Chapter Text
The target was secured to the chair with his arms tied behind his back and his ankles tied to the chair legs. Reno was lounging sideways across his lap, right arm around his shoulder and EMR in his left hand.
“C’mon, baby,” Reno purred in his ear. “Just gotta tell us the location and time for the exchange and you’re outta here, yo.”
“Get off me, you Shinra bastard,” the target—what was his name? Tim, Tom…maybe Dave? The target growled the words, jaw set and voice low. It was mostly fear. Sure, the guy was trying to be tough, but Reno could recognize the growl of a dog backed into a corner, protecting his bone. Or bones in this case. He and Rude hadn’t broken any of them yet. Yet.
“Hey now,” Reno chided. “Just cause you’ve got a pretty face…” He didn’t. He was average, underwhelming—a potato with a mediocre haircut, but the flirting seemed to get to him. “...doesn’t mean you get to bring my momma into this.” Reno was a bastard, figuratively and literally, and his mother was long dead.
He pressed the blunt tip of the EMR into the soft spot underneath the target’s chin. “You know what would happen if I turned this on right now?”
The target tried to respond, likely with another insult, but Reno just jammed the EMR up harder, forcing his mouth closed. “Wouldn’t kill ya. Don’t have it set high enough for that. It would break most of your teeth. Maybe your jaw.” The target’s eyes got very wide for a flicker of a second before he forced his expression back into anger
“But…I’m not gonna do that.” Reno slid off the target’s lap and onto his feet. “Can’t tell us what we need to know if your mouth’s fucked up, yo.” He waited. It only took maybe a second and a half. The change in expression. The tiny hint of relief. Reno jammed the EMR into the target’s gut and turned it on.
Three, two, one…he counted down the seconds while the target jerked, muscles spasming as the current hitched a ride through his nervous system. Off.
“Fuck…” the target curled in on himself, as much as he could while tied to the chair, “...you.” He was trying. Reno would give him that. But he wasn’t making a very intimidating picture, with his voice thin and weak while he tried to gulp down air as he recovered.
Right in the middle of a long inhale, Reno turned the power back on, making him choke and nearly bite his tongue. Interrogation wasn’t just about applying pain until the target talked. More finesse to it than that. Everyone had their own style, but Reno found that letting the target get just this close to a moment of peace, and then taking it away from them, worked pretty well. Especially to wear the tough-guy bravado out of them at the start. Rinse and repeat. Three, two one, choking profanity, one more time…
He had to give it to this guy. He was holding out longer than a nobody like him really should.
It was fucking boring, and Reno hated being bored more than he feared death. He and Rude had that in common.
“Really? Ya got nothin’ for me?” That was another trick. You could just keep doing the same thing over and over. The targets got used to it. “Your friends ain’t comin’ for ya, you know. Your boss doesn’t give a flying fuck about you. This chickenshit outfit you’ve got yourself into ain’t worth this kind of pain.”
The target seemed to have given up on profanity; instead, he tried to stare Reno down. Reno turned on his heel, backhanding the target with the EMR as he did so. He headed towards where Rude was leaning on a crate, watching him work.
He heard the target spit, and then a little tapping sound. He looked down at the floor. A tooth. Ahh, yeah, he wasn’t supposed to fuck up his mouth. Oops.
“Rude,” he whined, lingering on the word for a good three seconds, “this is taking so long.” He set the EMR on the crate, put his arms around Rude’s neck, and pressed his body close. He wanted to go home, and he wanted to fuck his boyfriend, and this small-time loser with his small-time weapons deal was the only thing standing in his way.
Might as well let him know.
“What the fuck?” The words were surprisingly clear, considering the tooth lying on the floor.
Yeah, he’d had a feeling this was going to make the target very uncomfortable. Up on his toes, he brushed his lips along Rude’s jawline. Rude was silent—at least, from the point of view of anyone more than six inches away. But Reno felt a little huff, and he’d known Rude long enough to recognize it as Rude’s barely-audible huff of amusement, not to be confused with his barely-audible huff of annoyance.
It took a press of his cheek to Rude’s cheek and a whispered, “c’mon, this job sucks,” in his ear before Rude finally kissed him. His lips felt so good that for a moment, Reno forgot that he was in a shitty abandoned warehouse, and he was half doing this to fuck with a low-level gang flunky who wouldn’t give up some basic intel.
He held on tighter, teasing his tongue against Rude’s teeth to see if he was going to open up and kiss him properly. Even brought one leg up to try and wrap around Rude’s hip, and Rude didn’t take the bait and pick him up, but he grabbed his ass, at least. Rude knew he was playing, and Rude also knew that he meant all of it. It was funny how many things in life worked like that.
“Ifrit’s balls, get a fucking room!”
Maybe the target was tough, but he wasn’t very smart. If he’d stayed quiet, Reno might have forgotten about him for a full five more minutes.
