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Reno liked to drink. He liked to drink a lot in fact, but after the city of Midgar had been destroyed, there weren't exactly a lot of choices anymore, whether you were an ex-Shinra employee or an ex-slum dweller. Poverty did not discriminate based on former lifestyles, and nowadays, most everyone was poor. Drinking also got him laid. In fact, it was the only thing that got him laid, and the only thing that ever had, at least in recent memory. Needless to say, he missed spending all of his free time in real bars with real alcohol.
Edge hosted a variety of terrible home-brewed booze, all at ramshackle bars professing to offer only the best. Reno had heard that there was still some divine liquor stock hiding in Costa del Sol, but he hadn't taken a vacation since the last time he had been in Wutai. That had been a good trip--he smiled slightly at the memory.
"Anything you want to share with the rest of the class?" came the female voice from across the table. Reno's hand tightened around his glass indiscernibly, but he smirked and took a swallow.
"Just all good dreams of whiskey," he replied.
Tifa had half of a smile on her face, hand on a hip, and she shifted her weight to her other foot. And what glorious hips they were, even he had to admit.
"Another?" she asked. Reno knocked back the remaining liquid in his glass and nodded.
Tifa Lockheart, barmaid-cum-Avalanche-member-cum-(occasional)-delivery-girl, made the damn finest, speakeasy-grade booze this side of ruined Midgar. Hurrah for hidden talents, Reno mused.
"Darlin," he drawled flirtatiously in a sector accent that wouldn't live on past his death, "you are the saintliest thing to grace this plane since the Lifestream."
He could see Tifa roll her eyes, and could feel Rude doing the same thing where he was seated next to him, sitting straight in his chair with a drink in his hand. Yeah, he thought moodily, plenty in common, those two. He took a long draw and shut out his thoughts.
Rude had started spending more time here after what had come to be known as the Healing Rain, and Reno had begun to think that maybe he hadn't been kidding all those years ago when he had claimed to have the hots for Tifa. Or maybe, it was simply because she was a good-looking woman, Rude's type really, the kick-your-ass type. And she shared a past with both of them, the same way that Shinra and AVALANCHE were inextricably linked in a giant web that few others would understand.
And she fed them booze. Then Rude had even come by himself a few times; it had been years since he'd gone drinking without Reno in tow.
When Rude had told him about that night's drinking plans (just like every other night really), Reno had known "it"--whatever "it" was that they did under the guise of alcohol and in the dark--was over. He knew because he had ended it right there in his mind; there was nothing else necessary. No conversation, no questions. Reno had dealt with their arrangement for years, but he wasn't about to play second-fuck-fiddle if Rude had found something better.
It had been simple--the exit, the departure, the cheeky smile Tifa had given him when she knew she was going to be alone with Rude that he had returned with a wink, thanked her, and stepped outside the door.
He had started the walk toward Healen, lit up a nervous cigarette with fidgety fingers, then turned back and paced around the circle of the half re-built city square. Lit up another cigarette. Straightened himself out and walked in the correct direction again of where he was supposed to be going, reached Edge's city limits, and entered the sparse forest. Walked taking long, heavy drags, then tripped on the root of a tree and cursed.
When his cigarette was spent, he stopped, dropped it, and ground it into the earth under his boot. Then he turned sharply and fired his gun into a tree twice, heard the rustle of birds as they flocked away into the night, and dropped to sit against the base of the gunned-down trunk. He cursed the third cigarette he lit up since it was his last, took a deep drag, leaned back, and closed his eyes. He drew in the smoke and night air like it was his last breath.
It's all about the breathing. His second assignment. When you do the kill, you have to breathe, or else you won't do what you need to do.
It seemed long ago, and it was. They had been young, and even then, Rude was the old pro. With enough cockiness to stop an army and a chip on his shoulder the size of the plate, Reno had been paired with the man that people were most afraid of, the quiet Turk who carried out his assignments with lethal efficiency down to the most innocuous detail. Reno hadn't given a rat's ass about Rude's reputation at the time; he had thought he wasn't afraid of anything. But Rude sensed the kernel of doubt housed within him, the hesitation to relinquish his soul completely, and he had quashed it.
He had taught Reno how to kill, taught him how to be a Turk, and Reno had taken to it like a fish to water. He in turn had managed to bury himself under Rude's skin, stay there, and never left. No one, including them, thought it through too much; there was no complex reason for it. It was as natural as rain, as thoughtless as the blink of an eye. It just was.
Rude was the best friend Reno had ever had, the only real friend, the only confidant, the only other human being that he didn't doubt, not for a second.
He exhaled.
They had been so young, and now...now he just felt tired. It could have been the booze, the company he had kept earlier in the evening, the cigarettes (or lack thereof right then), the cold evening air, the dark trees. He didn't know. He did know that he was sitting in the middle of the forest thinking about the past, and the past was one of Reno's least favorite topics.
So he had stood up and brushed off his suit, re-holstered his gun, and made his way back to Healen. He was pleased to find himself alone, the facility quiet; he didn't feel like talking to anyone. He didn't feel much like talking at all right then.
