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Next Time You Call

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The first time he meets Rufus Shinra is on the top floor of Shinra Headquarters. From head to toe, he’s perfection; blond hair without a strand out of place, piercing eyes, and a smirk that only decorates the lips of men that know they have significant power. He’s all sharp dress, impeccable speeches and bravado, and it pisses Cloud off to no end. 

“I see. I guess this means we won’t become friends,” Rufus purrs, and it almost seems seductive. The words climb into Cloud’s ear and plant a seed there.

He thinks nothing of it as he flees with his companions from the towering shadows of Midgar into the belly of yet a new dark beast. Cloud holds their hands and weaves them tales of his past so deftly that they drink them up like warm milk. That night at Kalm he doesn’t dream about the stories he’s told; they’re lies anyway. He doesn’t have nightmares about the man in black that he’s chasing, or even dream of the fair ladies he’s sworn to protect.

He dreams instead of Rufus Shinra; the cut of his jaw, the lines of his neck as his throat disappears beneath the expensive fabric of his tailored suit and shirt, the way he snarls as Cloud cuts down Dark Nation in a single violent swing of his sword. Not a drop of blood landed on that suit, he remembers.

Why would I remember that?

He wonders, just for a second, what it would be like to pop a button from that double breasted jacket, then another, then another…

When he wakes the next day to strike out after Sephiroth yet again, he chases the thoughts from his mind. Belittles them. They’re nothing.

They mean nothing.


The next time he would lay eyes on Rufus would be under thunderous wind and percussion. Covertly Cloud would watch him—wear the skin of an old life and perform for his amusement and surveil him; that’s the plan, at least. Rufus tosses a few rebellious strands of his hair, exposing the soft flesh of his neck. Not important. He checks his watch, impatient. Unimpressed. Cloud subconsciously performs a little harder. He keeps step with the other SOLDIERs, and when his back is turned to the President, he feels some slight panic, but only because he wants, needs to keep his eyes on Rufus. To make sure they don’t lose him.  Cloud can’t let Rufus leave Junon without him.

There’s a job to do, after all.

“A token of the President’s kindness!” Heidegger snorts.  A sword.

It’s a good sword, Cloud thinks. His taste isn’t so bad.

“…Cloud and his friends will show up.” The voice is the same, but without the velvety edge that Cloud remembers. His heart jumps at the mention of his name, but it’s only fear. It’s only fear.


Again, Cloud sees him from afar, this time in Rocket Town. He can’t believe Rufus doesn’t spot him behind Cid. Over the pilot’s shoulder, he can tell that tongue is being razor sharp. Rufus is pressed to the high heavens, downright dapper, and Cloud feels something turn inside him.

As the plan falls apart and the Tiny Bronco falls from the sky, nearly taking a few heads off with it, Cloud swears he can see a smile on Rufus’ lips.

This time I’ve got the wings, he thinks.

He’ll be damned if he doesn’t dream about Rufus again that night. Running a palm across the curve of his chest, flashes of a curled lip here, an extended gloved hand there. Cloud presses his lips into the palm of that gloved hand and breathes in the smell of leather and affluence. Morning is coming. He can sense his body waking; can feel the dawn sprawling its legs and arms open. Before he rouses himself from the dream, he drags his tongue along the length of Rufus’ fingers, relishing in the texture of the leather before catching the tip of the glove in his teeth at the middle finger. He pulls, and just as the tension breaks and he knows the glove is dangling from his mouth, he wakes.

Time to get going.


This is where the Reunion is happening. Where everything begins and ends.

Not a lot Cloud can remember from this time in his life; from anything that happened at the Northern Crater. Sephiroth was like a virus, a parasite within that he couldn’t dig out. He was as real as his own flesh, and yet an invader. He can’t trust many of his memories from this time. He can’t trust much. But, he does remember that he warned Rufus, he tried to push him away. All of them. He remembers watching them run. He remembers the void where a man named Cloud used to be, and that void is why he’s averse to conversations that lead this direction.

Rufus, a man he thought he detested, was there when Cloud betrayed the world.


The first time he sees Rufus after the fall takes him by surprise for more reasons than one. He’s surprised at the confirmation that Rufus survived the encounter with Diamond Weapon. The fact that Geostigma seems to be wracking his body makes Cloud wince a little; but it’s only pity. As Rufus weaves together ideas and propositions like fine lace, Cloud wonders what’s beneath the shroud draped over his head and shoulders; wonders if the same smooth skin and delicate lashes betray the same brutality he once knew to lie beneath. Rufus’ voice is still like honey, even after a brush with death, even as he supposedly knocks at its door.

