Work Text:
Mütten watched Rufus explain the next part of his rebuilding plan, calm and collected like he was in a board room instead of chained by his ankle in a windowless room. Mütten was tempted to be impressed.
"—Which would rely on coordinating with Tuesti's humanitarian efforts, whatever he decides to do." Rufus had chosen to sit on the bed this time, probably in deference to his broken foot: better to sit and be steady, even if Mütten had positioned himself in a way that forced Rufus to crane his neck to meet his eyes. Mütten hoped it was straining his broken ribs too.
"Tuesti is a bleeding heart," he scoffed.
"And useful nonetheless."
Mütten wanted to see him cry — the lofty, charismatic scion, untouched by grief or pain, brought down into the dirt by Mütten's own hand. That was half the point of keeping him alive. But even with his injuries Rufus was controlled. Confident. He watched Mütten carefully, probably building a profile on Mütten at the same time Mütten was doing the same to him.. though one with a different focus.
Mütten had watched Kilmister change the bandages around Rufus' ribs, and the president hadn't flinched. Mütten could recognize anti-interrogation training when he saw it — his captain hadn't allowed him to participate in "conversations" with those kinds of prisoners. That would make breaking Rufus more complicated, but also more rewarding when he succeeded.
When Rufus didn't continue speaking, Mütten raised an eyebrow. "That's all? Not going to tell me how to contact Tuesti, or appeal to his perspective?"
"That's all for today."
"You're not giving me much reason to keep you intact."
"If you were going to murder me yourself," Rufus said with that supposedly-untouchable calm, "you wouldn't have kept your subordinate from killing me."
"Mr. Shinra, you know as well as I do that there's a lot of daylight between 'whole' and 'dead.'"
Rufus flicked his gaze to the bedframe, where Mütten had had it carved with human-monster chimeras, then looked back to Mütten and raised an eyebrow.
"That's one option," Mütten acknowledged. He could get out his.. hobbyist equipment. While he wanted to see the president cry when he made a too-big dildo fit anyway, bleed from the bladed whips Mütten kept beneath the bed, and train him to come from pain, he wanted to see Rufus afraid of softness too. If Mütten started with the heavy pain, teaching Rufus to fear pleasure would be more work. And as long as he got to see tears, did it really matter how Mütten made it happen?
"But I won't jump to that," he continued. He reached out and ran his finger down one of Rufus' bangs, the hair messy without its usual styling products. It was soft; Mütten wanted to grab it and pull, pull hard enough to make him crawl and cry out. "You can end this at any time by telling me more of your plans for the new city."
Mütten liked giving his playmates an illusion of control. The constant question of if this was the last straw, if that could be survived, kept them in the moment instead of dissociating or merely enduring, which meant Mütten was able to enjoy more of their reactions. Admittedly the shock & betrayal when he eventually broke his word was another benefit, though that would wait for another day.
Rufus watched him warily, but he didn't flinch or shy away; it was cute that he thought that would make it any less fun to break him. "You should know that the Turks trained me." Rufus' mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. "Thoroughly."
"Of course, Mr. Shinra. I would expect nothing less."
Mütten pushed Rufus backward on the bed, aware of the slight tightening of Rufus' expression that meant his ribs were sore, and unfastened the president's pants. Belt, button, zipper— Mütten dragged it all down to Rufus' knees, and the briefs beneath too. The chain around Rufus' ankle would keep him from going anywhere anyway, but there was no sense ignoring a potential hobble.
Then Mütten sat beside Rufus and looked at the cock. Rufus was soft; not unexpected at this point, Mütten had no illusions that the president was attracted to him or enjoyed pain. He ran one fingertip along the shaft. "That's all?" he said, and restrained himself enough that he only pinched the foreskin gently.
"I don't see how the size is relevant to anything."
"You walked around like you had the biggest balls in town, but I suppose you could have been compensating."
"I'm Shinra, anything I might need to compensate for is irrelevant."
"Hm."
Since arriving in the red room Rufus had been meticulous in his hygiene, or at least as much as his situation allowed. He used the fold-away toilet & sink, took a sponge bath every day, and cooperated when Frieda washed his hair. He wore the clothes Frieda brought him — including the side-fastening briefs — but kept his jacket.
Maybe he was exerting control over one of the few things in his situation where he could. Or maybe...
Mütten spat on the president's cock and pretended not to notice the fractional, disgusted curl of Rufus' lip. It didn't take long to react to his touch, slowly filling in his hand, even if Rufus himself remained passive. Mütten had half-expected this to be more difficult — what else did Rufus have to do when alone beyond masturbate? — but maybe Rufus hadn't wanted to let his guard down in a room clearly meant for sexual torture.
Rufus stared up at the ceiling. He was like a statue in one of the old sanctuaries Mütten had seen on tour in Wutai, the ones to some goddess in white robes holding a jar of water. Rufus' hair even looked like a halo, golden and shining on the bedspread despite the room's lack of windows.
Mütten wanted to break him over and over again. Smash that composure, tear down the training, crumble the masks, until all that was left was Rufus, willing to take whatever Mütten gave him even when he was afraid.
