Switchback
Summary: Switchback – a 180 degree turn, a winding path spiraling away beyond human vision, always leading down into the darkness.
“There was nothing of love in it.” Rufus/Reno, unrequited Rufus/Tseng, implied Reno/Rude.
An exercise in making the pairing work.
Warning:
Inexplicit M/M. Angst. Horny teenaged boys.
Rating: R
When he was eighteen, his father gave him something he didn’t want.
A bodyguard. A shadow. A new Turk a year older and a whole world wiser, who walked like an open invitation and smirked at him when he thought he wasn’t looking.
He paid him as little heed as possible, using cold distance to brush off that unwelcome presence. Deny it and perhaps it would, if not cease to exist, then at least stop getting in his way.
But days turned into weeks and the Turk was still there, still leaning arrogantly against the door just as he woke up in the morning, disheveled and disoriented from nightmares, still sporting that teasing, arrogant leer.
“Ya need to loosen up. Betcha I know the perfect solution.”
Rough Slum tones that Tseng or Veld hadn’t quite ground away yet. Or perhaps he laid it on thick, deliberately, trying to elicit a reaction. To rudely toss that contrast in their faces as he rudely tossed his poorly framed come ons. Rufus hated it.
And still said nothing, because he knew this type, and showing any response only encouraged them further.
“You got a stick up your ass, kiddo. I could get it out for you, ya’know.”
A few weeks later and a bit of the accent had dropped. Rufus wondered if the Turk had even realized it himself. But no less annoying, and no less infuriating, that he dared to invade his sanctuary without invitation, trying to catch him at his most vulnerable.
Rufus Shinra had no weaknesses. Rufus Shinra could afford no weaknesses.
“By gosh. I do declare: the boy’s deprived!”
He nearly choked when he heard that, caught himself in time and turned the sidelong glance at the Turk into one of unfeigned disgust. Now it was mockery, implicit in the exaggerated emphasis on his consonants and the dainty dismissive flick of his wrist. The Turk caught his gaze and smiled. “Finally got a reaction outta you, eh? Looks like I have resort to this posh shit more often.”
Eighteen and a half, and suddenly he knew that he had made a mistake with this one. That ignoring him was not going to make him give up. That the Turk had a rare persistence (patiently hunted down a man across the Mideel jungles for two months once, Tseng told him, until the man finally thought he had gotten away and turned around to see Reno standing there right behind him) and a dangerous side to him that he had not yet seen in action. That there was perhaps more than simple taunting behind those words, and that perhaps, just perhaps, this was all a test by his father, somehow.
The thoughts had barely flashed across his mind before they were dissected and disseminated, evaluations drawn rapidly and a course of action decided on. He was out of his chair even before the Turk finished speaking, grabbing him by the front of his sloppy buttoned down shirt and ramming him backwards and up against the wall.
There
was strength in himself that even the Turk had not anticipated. Wiry strength,
hidden by flowing coats and jackets, honed by hours in the gym until he could
fire a double barreled shotgun one handed without even rocking back on his
heels. The strength took
There was nothing of love in it.
It was dominance, power play, assertion of authority. It was a warning: Don’t underestimate me. A rebuke: Don’t bite off more than you can chew. It was politics. It was mad, mad instinct, and the Turk wasn’t even fighting him, just smirking silently as he handed over the tube in his pocket and -- the sheer audacity of the man – a condom.
“You’re gonna need that, yo.”
Something
snapped, brittle and drawn out too long. Frustration long suppressed, he
realized, long denied. Pain and revelation,
exploding like a nova in his mind even as he shoved the Turk down onto the
carpet into the middle of the gold-edged Shinra logo. A want tucked away so
deeply that even he had not been aware of it, and it raged horribly with every
thrust, every slap of flesh against flesh: That it shouldn’t have
been this way, that it shouldn’t have been him, that flame
red hair should have been fine black strands, that the visage below him
shouldn’t have been a sickeningly arrogant smile and half-lidded eyes saying:
See, I told you so, and you may be the one in control, but I’m the one who won.
That it should have been slower, less snarls and grunts of pain and fingernails
digging into his back and Reno’s façade finally breaking, his breath a ragged
gasp. That it should have been something special, the eyes below him filled
with love and mutual respect and not mere lust. Black instead of green.
Tseng.
Fury destroyed his pacing and it was done, short and quick and dirty, and he was rising swiftly, zipping up his trousers and turning sharply away. “Get out.”
“Not done yet, kid,” the insolent purr came from behind him.
“I don’t fucking care! Get out!” he hissed, hating the way his voice broke on the last word. He had lost. It had been a game of control, after all, and the enemy had totally swept the field with him.
“That was pretty good,” the Turk was saying, and Rufus could hear him getting slowly to his feet. “I could get used to that.”
“There is nothing to get used to,” Rufus said, gathering the pieces of his dignity around him, and returning to his desk. The Turk said something, probably lewd or insubordinate, before sauntering out of the office. He didn’t hear. Didn’t notice either, with his gaze locked into the distance and his mind locked on the image of Tseng staring at him in disgust, and then walking away.
Nineteen years of age, and this had come to happen several times.
Some things had changed, of course. The initial anger draining to ice and then draining to dregs of bitterness. The furious pace of their coupling evening out, becoming something a little more balanced, a bit less of the snarling and a bit more of the enjoyment, venturing a little further a-field. But many things stayed the same, and it was still Reno beneath him on the floor, across the table, or up against the door, it was still just the heat in gazes after a long day or the explosion of temper held so tightly in check at other times with other people that it was a miracle he hadn’t snapped by now.
There was still nothing of love in it.
And
Tseng’s gaze continued to pass him by in favor of Veld, and
Nothing
then, but the sweat dripping into his eyes and
Which was why he didn’t quite understand it at first, why he fought like a demon when his father tried to take the Turk away again.
He realized later, when he had lost -- too desperate, too fast, too little planned – that it was perhaps because it was the only thing he’d ever really had.
That somewhere along the lines, Veld had left and Tseng still was more distant than the sun setting across the Junon office. Too much is different between us, Tseng’s eyes read, when Rufus had tried to find the words to make the goodbye slightly less impersonal. Something must have shown, because the other had bowed, a full, formal bow from the waist, not just a tilt of the head. “I’m sorry, Rufus-sama.”
And as the helicopter rose into the air and carried him away from the only place he wanted to be, he wondered when it had stopped being infatuation and become an obsession over something he could never have.
He pressed his forehead against the cool glass panels of the office window, overlooking the night darkened ocean. Alone at last, just like he had wanted to be. He thought of red in the darkness, of half lidded green eyes alight with an indolent smirk. And wondered, perhaps, if there had been something in that nothing after all.
END
Notes:
Ages are not official and may not even be canon. The whole time frame of the fic is rather off from my typical back story reckoning, and definitely does not follow BC.
I’d
comment on the subject matter, but I think it speaks for itself and sums up my
entire view on Rufus/Reno quite nicely (and the whole catastrophe that is young
love, and the whole bitter confusion when then the world doesn’t work out the
way you want it to. Which is why it doesn’t have a happy ending.) What can I
say? Reno would hit on the VP just to get a reaction out of him, especially if
he’d drawn bodyguard duty and was bored out of his mind, and Rufus as a
teenager was probably the type who gets on Reno’s nerves, hence the deliberate
attempts to annoy him. (Hence why
AC!Rufus, I suspect, would never have fallen for it.