“You want us to? How ‘bout not?” Reno spun around to face him. His mouth was bloody, and his jaw was already bruising and swelling from the hit with the EMR. Loser didn’t know how lucky he was. “My partner here likes an audience. How ‘bout we fuck right here, where you can watch, yo? Wouldja like that?”
“You’re sick.”
“Probably. Ooh, I got an idea.” He turned back to Rude and dropped to his knees. “Hey, Rude, you think if I blew you right here, he’d talk, just so he didn’t have to watch? Or would he get off on it?” He made a show of resting his cheek right against Rude’s zipper. Normally, on his knees with his face in a man’s crotch was not the place of power he liked to occupy during an interrogation. But he was working an angle. And Rude felt at least half-hard through his slacks. Reno turned his head up just enough to see that he was smiling. Not visibly, of course, but he could see it in his eyebrows.
“Fucking Shinra perverts. I’m not telling you anything, so cut me loose or kill me. I don’t want to watch this shit.”
That was the point, idiot.
Reno stood up with a long sigh. “You really ready to die for this? You know you’re the only thing standing between me and this man’s dick right now, right? And it’s a fucking fantastic dick.”
“Fuck you, sicko.” The target spat more blood on the floor.
Ramuh’s wrinkled ballsack.
Reno grabbed his EMR and stalked back across the floor. “You sure, pretty boy? I dunno. I think you’re just complaining for show. I bet you like it. I bet you’re hard right now. Let’s check.” He reached out and grabbed the waist of the target’s jeans by one of the belt loops.
“Don’t touch me, you freak!” The man jerked against the ropes.
Reno snapped his gaze up to make eye contact. “What? You think I’m gonna touch your dick? Fuck no. I don’t know where it’s been, yo. Shiva’s tits…” He paused for exactly four seconds while the target blinked at him, confused. “Nah, I’m gonna do this.” He shoved the EMR down the front of the target’s pants and turned it on. Clicked the switch up a little higher than last time, just for good measure.
The scream made him wish he had his hands free to cover his ears. He’d experienced plenty of the stuff he did to other people; growing up in the slums wasn’t easy, and neither was being a Turk. But he was lucky enough that he’d made it twenty-five years (twenty-seven if you used the birthdate he’d given to Shinra, but who was counting?) without having his dick electrocuted.
“Gods…you fucker! Shinra fucking—asshole—pervert—I’m gonna…” The target started spitting curses and threats as soon as he turned the power off. He’d really thought this would do the trick.
Welp.
“Alright, have it your way.” He pulled the EMR out of the target’s pants and turned around. Shit, he was gonna have to disinfect the fucking thing. “Rude, you’re up.”
Rude acknowledged him with the hint of a nod and headed toward the target while Reno took his place leaning against the crate. Rude’s technique was both fast and methodical. Enough fucking around with this loser. Rude would expedite this shit. And then they could go home, and he could finish that blowjob he’d just pretended to start. The thought made his dick twitch.
“So, what are you gonna do?” The target was already working his false bravado back up. “You think you’re gonna break me if he can't? Or are you just gonna suck his dick?”
If only…
With the way Rude fought, one might think he worked with fists. And sure, that was true at the very beginning when all they were doing was roughing up the targets a little. A basic beat-down to get them softened up. But when they got down to business, it was different. Rude’s technique was simple but unconventional: He didn’t ask questions. He had a shiny little folding knife that he kept in his pocket. It was always on him and always very, very sharp. Rude didn’t ask questions. He just flipped open that knife and started cutting, and he didn’t stop until he knew everything he wanted to know. It worked even better when the target didn’t know what they were after in the first place. They poured out everything, sold out every boss and colleague and friend, confessed every single guilty secret, from murder to jaywalking, desperate to figure out the magic words that would make the pain stop.
Rude got to work. The screams didn’t kill Reno’s hard-on, and he knew this was a problem. He knew he was fucked-up in a multitude of ways and he didn’t know what came from his fucked-up childhood, what he picked up during his fucked-up adulthood, and what was baked into him from the beginning. At least he was pretty sure it wasn’t making him any harder.
It took more than five minutes, but less than ten, until the target cracked. Until they knew the drop time and location, who was doing the pick-up, and where the target’s boss was hiding out. Until they knew the names of everyone in the lame little gang, and the warehouse where they hid the stolen Shinra weapons they were dealing, and his momma’s maiden name, and why his last girlfriend left him. Until Rude’s fancy, expensive shirt was completely ruined.
There was a reason the Turks regulation uniform had white shirts. It was the same reason hotels used white sheets. You could bleach the fuck out of them. The rest of the suit, well, it was black, so who could tell?
“He dead?” Reno asked as they headed back to HQ.
“Dunno,” Rude answered. “Didn’t check.”
Sometimes, Reno wondered how many blood stains lingered on his jacket, invisible.