He’s been mostly ignoring Rufus up to now, wondering for a while just how much of Rufus’ body the sickness has taken before he realizes it’s only an excuse to imagine him bereft of that crisp white suit.

Cloud knows all too well what the Geostigma looks like; what it does to flesh. Was his previously pristine face disfigured now? If he were to slip his hands between the layers of Rufus’ jackets and silk, to slip them over his shoulders and let them fall to the floor, would the swell of his chest be marred by scar and sore? Could he trace the lines of his body down to his navel, past the curl of his hip bones as they reach beneath his tailored trousers, and reveal decay?


He refuses to help, but only just. Mostly, he just needed to leave Healen as quickly as possible.

If the dream he has that night about ripping Rufus’ clothes off and sinking his teeth into the tender curve of his neck is any indication, he was happy to find that rumors of Rufus’ survival turned out to be true.


The first time they touch is also the first time Cloud loses control. In the same office at Healen is where they meet for what must be the seventh or eighth time since Sephiroth’s return was ultimately thwarted. Shinra has once again been instrumental in repairing damages to Midgar proper and thus Edge, which hums with a familiar uncertainty after Bahamut SIN reminded them that nothing good falls from the sky.

Cloud’s come to have a strange kind of feeling for this man that flirts with him on purpose, flirts with everyone on purpose, it seems, and he’s getting to the point of exasperation. Rufus is always full of requests. He wants a hero on his arm, on Shinra’s arm, to gild his reputation with the public. The scent of his cologne is becoming too familiar. If he stays too long, his clothes smell of it when he gets home. Tifa and Marlene seem to like it, but Cloud hates it.

He especially hates it when he sleeps in those clothes on purpose. The dreams are more vivid.

“I can’t keep helping you.” Cloud’s voice feels clumsy, not like the President’s.

“Aren’t I helping you?” Flirtatious.

“The cleanup is moving along, there are no more remnants. Why do you keep calling for me.” It’s not a question so much as a demand, and Cloud is surprised by how adamant he sounds.

Rufus is standing with a hand resting on his desk, beguiling, Geostigma washed away in the same healing rain that saved Cloud from a similar grisly fate. He shifts his weight with grace, one hip jutting out in a way that makes his long coat flutter.

“Why do you keep coming?” He’s asking more than he’s letting on. “You always keep coming, Cloud. You come when called. Don’t you.”

Cloud wrinkles his nose and sucks his teeth, a noise of displeasure to hide his mounting anxiety. Rufus is smiling and it’s heating Cloud’s insides.

“Don’t make it something it’s not,” he says, but the uncertainty in his voice is too obvious for someone like Rufus to miss.

“You don’t hate me,” he responds, flat. Now Rufus is using a tone which commands. “In fact, I think you quite like me. And why shouldn’t you? You like to be led.”

Cloud wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that, but he was too busy imagining what Rufus might look like naked, wondering whether or not someone like Rufus might kneel before someone like him and—


Cloud blinks slowly, it seems like an eternity before his eyes open again, but when they do, he sees Rufus before him, eyes lidded and smile playful. Even his posture is different; he’s lithe like an animal as he shrugs his topcoat from his shoulders, then the long coat beneath. Cloud is in awe as he realizes this is the least dressed he’s ever seen Rufus, and the way his vest hugs his torso singlehandedly outdoes every dream he’s ever had about sharing a bed with the President of Shinra Electric Power Company. He still has what appears to be a brand new pair of leather gloves on as he starts to unbutton his vest. Cloud’s eyes are fixed on his fingers, but by the time he’s done with the second button, he can’t resist.

“…what are you doing,” he asks, breathless.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” Rufus laughs and the sound of it, the way it makes his eyes light up and reveals the brilliant white of perfect teeth, makes Cloud feel weak. “If this is all you keep seeing me for, if this is all it takes to solidify your cooperation with the company, I’ll let you fuck me.”

Cloud can hardly believe what he’s hearing. His fists clench and he’s absolutely sure his face is flushed, but he stammers “fuck you” nonetheless.

“Yes,” Rufus replies, sitting on the edge of the desk and putting his hands on either side. The leather gloves squeak as he grips the gleaming wood. He’s very serious, although he’s still doing that thing; he’s still seducing with every word, flirting with every movement. “Unless that’s not what you want.”

Cloud is still. Everything has been a blur since Sephiroth resurfaced and he hasn’t had a moment’s rest or relief in the weeks that have passed. He should leave. He should. But when he closes his eyes he still sees Rufus there, like a habit he can’t break. He stays.