"I thought of another way you can end this," Mütten said, as if it hadn't been part of the game from the start.
"How generous."
Mütten rubbed the pad of his forefinger over Rufus' piss slit. "Ask me to make you come. Nicely."
The flash of hatred on Rufus' face could have kept Mütten warm in Icicle Inn for a week.
"Or you can always tell me more about your plans," Mütten said.
"That's one option."
Rufus held out longer than Mütten had expected. He kept trying to control his reactions, but even if he could keep his breathing measured he couldn't control his heartrate or the twitches of his balls.
The first time Mütten squeezed the head of Rufus' cock to deny his orgasm, Rufus turned his head to face the wall. No other noticeable changes, but Mütten hadn't expected one denial to be enough to affect the president. Mütten took his time warming Rufus back up toward the edge. He'd already played with pressure and speed the first time round, so this time he toyed with the cockhead itself.
The second time Mütten squeezed in denial, Rufus's hands jerked a few inches toward his crotch.
Mütten tutted. "Am I going to have to get more restraints, Mr. Shinra?"
Rufus slicked his hair out of his face, as if the moment of privacy would offset everything Mütten had already seen. "Perish the thought."
By the third time Mütten denied him, Rufus was sweaty and panting, still looking determinedly at the wall instead of Mütten sitting beside him. He didn't try to take his shirt or jacket off, which amused Mütten — of course the potential vulnerability would be more important to the president than his own comfort — but the overheating would tire Rufus faster.
The fourth time, Rufus fisted his hands in the bedspread hard enough to turn his knuckles white; he didn't let go when Mütten went back to stroking. Mütten might have worried about chafing the cock if not for the way it leaked and leaked and leaked in his hand.
Mütten occasionally stroked himself through his pants. He had intended to avoid touching himself at all, to make Rufus sit with the knowledge of how much better Mütten was, but at least if he didn't come he could still use the differences in self-control to humiliate the president.
By the fifth time, Mütten had needed to switch hands and Rufus had stopped being able to control the sharp twitches of his hips. He still looked at the wall, but there was nothing determined about his gaze anymore.
Mütten was getting ready to decide if he'd need to edge Rufus a sixth time when Rufus, voice quiet & empty, said:
"Please."
Mütten licked his suddenly dry lips. "Please what?"
He watched Rufus' throat work as he swallowed. "Please make me come."
"Of course, Mr. Shinra."
Mütten spat on the cock again, and was amused that Rufus barely twitched at the noise. He'd probably get the president begging properly within a few weeks, but this was a start.
He used everything he'd learned while edging Rufus to make it good, and when he stroked Rufus' cock just right something broke free inside the president. A little choked noise first, which seemed to startle Rufus based on the way his hands jerked in the bedspread. But once he'd started making noise he couldn't seem to stop — a gasp when Mütten stroked his ballsack, a moan when Mütten concentrated on the spot just under the head of his cock for a few seconds.
Even with Rufus looking at the wall, Mütten could see the self-hatred on Rufus' face. Rufus' heels pushed at the bedspread in a way that had to hurt, on top of the way his panting and rocking had to be hurting his ribs. Mütten was tempted to laugh — it was always fun to see them hurt themselves, without him having to work for it.
Then the rocking turned into thrusting, and something else broke. It wasn't immediately obvious because Rufus closed his eyes, but not even that could stop the tears from darkening his lashes.
Mütten watched his face like a hawk, one hand on Rufus and the other on himself. He saw it when the first tear slid free and down Rufus' nose.
Someday, Mütten would have Rufus upright and crying, unable to hide his tears in the bedding. He'd cry and hate himself for it, and he'd keep crying until Mütten was satisfied and fucked his—
Mütten abruptly squeezed his own cock, hard: he'd nearly forgotten himself.
The build to Rufus' orgasm was slow, the better to burn in the knowledge of who was touching him. To make him remember who had the control here. But it was also inevitable, and Rufus' neck arched when he came with a groan.
Mütten aimed Rufus' come at his shirt and jacket. It took a good thirty seconds for Rufus to notice, too busy trying to get his breathing back under control, then with finding a position that didn't hurt his foot or ribs.
The flicker of self-disgust and resignation in Rufus' face when he saw the come on his clothes was worth the wait. He didn't seem inclined to say anything.
"Uh-uh," Mütten said, the way he'd scold a dog. "What do you say when someone does you a favour?"
Rufus turned his head to face Mütten for that. The rage was beautiful, bringing a different kind of flush to his cheeks than the lingering arousal. Mütten wanted to see it again, and break it again.
"Though," Mütten continued, "I guess you're not used to having to follow social niceties. The president of the Shinra Company doesn't have to ask nicely very often, and you're out of practice."
Rufus worked his jaw. "Thank you, Mütten."
The ice in his voice could have frozen Shiva's tits but Mütten didn't care — Rufus could rage all he wanted, but it wouldn't change the fact he'd moaned and cried under Mütten's hands.
"You're welcome, Mr. Shinra. I'll see you on Friday." Mütten stood, gave Rufus' cock a friendly pat, then let himself out of the cell.
He had plans to make.