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Cloud rests his forearms against the railing overlooking the main beach of Costa del Sol, watching the tide roll out. The delivery had been easy, just a birthday present to someone working at Johnny's from their family in Kalm, and Cloud has the rest of the day to himself before taking the ferry back in the morning.
He's aware of the foot traffic behind him, the occasional wheelie passing by; they give him a decent berth, which makes it obvious when someone breaks from the crowd to approach him, even before Rufus enters his peripheral vision.
It's been two months since that day in Rufus' office, and Cloud still doesn't know what to say to him.
Rufus leans backward against the railing, his elbows resting on the stone. He's wearing yet another white suit, slightly different from the one he'd had on when he'd backed Cloud against the wall. "You've been avoiding me," he says.
Okay, yes, but Cloud hadn't thought he'd found excuses to refuse that many Shinra jobs.
"If you weren't interested," Rufus continues, "you would have no qualms about telling me to fuck off, which means you are interested but refusing to act on it."
"Don't flatter yourself."
Rufus makes an amused noise, then lets the quiet stretch.
"I don't want to hurt you," Cloud mumbles at last. It's not exactly a lie - as much as he can't get the idea of Rufus in pain out of his head, he doesn't want to be that kind of person.
"I told you before, that I'm particular. I have no interest in letting you break me."
Which isn't quite what Cloud meant-
"I spent nearly a year recovering from Diamond WEAPON, Cloud. I know what I can take. And I want you to give it to me."
"Won't your Turks have something to say about that?"
"Better that it's you than someone I pick up at a bar." Rufus tilts his head back a bit, as if enjoying the breeze. "We're reasonably certain you don't want me dead."
Cloud makes an irritated noise and hunkers down over his arms. It's true, and it stings that they know it.
But Rufus is being uncharacteristically patient, which means he really does want.. whatever this is. And Cloud doesn't have anyone he wants to impress here, or a reputation to maintain. So when Rufus lets him think, what comes out of Cloud's mouth is:
"What exactly did you have in mind?"
Rufus' suite at The Royal Coast is significantly nicer than Cloud's room at Johnny's. The bedroom's got a simple layout, with a couple pieces to go with the queen-sized bed, but Cloud has been around enough to notice the quality of the craftsmanship. No pressboard for the President, apparently.
And then there's the crop on the bedspread: brown leather and shorter than the length of Cloud's arm, with a little loop at the end opposite the grip. Cloud's abruptly reminded of what Rufus had said in the office - We'd start with a crop, I think.
Cloud watches Rufus build a pile of pillows on the bed. When it meets whatever standard he's using, he beckons Cloud over and this is- This is it.
Cloud points at the crop with his chin as he strips off his gloves. "Do you bring that everywhere?"
"I saw you were in town and bought it before approaching you." Rufus swishes the crop idly through the air a few times.
"Arrogant."
"Hopeful," Rufus corrects. "I assume you've never used one of these before."
Cloud makes a noncommittal noise.
Rufus smacks the crop against the pillows three times, forward and backhand. He doesn't put as much strength into it as Cloud had expected - it's more like he's flicking his wrist than beating the pillows - and something in Cloud relaxes. Maybe Rufus does know what he's asking for.
Then Rufus turns to offer the crop to Cloud, handle first. It's light, and when Cloud experimentally puts some pressure on both ends it bows easily. He'd have to work to actually injure Rufus with this, maybe even snap the rod and stab him with it.
Something that would break before you caused any lasting damage, Rufus had said.
Cloud flicks the pillows experimentally; the impact sounds different from when Rufus had hit the pillows, and Rufus tugs him back by the hips.
"Slightly too close," Rufus says mildly. "You only want to use the end of the leather tongue. Again."
Rufus continues to give instructions as Cloud gets familiar with the movements: aim, angle, and the difference between force and speed. Through it Cloud is aware of Rufus taking off more and more of his layers, always returning to stand behind Cloud - sometimes touching his waist, or his arms, or sliding his hands along his stomach; sometimes adjusting his posture or grip. It's like Rufus thinks he's entitled to being in Cloud's space, and to touch him, just like that afternoon in the office. And like that afternoon, Cloud lets it happen. He doesn't even fight when Rufus slides Cloud's shirt up & off.
"I think you have it," Rufus murmurs at last; it makes Cloud feel warm.
With a stroke of his hand down Cloud's side, Rufus walks to the bed. Getting to see all of Rufus at once is a bit of a shock to Cloud's system. He watches Rufus kneel on the bed and go down on his elbows, making his thighs & ass easy targets; there are more scars around his ribs and right foot than Cloud had expected.
It should make Rufus look vulnerable to be spread out like this, but Cloud thinks he looks more in control than he did in his own office.
"Begin."
He should start light, right? Work up to something harder? So Cloud hits Rufus at about half the speed he'd used on the pillows. It sounds like the crop only taps Rufus' skin.
Rufus makes an irritated noise. "You can do better than that."
Which. Cloud wants to wipe the condescension from his voice, to stop feeling conflicted himself, so he puts actual speed into his next strike.
