InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Unf Unf"

It’s just foreplay, they’ve done it before. This is one of the tamer ones, not filling the sadistic side of Rufus enough, but Vincent’s tough, there’ll be time for more. There always seems to be. The most powerful man on the planet and a beast, his beast, so supple, so demanding, so needy, so… giving.

Rufus can’t get enough of him, never has been able to, and they’re spinning, in circles, between his mind wanting to care and wanting to be alone. He’s as fucked up as they make them, but then again, Vincent isn’t a prime example of mental health.

And it works, has been for a very long time now, time enough for even the Turks to take their former member back, warmly. Or at least warmer than the first day, month, year.

“Close your eyes. Do you trust me?” Rufus asks, more for himself than for Vincent, because he needs to know, needs that confirmation over and over again. He can’t help it; unloved children turn into suspicious adults.

“I trust no one,” comes the dark reply, humour spicing it just enough to keep the pain away.

“Not even yourself?” Rufus asks with a chuckle, slides his palms down Vincent’s, snakes his fingers around those wrists.

“Not even myself.” More humour, less darkness, Vincent’s limp, limber.

Rufus pulls him up, to his feet. Good boy, keeps his eyes shut without Rufus having to remind him of that. Rufus leads, just a few steps; it’s already prepared. A little surprise, nothing more. Just something that Rufus needs deep down inside, for no apparent reason, far too obvious in the end.

Vincent just chuckles once they stop walking, inhales deeper, following Rufus’ scent as he circles around him, to the back and Rufus would fucking die just to be able to experience Vincent the same way Vincent does him.

Pulling himself onto his toes, his fingers resting gently on Vincent’s shoulders, Rufus leans, lips onto the earlobe. It feels so good feeling Vincent shudder underneath, and he leaves a peck at the back of that neck before returning to the ear, resuming his plan.

“Open.” It’s just a word, but Vincent’s not an idiot. Lips quirking some more, his lids slide up.

And he freezes, turns serious, eyes glaring. Rufus can see it, see the reflection in the mirror.

“No,” Vincent responds, doesn’t move, growls like the beast that he is and the temperature in the room falls below freezing.

“Please,” Rufus continues, his whisper honey, fingers sliding front, snaking around Vincent’s larynx molasses, perhaps. “I want you to see…”

“Why?” Accusing, threatening, primal… betrayal.

“I want you to see yourself the way I do.”

“Why?” Betrayal, betrayal, betrayal.

Because I love you, Rufus thinks. “Because you’re beautiful,” he says. Feelings are weakness, observations are not.

It’s not much, Rufus notes. His short life taught him enough when it comes to reading other people’s minds, other people’s bodies. It’s in his blood, because that’s exactly what he needs to survive. Vincent doesn’t smile, but that small quirk he does; the barely there twitch of his upper lip; it’s enough to Rufus.

More than enough, and so he proceeds, his hands sliding down, down the neck, down the shoulders, down the thin, strong but painfully thin arms until their skin touches, fingers entwining. Rufus pulls both their arms up, pushing gently, until Vincent’s palms spread over the flat surface of the mirror, the light in the red eyes barely there over the curtain of black hair.

Vincent even cocks his head, the sneaky bastard, making Rufus bite the inside of his cheek just to hide a chuckle.

“You will not move,” Rufus whispers, doesn’t mind as the few hairs slide into his partly open mouth, breath heavy over Vincent’s ear, hands sliding down the torso, down the abdomen, to the rim of the pants.

But that’s not where he’s about to go. Not even after crossing the gaze with Vincent, the hunger obvious in those eyes. And it’s light, far too lit for Vincent’s liking, so he can see his skin the moment Rufus pulls the shirt up almost all the way to his underarms.

“You just don’t see, do you?” Rufus purrs, fingers sliding gently down the vertical line of the Y shaped autopsy scar, making Vincent shudder. None of them know why he shudders, though, but it doesn’t really matter.

Rufus leans closer, lips nearing the ear. “You just don’t understand.” The finger lingers over the navel, tracing small feathery circles around, and it’s only then that Vincent decides to react.

“What?” he whispers, darkly as only he knows how; the voice meant to send others fleeing. The voice that makes Rufus produce a small breathy laugh.

I want to see you trapped, Rufus thinks, I want you to stay in my life as caged as your reflection in the mirror. “I want to see you lose it,” he says instead, pulls another chuckle out of Vincent, but there’s something in those eyes, something…

It makes Rufus avert his gaze, just in case.

“Kinky bastard,” Vincent adds, a final strike to break the tension of the moment, because both of them seem to be the types not want to linger there.

“I know.” And thus, it’s gone. Safe territory, all over again. Just the way they like it.

At least that’s Rufus keeps on telling himself.