At least he's hot

chapter 17 - morning

*WARNING* sadism! yay!


Morning in Midgar was not like morning in the rest of the world. The sun’s gentle rays did not slip over the horizon and warm the streets; in fact, no light at all marked the passage of one day to the next. No, the only sign the frail, grey inhabitants of the world’s largest city ever got that it was time to wake up was the obnoxious sound of their alarm clocks and the roar of frustrated traffic escalating outside their windows. So it goes. Comfortable living comes at a steep price, and Midgar’s price was the sun.

Having no sunlight sucks. One has to get pretty fucking creative to think up something positive about living in a world of suffocating darkness - President ShinRa was definitely the leader in this area. “No sunburns,” he would frequently announce, or “no daylight savings time!” Well, what about the lung disease most citizens eventually suffered from constantly breathing in the Final Fantasy equivalent of radioactive fallout? “Oh, people get sick everywhere,” ShinRa would likely respond. “It’s not as bad as skin cancer.” Not as bad? Midgar’s vast populace of sick would beg to differ.

Sephiroth was on the fence about the sun. Living most of his life in Midgar, the sun’s benign glow hadn’t touched his lily-white skin for almost a year after his “head injury…” so not only did the sun baffle him at first, it also gave him a wicked sunburn. As a general rule, he tended to look like a fucking lobster after an hour outside Midgar’s shell of smog. Despite this, he didn’t exactly hate the sun… his relationship with sunlight was like that with a moody lover – frustrating yet entrancing.

On this particular morning, though, Sephiroth could have spouted the benefits of darkness right up there with the President himself. When he awoke buck naked on his couch facing his revealing living room window, he couldn’t have been more thankful for the eternal night. Workers trudged down the sidewalk mere feet from the window; had there been the merest hint of light, they would have gotten an eyeful. His naked ass would already be on the front page of the tabloids. But, thanks to ShinRa Electric and its irreparable damage to the atmosphere, no one could see a damn thing. Thank you, smog.

Why the hell am I naked anyway? the General wondered, reluctantly rising to a sitting position. Whoah, he was hungover. His mouth was parched, his skull felt too tight on his warped, sadistic brain, and his eyes ached in their sockets. And that wasn’t his only ache, he realized as his senses slowly booted up. Fucking A, his ass hurt. Holy shit, it fuckin’ hurt. What the fuck? This was a pain he hadn’t felt since he was an effeminate, new-recruit bitch, a pain he had been confident he would never have to feel again. Yet there it was, glaring and blatant, no mistake about it. Had he somehow fucked himself in last night’s stupor? Was this even possible? It wasn’t until he stood up that he noticed a rather wrinkled pinstriped shirt squished in between the couch cushions. Rufus ShinRa’s shirt.

Oh, the irony!

In a matter of nanoseconds, Sephiroth’s brain kicked into gear and dredged up a slur of the previous night’s events. Tequila, morphine, and a wasted, horny Vice President were the main events of this bizarre mental slideshow, along with a few random images of spattered guts and laboratory walls. The General rubbed his temples and sighed. So what does it mean? he wondered, pushing aside the images of the lab for some later nervous breakdown. Did Rufus and I… switch? He shook his head. Impossible. No amount of drugs would have allowed that to happen. So… in conclusion? I don’t remember screwing at all… he realized, which means… I must have fallen asleep. He bit his lip, thinking as hard as his clouded brain could allow. There was only one thing this could mean. Rufus might have, no - must have - screwed him in his sleep.

The realization made his skin crawl. A vicious blend of anger and sick anticipation plumed through his senses like a shot of cocaine, sharpening his headache to a razor’s edge. Bottle of champagne aside, even the bratty VP should have known damn well not to cross that line. Hell, it wasn’t even a line so much as a high voltage fence armed with razor wire and prolific warning signs. DO NOT CROSS. DANGER. DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT. Yet… there was no doubt about it. The line had been crossed, pissed on, and trampled.

Sephiroth considered screaming. He considered destroying everything within a 100-foot radius. He considered chopping his own head off. He even considered doing all three at the same time. But in the end, his waning fringes of rational thought won over, as tempting as a suicidal death tantrum sounded. Search the house, this rational voice told him. You don’t even know if Rufus is still here. The corner of his lip curved up into a malicious smirk. If he is… … He let the thought trail off. What fun that would be.