“Won’t your suits have something to say about it?”

“I issue orders to them, not the other way around. They’re close. But not too close.” He tips is head to one side, letting loose a few strands of hair that catch the early evening sunlight spilling in from the window behind him. Rufus stands and walks over to Cloud, circles him like prey, stops behind him and presses a hand into the small of his back, lowering his lips to Cloud’s ear. “What about us? Are we close?” He buries his nose in Cloud’s hair and inhales too quickly for Cloud to register what’s happening. “Too close?”

Cloud swallows and it’s audible.  “No.”

The arm at Cloud’s back finds its way around his waist. He peers down to watch as Rufus’ fingers creep up his stomach and over his chest to find the zipper at his clavicle. Rufus pulls lazily and the sound that fills the room is deafening. Cloud clenches his eyes shut and unconsciously leans his head back onto Rufus’ shoulder. What are you doing, he thinks to himself.

“You’re breathing rather heavily. Are you nervous?”

“I don’t trust you,” Cloud blurts out without thinking. It’s not a lie necessarily, it just doesn’t apply here. It makes Rufus chuckle, anyway. When he slides a hand against the bare skin beneath Cloud’s shirt, trust becomes the furthest thing from his mind. Even further when Rufus puts his mouth on him; first his neck, then his shoulders after peeling the open shirt half way down Cloud’s arm. There’s a hand at his jaw, pulling him open wide for Rufus to bear down on his neck with abandon. The hand at Cloud’s shirt drifts further down, snaking beneath the hem of his pants until Cloud jerks suddenly and lets out a ragged sigh.

“Oh. How long has it been?” Cloud can tell Rufus is smiling through the warmth in his voice. It has the cadence of concern, even though that seems hard for him to imagine. Rufus kneads Cloud’s cock in his hand, turning Cloud’s head with the other so that his mouth is once again at his ear. “You need it, don’t you?” He thrusts his tongue into Cloud’s ear, coaxing a whimper from him that he hadn’t known himself capable of prior to that very moment.

Rufus,” Cloud manages through a few labored breaths.

“You do,” Rufus agrees with himself, spinning Cloud around to face him and freeing him of his shirt entirely. He removes his vest under Cloud’s watchful eye and begins to unbutton his dress shirt. Cloud must have appeared particularly hungry because Rufus stops and asks, “you want to?” He is gesturing to his shirt which Cloud is intent upon. He watches as Rufus’ chest rises and falls beneath the black silk, licks his lips as he thinks of every night he ever pictured his own hands undressing this man, and with resolve he leaps to the work. Each button he undoes faster than the last until Rufus laughs and places a hand over his nimble fingers. “Slow down.”

Cloud does as he’s told, much as he hates it, but being this close to Rufus means he can smell the man. Not just the cologne, but all the aromas that make him up; his skin, aftershave, pomade, the scent of detergent on his clothes. He is magic, Cloud is convinced, even from the first day he laid eyes on him. He slides his fingertips along Rufus’ collarbone and back over his shoulders till the shirt falls away, its gentle contact with the floor the only sound in the room. In the world, it seemed.

Cloud knows Rufus is gazing at him but he can’t bring himself to meet his eyes, so he instead roves the landscape of his body and it is more perfect than he ever could have imagined. He’s fit, leaner than he would have guessed, and he has a few scars creeping their way in pretty lines across his abs and chest. Cloud wonders if he left any of them there himself. It’s around the time that Cloud is admiring the golden band of hair that begins just beneath his navel and disappears under his slacks that Rufus shifts, placing a hand at Cloud’s chin and forcing his gaze upward.

He leans in and Cloud’s chest is in knots, he can sense panic choking him.

Why am I so afraid of this?

Fearful or not, Rufus’ lips find his, tongue immediately probing,  hand curling around the back of Cloud’s neck and into his hair. Just as quickly as it begins it ends as Rufus kisses, bites, and licks his way down Cloud’s throat and chest, till he is kneeling before him.

Rufus Shinra, a man who bent to no one, willingly knelt before Cloud half-dressed and is now tugging at his pants. The sight of it leaves Cloud awestruck and hotter than he’s ever been in his life. Without thinking he runs his fingers through Rufus’ hair, guileless. The affectionate gesture is somewhat lost on Rufus, who is fixated on the way Cloud’s cock presses against the inside of his boxers. With the pants unzipped and pulled away, Rufus reaches into the fly and with one movement deftly releases Cloud’s aching member from confinement. Only then does Rufus break his concentration to look up at him.