Rufus' quick inhale nearly makes Cloud let go of the crop. He watches Rufus' skin slowly turn pink - a flush at first, then a more defined mark - and it makes his belly turn over. He shouldn't be doing this, he shouldn't want to see Rufus in pain, good people don't, don't-
"Cloud."
When Cloud looks up, Rufus has twisted a bit to see him, and the other 's expression is firm. "Again."
Cloud opens his mouth like he's going to protest; closes it.
"Again, Cloud."
Like he's proving a point that this is a terrible idea, Cloud hits him again, just as fast, the slap of it just as loud; but he's watching Rufus' face, and Rufus smiles at him with teeth.
"Good," Rufus says, and it makes Cloud's ears start to burn. Rufus reaches behind himself and touches the spot gently, then drags his finger down his thigh. "Lower, this time."
Cloud hits him again, and again, following the path Rufus draws for him and leaving pink & red marks as he goes. He keeps expecting Rufus to tell him to stop, but the longer it goes on the easier it is to keep hitting him. Cloud's aim isn't perfect, and sometimes he overlaps with a previous mark; it makes Rufus' eyelashes flutter in what looks like pleasure.
When Rufus switches sides, Cloud does too. By the time he's halfway down Rufus' thigh the marks on his other leg have bloomed into little rectangles.
Cloud has seen porn, of course he has, but it didn't prepare him for this. Watching someone squirm on a screen has nothing on watching Rufus react & knowing Cloud is the one who made it happen. Or on seeing Rufus twist to rest his weight on his shoulder and slide his free hand under himself to palm his cock.
Cloud is aware he's hard, but it's somehow less important than the way Rufus hisses, or flinches then rocks back into place. He wants to drag the pads of his fingers down Rufus' thigh, but it also feels like the crop is an extension of himself and Cloud is touching him with every smack.
"Hold."
Cloud aborts the swing and lets the crop hang loosely from his hand.
Rufus rolls over, sits up, and spreads his legs; Cloud gets a good look at the way he's slowly pumping his cock. The smile Rufus is wearing should be illegal - self-satisfied and aroused and pleased with Cloud. "Good boy," he croons, and it makes Cloud lick his lips. "More."
Cloud follows the path Rufus traces along the tops of his thighs, the welts slowly appearing after Cloud has already moved on. He can see the way different strikes make Rufus change the way he's stroking himself, little squeezes and hitches in his rhythm. And with Rufus' hand by his cock, Cloud doesn't have to be quite as careful with his aim to avoid hitting something delicate.
If Cloud looks up, he'll have to acknowledge the way Rufus is watching him. It reminds Cloud of the expression Rufus used to get when they fought; but where in a fight Rufus had looked focused, with occasional flashes of hunger, now he doesn't bother to hide how much he wants Cloud. So it's easier to look at Rufus' body than his face.
Then Rufus spreads his legs more, leans back on his free hand, and Cloud can barely breathe around the want in his chest. Rufus doesn't have to guide him this time, just nods at his leg, and Cloud takes the crop to Rufus' inner thighs. It has to hurt, sting, ache - Cloud speeds up, and Rufus' hand on his cock keeps time.
Through it all Rufus watches him, dropping bits of praise when Cloud hurts him just right: "Like that," "Yes," and "Good boy."
Cloud is breathing hard, even though it hasn't been much of a workout.
And at last, when it feels like Cloud might implode, Rufus says: "Enough."
Cloud lets his hand fall to his side. He can't decide whether to look at Rufus' cock, the head of it wet & red, or the mess of welts on Rufus' thighs.
Rufus makes the point moot when he stands and closes the distance between them. He moves easily, which in turn means that Rufus has kept his word and not let Cloud hurt him more than Rufus wanted.
Which means that maybe it's okay for Cloud to want this too.
Rufus slides his wet fingers into Cloud's mouth and Cloud allows it. Cloud isn't sure why, exactly, but it feels right. Rufus thrusts them shallowly against Cloud's tongue, neither too fast nor too deep, and Cloud can taste his pre. Cloud wants more of this, this proof that Cloud has pleased him, visceral in a way that just looking at Rufus' red cheeks and sweat-damp hair doesn't manage.
Rufus watches Cloud suck his fingers like it's the most important thing in the world. Then he pulls them back, and before Cloud can protest Rufus is kissing him. It's not, objectively, a good kiss - Rufus is too busy licking the traces of himself out of Cloud's mouth for any real give-and-take - but it makes Cloud moan against him all the same. Rufus uses his wet fingers to hold Cloud in place by the jaw, and Cloud should feel embarrassed that they're coated with his own spit, but there isn't much room in his head for embarrassment with the way Rufus keeps kissing him.
Rufus uses his dry hand to cup Cloud's cock through his pants, and the shock of pleasure is enough to make Cloud sway: he hadn't realized he'd gotten so hard. He would try to move away, but Rufus' grip keeps him in place so that Cloud can only rock on his feet & into the pressure of Rufus' hands.