He found his pants, a dark puddle on the shadowy floor, and gingerly slipped them on. Shit, it even hurt to bend over! He hadn’t much pondered the size of Rufus’ prick before, but now it was obvious that the brat was big enough to make him feel every scandalous inch. Adrenaline pumping, he stalked stiffly out of the living room and down the hallway. Telltale signs of Rufus’ presence were scattered like rat shit throughout the apartment. The bathroom door was ajar, steam still clung to the walls from a drunken late-night shower, and his sparse supply of scratchy towels had been mauled and scattered. As pissed as he was, Sephiroth couldn’t control the wicked grin creeping onto his face. Rufus’ stupidity never failed to amaze him.

Wet footprints lead him further down the hall and into his bedroom. He suppressed a random bout of laughter as he looked inside. There, like a pulp fiction Goldilocks, lay Rufus, nestled comfortably in his bed like he owned the fucking place. Even deep in sleep, a shit-eating grin still vilified his cherubic face. The look was disconcerting, yet it only confirmed what he had already decided to be true. Duh, Rufus fucked him in his sleep. No shit!

In this moment of stunning clarity, several ideas formed in Sephiroth’s murderous, throbbing head. The possibilities were endless. Here in his apartment, the General had slowly but surely accumulated just about every sadistic tool of the trade, even if he hadn’t consciously decided on acquiring such a collection. Either way, he had everything from A to Z. A real dungeon, so to speak. He had rope. He had chains. He had binds, gags, whips, cuffs - so much shit it was embarrassing. Scalpel? Check. Saw? Check! Sephiroth most definitely had both the means and motivation to give Rufus the worst fucking day of his life. Hell, if the little fucker had been fired like he’d said last night, maybe he was under the radar enough to get tied up for a whole week! What a thought!

After mulling over several strategies, Sephiroth finally settled on his next course of action. Really, it was his favorite torture, and he used it ninety-percent of the time… because nothing hurts like a metal-studded belt. Nothing. Hell, he hadn’t even bought the belt with the intention of using it on someone’s naked ass, but within a short period of time, he had learned that it works just fine when a whip isn’t available. Well, ‘just fine’ doesn’t do it justice. That fucker leaves scars, mentally and physically. As a tool for teaching someone a severe lesson? Oh, it was perfect. So perfect that it was already making him hard.

It took him about five minutes to transform his strategy from wet dream to reality. Rufus, who was sleeping like a fucking corpse, wouldn’t know what hit him until it was too late. The General used chain, not rope, to bind the former VP to his bed, just because it was more painful. He positioned the little fuck so that he was spread eagle, painfully so, on his belly. The chains were sinfully taut and dug deep into his soft, civilian wrists and ankles, making him wince moodily in his sleep. Sephiroth then stuffed a few pillows under the younger man’s midsection, raising up that perfect ass for a righteous beating. When he was done, he stepped back to observe his work.

It was a beautiful sight, no doubt about it. Sephiroth grinned wickedly, aware of his hard cock making a tent of his baggy pants, and wrapped his belt firmly around his fist. He gave it a practice swing in the air; it made a loud crack that raised the hair on the back of his neck and elicited a soft, sleepy moan from his blond prisoner. Oh, this was just too perfect for words. He took a deep, satisfied breath, popped his knuckles, and swung the belt hard.

The loud crack the leather made on Rufus’ ass combined with a delicious, baffled scream, forming a crescendo of pain that raised gooseflesh on Sephiroth’s arms. Fucking perfect.

Rufus literally woke up believing he had been shocked. Sure, he was in shock, but he was convinced he had been struck by lightning… or something. What else could have made such a deafening crack, or stung so horribly? Lightning, definitely. Unlike Sephiroth, the blonde didn’t get a long, luxurious amount of time to slowly piece together what the fuck was going on. No, the poor bastard only got about two seconds before Sephiroth hit him a second time.

CRACK!

“Fuck! Okay, that hurts!” Rufus gasped hoarsely, still too half asleep and baffled to understand the full hell of his situation. It wasn’t until then that he noticed he was chained in a most sadistic fashion to Sephiroth’s bed. He realized his wrists and ankles were hurting him terribly. And most importantly, he heard a very familiar, very insane laugh meet his ears. Oh, that explains it, he absently thought. Bondage, pain, and maniacal laughter tended to equal Sephiroth, at least in Rufus’ recent experience.

CRACK!

