in me. I can almost feel him running through my veins. He’s invaded every part of me, and I’ll never get away. When he moans, it echoes through my whole body. I couldn’t rip him out no matter how hard I tried. He’s the most inscrutable person, nobody ever knows what he feels, but his pleasure is so transparent. He never makes any attempt to hide it. When we do this, it’s like he’s suddenly free. Maybe it’s a relief for him, but I’m not going to try to understand the mind of a maniac.
Either way, I know how precious and rare these sights are, and I wish I could carry on like this forever. Watching him pant and moan. I can see his pulse hammering in the base of his neck. He’s so hot in my hand, so desperate. I want to keep him this way forever.
I’m every bit as impatient as he is though, and before long, I’m slipping down the wall, and pulling his pants down with me.
(Remind me who I am.)
For a moment, I get a view from below of Rufus Shinra in all his glory. The perfectly smooth lines that I’ve always needed to trace with my hands. His long legs, sleek hips, those graceful arms…and that face I still can’t read after all these years. His eyes blaze down at me, penetrating like always, and I remember that I love this crazed tyrant. I always have, and all the shouting, swearing, manipulation and servitude just makes me love him more. I need to be chained to him, there’s not any other way I can live, and he knows it.
He doesn’t waste time, and I’m grateful. He floats down onto my lap, positioning himself carefully. One finger and a little saliva is all he needs, and he does it fast and discreetly before placing his palms flat against the wall on either side of my head. There’s one nod between us and I take aim, staring him dead in the eye.
(Rufus Shinra, deadly and powerful. Beautiful and frightening. What strange place did you come from?)
No warning, gaze never faltering, he impales himself on me all at once.
For me, there’s no greater moment of truth. It’s overwhelming, every time. He’ll stay still and hold my gaze for as long as he can, before his eyes drift shut and he begins to move. There’s nothing as intoxicating as the heat of his body, the gentle rocking of his hips. He rests his forehead against mine, his breathing shallow.
“W-why didn’t you come home?”
“Work.”
“Oh.”
His eyes are open again, and I know what he wants.
“Was it…messy?”
“A bit.”
“Reno…”
He picks up the pace and I’m jarred. I run my hands down his sides, digging my thumbs into his hips.
“Reno, tell me...please…”
This is the only time I don’t fight him. Denying Rufus is something that I’ll never master. The bitching and moaning is an act, I always give in in the end. He can always be depended upon to remind me that I’m my own man…after I’m his. When he’s riding me into oblivion, pulling my hair and looking like an angel, I can only give him what he wants, and he’s always loved me most as a killer.
“Cut his throat.”
“Yesss...”
”I came up behind him and whipped out the knife…”
Rufus nods urgently, eyes drifting shut again. He takes one of my hands and moves it between his legs, never slowing down. He’s floating away into his own fantasy world, and I’m drifting off into him. His pleasure is electrifying, I’m so alive with him.
“…and sliced him…”
“Mm-hm…”
”…from side…”
(My sick Rufus…)
“…to side.”
(Where do you go?)
“D-don’t stop…”
I love him at his most deranged. He’s sick, he’s twisted, he’s a complete psychopath, and nothing fascinates me more. Nothing attracts me more, nothing turns me on more than watching him lose himself in his bloody fantasies. He’s still moving my hand, forcing me to get him there faster, leaving me behind while he ascends into another place. I can’t tear my eyes away from his face, it’s almost glowing as he takes my other hand and places it around his own throat. He doesn’t make me choke him, he just needs it there to further whatever fantasy he’s caught up in.
(Take me with you this time.)
“Rufus…nnh…you’ve never seen so much blood.”
He almost whimpers, and I arch my hips up to meet him, the way he likes. His heat it too intense, this has to be short-lived…but I want to watch him come first. I figure one more push will do it. I take my hand away from his throat and reach next to us, where my clothing lies in a heap. I find what I’m looking for in a split-second.
“It was everywhere…”
(My maniac in the body of an angel.)
”Look at me.”
He pries his eyes open and they widen. I’m holding my knife and running my tongue along the flat of the blade, my eyes locked onto his.
“Reno-“
I slam into him.
“Come for me.”
And he does. He grabs my hand, and the knife, and crushes them against the wall. The blade cuts into both our hands as he latches onto my mouth, his hips freezing. Everything is still and silent for a split-second before his cries spill over my lips, and his warmth coats my hand. I grab a handful of his hair and wrench his head back so I can watch his face.
(You’ve left me behind again.)
Whatever place it is he goes, I can’t go with him. He’s somewhere far away from me. But watching him…that’s enough for me, and always has been. I crush him to me, still holding the knife. My blood and his runs down his back from the blade as I come, somewhere far away, earth-bound and separate from him.
Everything is suddenly quiet and still, but for our laboured breathing. Rufus lies with his head in the crook of my neck for a few moments, saying nothing. Eventually, he sits back, letting me slip out of him.
“You still stink of whiskey,” He sneers, “you found time to go to the Heaven afterwards?”
“Yeah, so?”
He raises one eyebrow and stares at me coldly.
“So, you should be capable of doing your job without needing to get tanked afterward.”
(You’re back.)
“Fuck off, Rufus,” I wave the bloody knife in his face, “you wouldn’t know anyway, since you got me doing your jobs for you!”
(I missed you.)
*   *   *
The cut in my hand is quite deep, Reno’s too. I had to bandage them up, since Reno is incapable of tending to himself, medically.
He complained the whole time about me hurting him, although that certainly didn’t seem to be an issue when the cut was actually inflicted. He was off in his own fantasies anyway, like he always is when we have sex. I’ve never known how to get him to take me with him, and I always end up in my own fantasies about a Reno that does.
Nevertheless, he’s home now. Drinking too much coffee, smoking in the house again. He never fails to irritate me, and he never cowers or stands down either. We have an unspoken bargain, he and I. I need him to remind me that I can be beaten sometimes. I need him there to bear witness to all the things that nobody else ever sees, so I know I’m still alive.
I kissed his hand after it was bandaged, and wondered if he’ll ever know why I need him to come home.
(I missed you.)
I doubt it.
We just don’t think alike.
~   *   ~
A/N:So, it’s 4.28 am, and I’m about to collapse. This sleep deprivation might account for me being somewhat more sexual that I usually am…I hope I don’t have cause to regret it! Though, if my readers enjoy it, I may do it more often ;) I hope you all like it, and please review and let me know!
- 1
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

Great Minds Think Alike