Rufus separates their mouths with a wet noise that makes Cloud want to squirm, but at least he's as breathless as Cloud. He still sounds firm, though. "Strip, then get on the bed, on your back."
Cloud lets go of the crop; fumbles with his belt and then kicks his pants & underwear away. He should be ashamed of himself but Rufus looks so good, so hungry, that Cloud just wants to touch him and be touched in return.
Once Cloud is on the bed Rufus slicks Cloud's cock quickly, like he's eager too, and Cloud can't help fucking into his hand. Rufus makes an amused noise, then holds him in place while Rufus straddles Cloud's lap.
Cloud groans as Rufus sinks down in little increments, hot and snug around Cloud's cock. Rufus hadn't bothered to lube himself, just Cloud, and something about the idea of Rufus stretching himself on Cloud's cock makes Cloud want him even more.
Rufus hasn't told Cloud to touch him, so Cloud fists his hands in the bedsheet instead; he squeezes tighter as Rufus rocks experimentally. From this close the welts look even angrier, like they have to be hurting Rufus while he moves, and Cloud can't tear his eyes away. He did that, to Rufus, and he can't feel any of his earlier shame or guilt about it.
Rufus tilts his head with a smirk. "The marks look good, don't they?" He rises up until Cloud's cock is nearly falling out, then slides back down.
"Yeah."
"I think a few of these are going to bruise." Rufus coaxes one of Cloud's hands free of the sheets.
Cloud doesn't know how Rufus can tell, but lets him guide Cloud's hand anyway. Rufus presses Cloud's finger tips into particular marks - most of them are on Rufus' inner thighs, and another on his ass.
Then Rufus taps Cloud's hip, and it's enough of a signal for Cloud to fuck up as Rufus rocks down.
Rufus brings Cloud's hand to a line of welts on top of his thigh. Like the other marks they feel different from the surrounding skin, smooth and hot, and Cloud has to swallow. Rufus lets him change the grip, so that his palm strokes Rufus' thigh as Rufus rides him.
"You know," Rufus murmurs as he fucks himself on Cloud's cock, "with how thoroughly you worked, this hurts too."
Cloud can't help squeezing Rufus' thigh, and Rufus laughs.
"Every time I move, they ache." Rufus' bangs have fallen in his face, and he combs them back with his dry fingers. "It feels good."
Then Rufus leans forward and braces his hand beside Cloud's head. That much nearer, he drops his voice to something more intimate. "Fuck me," he says, and Cloud plants his feet in the bedspread in order to thrust harder.
The smack of their hips isn't so different from the sound of the crop.
Rufus starts jerking himself off again, still lavishing Cloud with praise that simultaneously makes Cloud feel hot and squirm against the bed. He's less put-together than Cloud has ever seen him, and Cloud feels proud of being the one to do that, to take Rufus to a place he stops focusing on appearances
Cloud doesn't notice his orgasm building until he's nearly there, too busy listening to Rufus tell him what a good job he's done. "I'm gonna come," he blurts out, feeling like he should last longer and desperate to give the choice over to Rufus.
"Yes," Rufus hisses. His hand works faster. "Let me see, there's a good boy."
The praise and the permission go straight to his cock; Cloud makes a helpless noise and spills into Rufus' body. He keeps his eyes on Rufus the whole time, and from his wild smile Rufus likes it.
Rufus isn't far behind - Cloud barely has time to worry about his incoming over-sensitivity when Rufus gasps and comes over Cloud's stomach and chest. They stay like that for a minute: Rufus panting, with his head tipped forward so his bangs fall in his face again; Cloud boneless on the bed while his cock softens inside of Rufus.
Cloud starts to think that he should say something, even if his brain is still a bit scrambled, when Rufus stirs. Rufus drags his fingers idly through one of the streaks of come he left on Cloud's skin.
Cloud wants it. It's more proof that Cloud has been good, has pleased Rufus, so he opens his mouth and waits. Rufus makes an intrigued noise and touches his come-wet fingertips to Cloud's tongue; Cloud sucks them clean, so Rufus feeds him more. Rufus looks fascinated, and that pleases Cloud too.
By the time all of Rufus' come is in Cloud's stomach rather than on it, Cloud feels tired. It's only the afternoon, and it's not like he was one-on-one with a behemoth, so he fights the feeling of comfort and safety.
Rufus sees through that too.
"It's all right," Rufus says, and combs his dry fingers through Cloud's hair. "You've earned a nap. I'll be here when you're done."
When Cloud wakes, he feels more like himself again. Rufus is lounging against the headboard in a shirt and slacks, reading something on his phone; the evening sun is shining through the windows.
"Welcome back," Rufus says.
Cloud grunts instead of answering.
"You did well." Rufus says it matter-of-factly, and while Cloud feels a bit embarrassed at the praise it doesn't make him hard. Thankfully. "I'd have you again."
Cloud also feels sweaty and gross, so he levers himself out of the bed and heads for the shower. "I'll think about it," he tosses back over his shoulder.
Rufus laughs at him. "I'm sure you will."