Rufus had never considered the trouble for Reno of having his hair loose. He had wanted to see it, and so he did so. The thought of monsters hadn't even crossed Rufus' mind, a showing of how different their lines of morals were from each other's. Rufus was more concerned about being seen by the wrong person while Reno's thoughts were more logical. One could take the President out of the boardroom, but not out of his mind
( ... )
Reno fumbled his way onto the bed with Rufus, pressing down on top of him, but supporting enough of his own weight with his arm so as not to crush the President. The gun still dangled from his fingers. He'd intended to set it on the dresser, but it was too far away, and he'd be damned if he was going to take the time out to make his way there
( ... )
By the time Schuldig reached Rufus' room, his fury had taken on a life of its own. He was in no less pain than earlier but he was no longer paying any mind to it; it was barely noticeable in light of the unfolding, infuriating romantic drama within his head that was apparently far more important than his well-being ever could be. He'd stopped leaning on Crawford by the time they'd made it to the 30 room numbers, and by 20 he had a five-foot lead on the other man and was gaining ground by the stride.
There was no question of knocking. A solid kick sent the door flying open hard enough that its doorknob might well have dented the wall and left it shuddering on its hinges, and Schuldig strode in wearing the smirk that had cheerfully driven a number of people to suicide. His expression was positively manic, eyes wild with anything but amusement.
The smirk was, to say the least, misleading.
"Well, somebody had better start running," he said through too many teeth. "If this is what you get up to when one of your own is hurt, Mr.
( ... )
Rufus groaned quietly when Reno moved atop him, greedy arms going around the Turk again even as his hips lifted to having that spark of contact again. One leg slid around Reno's own, trying to draw him closer just as he took advantage of that knee between his legs with a small thrust
( ... )
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There was no question of knocking. A solid kick sent the door flying open hard enough that its doorknob might well have dented the wall and left it shuddering on its hinges, and Schuldig strode in wearing the smirk that had cheerfully driven a number of people to suicide. His expression was positively manic, eyes wild with anything but amusement.
The smirk was, to say the least, misleading.
"Well, somebody had better start running," he said through too many teeth. "If this is what you get up to when one of your own is hurt, Mr. ( ... )
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