“You’ll feel better soon,” he hums, as if anyone can feel bad with a man like him touching them. Cloud knits his brow and bites down a moan as he watches Rufus take him whole into his mouth. Instinctively, he twines his fingers in Rufus’ hair, trying not to hurt him as he sets his hands to work on Cloud’s balls through the cotton of his boxers.

Cloud isn’t particularly loud; in fact, he’s holding back. The sound of his own voice isn’t something he’s accustomed to hearing or letting others hear, and he’d much rather listen to the sound of Rufus’ tongue against his skin. He’s so good at it, it’s overwhelming. Eventually he releases Cloud from the vise grip of his mouth and appears to be frowning. He furrows his brow a bit in a way that Cloud finds intimidating.

“W…what?” Cloud chokes.

“How do you expect to come like this? Do you want me to fuck you?”

It was so abrupt Cloud wasn’t sure how to respond. Of course I want you to fuck me, he wants to say, but his mouth fails to form the words.

“You do,” Rufus reads him, agreeing with himself again. He stands, cradling Cloud’s now overly sensitive parts in one hand. He slides behind him again and presses himself into Cloud from behind. “Go to my desk.” Cloud hobbles forward awkwardly, partly because his arousal is paralyzing him and partly because of Rufus’ grip on his groin. He puts a hand on the desk when he’s only a few inches away, and suddenly he can feel Rufus’ free hand at his throat again. Without warning he curls two of his gloved fingers into Cloud’s open mouth and Cloud nearly moans in relief over it. The smell is familiar only because of how many times he’s dreamt it. Rufus works his fingers around Cloud’s tongue as Cloud likewise works his tongue around the slender fingers. When Rufus suddenly removes them with a lurid pop, Cloud leans in to reclaim the glistening digits.

“I’ll give you more in time, just wait,” he says smiling, voice sugary and dangerous. Cloud is utterly intoxicated. Rufus slides the same hand down the small of Cloud’s back until his fingers find a place on his body no one has ever touched. Cloud grips the desk for purchase with both hands as Rufus slides one finger inside him, then another, wriggling and swirling them until his cries come out in broken sighs and hushed whimpers. Sensing that he’s losing the ability to remain upright, Rufus removes his fingers from the heat of Cloud’s greedy body, pulling his pants down to expose his entire lower half. Cloud is panting heavily at this rate. He’s bleary eyed and almost painfully hard and can’t remember the last time he wanted to come this badly.

Your body is so hungry for it, Cloud,” he says it like an accusation but it makes Cloud’s breath hitch in his throat nonetheless. “I’ll give you what you need while taking what I want. It’s fair, don’t you think?”

He’s too tired already to answer and all he really wants is for Rufus to get on with it. He leans back into him until he can feel Rufus’ erection pressing against his ass. It’s a pleasant surprise for Rufus, who takes the invitation in spades. He hurriedly pulls out his own dick, pressing forward until he breaks into him. Cloud is a shuddering mess, he’s never felt this kind of pain, this kind of pain that feels good, and as Rufus plunges into Cloud’s straining body he folds over onto the desk, the bare skin of his chest flush against the cool wood. He hears things clattering about as he clumsily presses his hands against the surface, spreading his fingers, digit by digit. He’s trying to remain present but faltering, unable to suppress the sobs of pleasure that overtake him.

Rufus still has that one hand on Cloud’s dick, pumping rhythmically as he fucks into him with little regard for Cloud’s comfort, though Cloud loves it. He doesn’t even have time to hate that he loves it; he simply relishes the sensation of President Rufus Shinra inside him. Once more Rufus’ fingers find his playmate’s eager mouth, and the moment they curl inside him he’s biting down on them and moaning. These developments thrill Rufus nearly to the point of completion, but he thrusts forward hard and holds it, pinning Cloud to the desk and jerking him off. Only when he can feel the warmth of Cloud’s come spilling over his fingers does he plunge into him a few more times until he’s spent. He releases all of it inside Cloud’s body, thrusting lazily into his over-sexed hole until some of what he’s left behind seeps out of him. This work satisfies him.

“How do you feel?” Rufus coos, resting his hands on Cloud’s hips. He’s still draped over the desk, pretty, hair matted to his head.

He musters some strength through his euphoria, rears back on his elbows. It takes him a moment to process what Rufus has said, but he eventually looks over his shoulder and gazes into his eyes, content.

“Like I’ll come next time you call.”