Sweat sprang out on Rufus’ skin and adrenaline flooded uncomfortably through his senses. Suddenly, he was wide awake and the half-assed analyses of his situation plumed into a more primal surge of fear. He twisted his neck painfully to get a look at his tormentor. It was Sephiroth, of course, incongruously beautiful and insane, holding a severe and wicked looking studded belt in his clenched fist. A look of almost ludicrous rage distorted the silver-haired man’s face, and for the first time since waking, Rufus wondered what the hell he had done last night to deserve such a beating.

As if on queue, Sephiroth sneered viciously. “You fucked me in my sleep, asshole,” he growled. The belt came down again, unbearably hard.

Oh, that was right. Rufus would have grinned and gloated if he wasn’t completely encompassed by panic. Each lashing hurt too terribly for words. He was already afraid of each passing second, and the air around him was heavy with a wretched, hellish suspense. “I’m sorry,” he gasped weakly, some part of him hoping that groveling would lessen his punishment.

It did not.

“Shut up or I’ll gag you,” Sephiroth said flatly. The words were as frightening as the belt, enforcing the inevitability of his situation. The General began to increase the rhythm of the lashing, cracking the belt just as hard each time. Rufus screamed in his head.

The beating went on, and on, and on. Time itself became punctuated by each crack of the belt, until Rufus could have sworn his own heart began pounding to the terrible rhythm. Pain encompassed him, so lucid and persistent he began to feel insane. After a while, (a few minutes? An hour? Rufus had no idea,) a small part of him even began to welcome the pain. His body had already gone through all stages of shock, so perhaps he was beginning to accept his morbid fate… groveling had done no good, neither had crying, or screaming. So at a certain point, his ears ringing from the loud snaps and his ass burning like a fucking inferno, Rufus began secretly enjoying himself.

Sephiroth had apparently not tired one bit. He had been silent as stone through the whole ordeal, which to Rufus, was even worse than verbal abuse. It was as if the General didn’t want to waste his breath, and had decided to let the belt do all the talking. It was just uncomfortable enough for Rufus to turn his head that he couldn’t get a good long look at his tormentor either, so Sephiroth became nothing more than an ominous presence, silent and relentless.

Rufus stifled an out-of-place sigh as the belt descended on his sore ass yet again. Damn, why was it starting to feel good? Was this Sephiroth’s intention all along? Because now there was a definite pleasure mingling with the pain, a numb, tingling sensation that felt remarkably similar to an orgasm. He realized his cock was getting hard, pressing into the pillow under his midsection. Unable to control himself, he started shoving his hips into the pillow, lazily at first, then more feverishly as he realized how good it felt. He found himself moaning each time the belt connected.

And then, as if nothing had ever happened, the lashing stopped. Rufus groaned dizzily, still grinding his hips into the pillow and halfheartedly wishing Sephiroth would hit him again. The silence in the room was as heavy as lead… he felt as if he might either cum or throw up.

At this point, one might expect Sephiroth to say something. Prove a point, or drive home a lesson. But no, the General was silent. Apparently, words were not a part of today’s torture. Rufus heard a heavy, metallic thud as the belt hit the concrete floor, then felt his captor crawl onto the bed behind him, stealthy and stalking like a mountain lion. Two calloused, cool hands ran almost lovingly down his back then settled on his sore ass. Rufus was trying to decide whether the hands felt like ice cubes or hot coals on his abused flesh when the General’s cock bluntly and unceremoniously rammed into his ass.

A ragged, pathetic scream ripped through Rufus, a scream that sounded both exhausted and insane. He reminisced briefly on a time in the distant past when the General had actually bothered using lube… it seemed like a dream, hazy and irrelevant. As of now, the familiar pain and pressure of Sephiroth’s cock was almost too much to bear. He groaned miserably when his tormentor had finally impaled him to the hilt, only to pull out and repeat the same terrible thrust. For the first time in his life, Rufus honestly wished he was dead. He certainly wished he had never touched Sephiroth’s ass.

Until Sephiroth’s hand snaked down and wrapped itself around Rufus’ cock, the blonde never would have imagined that he could possibly still be hard. But now that he was aware of it, he realized he was definitely erect. A few skilled movements of Sephiroth’s hand and a surprising, intense orgasm rushed over him, mixing the pain and frustration and lust into a buzzing scream of euphoria. Somewhere in the back of his head, he was aware of the General thrusting harder and quicker, then finally cumming with a few forceful jerks of his hips.

And then after that, Rufus felt nothing at all. He wasn’t even conscious of losing consciousness.