The dark room was comforting as he laid down on the mattress, gun and e-mag rod on the table next to him. More comforting smells: the faint scent of ozone, a recently discharged firearm, and cigarette smoke. Things that made him who he was. Familiar. Real.
Real, and not amorphous dreams of being pressed against a wall or bent over a desk that may have never happened. Real, and not memories kept inside the curve of a hand closed around his hip hard enough to bruise. Violence, fire, breath in the shape of blue clouds of smoke. Those were real. He wrapped the room like a blanket around him, like the world outside didn't exist, like he could have been young again, took the smells and the concrete darkness and slept clutching them to his heart.
And then there was the sound of the door, and there was Rude.
He could smell the booze, the slight scent of mild aftershave, and then that distinct smell of his partner that was as familiar as his own face in the mirror every morning. And he could imagine what Rude had left behind, back in Edge--an empty bar stinking of sex, and woman, and loneliness, after that last ecstatic thrust, that part at the end when words were necessary again. He could imagine because, after a while, he had come to know it all too well.
"Where did you go?" came the voice through the dark.
The light that shone behind his figure made him look like nothing more than a looming, black silhouette. He stepped in and closed the door behind him. It was dark again.
"Where did I go?" Reno repeated. "I came back here, but I got a little sidetracked. Found a sweet piece of ass just as I left, and thought, what the hell. But nothing compared to what you have back there," he said. Rude could hear the sardonic smirk in his voice even through the darkness; it held nothing more than what Reno wanted it to.
Reno could talk his way around a freight train coming straight at him, and it would stop and buy him a drink. He could talk around an entire crowd of people at a bar, all of which would be his best friend by the end of the night, and Rude and he would drink for free. Then the next day all of the generous drink-givers would realize that no one actually knew his name, that no one could remember a thing he said--all of it banter, all of it lighthearted bullshit, all of it eaten up hook, line and sinker. And now, for the first time, he was trying to talk his way around Rude.
"So how was it?" he asked. Provocation.
There was no answer, just a few footsteps and then a heavy weight sitting next to him on the bed. A hand pressed to his wrist, and Reno turned sharply.
"No way," he snarled, sitting up abruptly. He could vaguely make out Rude's shape in the dark next to him. Their faces were close. "No fucking way."
Reno may have been a great many things, but one thing he was not was a trick. And fucking his partner after he had just fucked someone else made him feel like one, made him feel like he wasn't a Turk, but just some low-life who still lived in Sector 3 and gave cheap blowjobs to get by. He hadn't ever been that trick, but he had known enough people that had, and it hit a little too close to home for him. Sex with Rude should have never gotten this complicated. He knew he had fucked up.
But now he was angry because Rude wasn't taking no for an answer, and he laid down next to him, stretched his body the length of Reno's and pulled him down from where he had sat up stalk straight, trembling with rage.
A bed--lying on a bed. With Rude. Gotta admit, it's a new one, his mind chirped in. He ignored it.
"What happened?" Reno's voice was low-pitched and predatory. "She turn you down?"
Rude didn't say anything. He just listened, and took it, like he always did.
"No," he finally replied, and climbed on top of Reno. The other man didn't move, but Rude could feel the tension building there, ready to throw him off and onto the floor and possibly bash in his skull. Probably not the last one, but Reno, when he was really pissed off, was terrifying. That was the killer Rude had courted once upon a time, the one that he knew both he and Reno kept in check, let out only for assignments. The deep stuff, the stuff you had to breathe through to control, the raw stuff that made them what they were--humans and killers. The painful ether.
"If you stay," Reno said, his voice uncannily calm, "you are getting fucked. You. Not me."
He expected some response, some words, some action; he got nothing. Rude just laid there against him, breathing. Breathing. Hot. Heavy now. Reno reached between them and jerked the zipper of the other man's pants down, belt unbuckled and pushed his pants down as far as he could reach, grabbed his ass.
The sharp breath was familiar, the harsh sound in his throat, the heat, the wordless exchange. It was as familiar as the smell of ozone and cigarettes and guns, but not comforting. It smacked of silence and dark dreams too hazy to know the real content of, too distant to really remember. But this time, this time...it was a warning, a nightmare with an escape pod, a choice to leave. Reno was giving Rude the choice.
He brought his fingers to his own mouth and sucked, slicked them up, and then pushed his hand against Rude's ass again, spread it open, and let his fingers sit at the entrance, deceptively light, waiting.
He really wished it wasn't ending this way, but it hadn't been his choice. The minute Rude had entered the room, he knew; it wouldn't truly end unless he made a point. A silent point, full of action and things he knew Rude would never accept. The conversation that he assumed wasn't required.
But he wasn't expecting to feel Rude's hand against his, then the guided push of Reno's fingers into his ass. The arch, the hiss, the ahfuck of pain, the hard cock, and then a perfect stillness when Reno was too shocked to do anything else.
"What are you waiting for?" Rude's voice, gravelly, struggling to maintain composure, to maintain control.
