Blood was damn difficult to get out of clothing.
Blood was damn difficult to get out of clothing. It seemed intent to cling to each fiber like some sort of perverse badge of honor. The blood on the collar of his jacket, streaking down the inside of the back of his shirt, was one of the few honors he had won himself, and Rufus was always loath to wash it out.
Someone who respected him enough to challenge him, who thought enough of his own still to draw a weapon...it was an unexpected treat. It helped him walk tall through his office, relishing in every pull of injured skin, every twitch of sore muscles. He had earned it, and he was proud of every scab that caught on each expensive shirt.
Still, Tseng would have a fit if he saw his precious charge bloodied, so the shirts, the jackets, had to either be sent to a discreet cleaner or destroyed.
Sometimes, Rufus almost thought Reno bloodied him merely to revel in the fact the clothing was endlessly replaced, sort of a high-class joke from a low class prankster.
Halting his musing, Rufus attached his precise signature to the last bit of paper requiring his attention, gathered his jacket, and exited his office.
His guard for the day was lounging with careful insolence against the doorframe, doing his best to look tragically bored. That too was part of the game. The unhappier Reno looked, the more likely he was to be assigned to guard the door during Rufus' office days. The red haired Turk was always being reprimanded for something, after all.
Reno pushed himself away from the doorframe with a leisurely shove of his shoulders, and Rufus felt his breathing hitch as Reno's hand settled casually on the butt of the electrobaton settled in his belt.
"Heading home, boss?" Reno drawled.
"Well, I'm to make sure you don't get lost on the way." Reno smirked. "Want me to hold your hand?"
"That wont be necessary, Turk."
Reno saluted, the gesture only vaguely obscene, and waited for Rufus to start walking.
Rufus was all too aware of Reno staring at him as they started walking, and wondered how far they would get before the Turk found a wall in some alley or another to push him up against.
It was another way to ruin a good shirt.
And he didn't mind at all.