For a moment, Reno forgot about the entire evening, his thoughts, his anger, and could only focus right then on Rude. He pushed his fingers in further and this time Rude bit him hard on the neck, hard enough to draw blood, which he knew he had as he felt something warm trickle down his collarbone.
Then he leaned forward and kissed him. Kissed him right on the mouth, a tangy metallic kiss, and Reno felt as if all of the blood and bone and body had been drawn right out of him, as if he were a ghost hovering above the surreal scene unfolding in the dark room.
"If that's what you want," he growled, fucking Rude hard with his fingers now, "go back to her right now."
He let out an inarticulate noise as Reno hit on something inside of him, and whatever response he may have had prepared disappeared into it.
"Go ahead," Reno whispered, "let me fucking hear you."
He did. He let out a whimper, then a longer sound that drew itself out as it rose in volume, pressing his hips backwards against Reno's hand in rhythm with his movements.
"I'm--," he started, then cried out as Reno jammed in particularly hard, right against that spot, before he could say anything else.
"Right there?" Reno thrust in again and hit the same spot, stretching his fingers, and he could hear teeth click together and a hiss.
"Fuck..." Tight muscles, clenching. "Yeah, right there."
"You want me to fuck you," he asked hotly, the beginning of a snarl in his voice, "right here?" Again. Aimed, accurate, swift. Rude could only let out an inarticulate cry that sounded like it might be an affirmative.
Reno pulled his fingers out and pushed Rude off of him, onto his side, and laid down behind him. He could feel his partner fighting to breathe and failing miserably.
Rude could hear Reno stretch over to the nightstand, a drawer open, then a click. He knew what it was. The fingers were back, cool and slick, slower, and entered him again briefly. Pants shoved down all the way, dropped onto the floor. The wet sound of slick on cock, and then...
"Is this what you want?" Reno whispered into his ear, an unsettling emotion there, fluttering in his voice, muted and baited.
"Yes."
Yes. A definitive answer, a real memory, a real word.
Reno lifted Rude's leg, held it in place, and pushed inside of him in three powerful thrusts. Reno could hear some garble of words that may have involved his name; he pulled out and slammed himself back in. Then Rude's body flexed against him, around him, powerful, and he growled.
"God damn it," Rude's words sounded like they were choking him, rolling off of his tongue like reluctant marbles, "just fuck me."
Reno drove forward with another powerful movement, lifted Rude's leg higher, and buried his cock over and over, hips moving frantically. Reno could hear the slap of skin on skin as Rude met him thrust for thrust with a violent backward jarring of his hips.
His fingers dug into Rude's shoulder, seeking violence, seeking memory, fighting to leave a mark as evidence. Reality. Rude grabbed his fingers and held them fast.
Reno wanted to see him break, wanted to push him far enough to the edge that Rude finally fought back. He wanted a struggle, an equalizer that would put things back the way that they had been, before a time of bullets embedded in trees, before Reno started trying to remember murky dreams, before all of it was a dream.
"Jerk yourself off," he growled, rocking his hips in quick, measured movements designed to go deep and hard, "because I'm not going to."
He waited again for a relent, for a pause that would finally signal the end. It never came, and then all he heard was the wet sound of Rude using his free hand to stroke himself.
"Reno..." His name, unfamiliar, stated in a very familiar voice.
It sent a flush through him in a different way, something that fluttered above the heat, lying lightly against his damp skin, maybe even delicate.
"Rude..." He said it before he could clamp his mouth shut, and he cursed mentally.
Their bodies crashed together, into each other, over and over again. Reno's vision went black as his cock pulsed once and then he came hard, crumpling against Rude's sweat-soaked body like a crushed paper napkin. His fingers felt close to breaking as Rude gripped them still, and he found himself wishing that they would. Then Rude was coming too, a low rumble of uncontrolled sound rising from his throat and half of a curse torn from his mouth.
The room smelled like sex in addition to all of the other things it had before, and Reno just laid there, absorbing everything. He didn't know what to do for once, still unsure as to what had just happened. He did know that he had just fucked Rude, and that...was definitely new. The bed was new. The...kissing. Kissing? He had to run that one back through his mind a few times. He finally pulled out, but remained pressed against Rude's back, unsure that he would be able to control his own limbs for a minute if he didn't stay put.
Rude rolled over after a few moments, displacing Reno in the process, and faced him in the dark. Reno nearly gasped as he pressed their bodies together; it was unexpected, and at first it felt strange. He felt a pair of fingers against his back, pushing lightly against his spine, as if testing its hardness.
Then his hands were all over Reno, exploring his shoulders, his waist, his hips, mapping his skin like an impatient cartographer, roving over scars and skin and warmth with a curious touch. It was all familiar and yet completely new.
Touching--Rude touching. Reno logged it in.
"I didn't fuck her," he finally said. The hands stilled. "I didn't want to."
Silence. Reno's steady breathing, forced to be steady, forced into a natural pattern. A few staccato beats of tension measured by heartbeats. Rude's hand tightening at his back; Reno's exhaled breath, a hand rigidly grasping Rude's hip. Finally they both relaxed against each other.
"Damn shame," finally came the response. "Where are we gonna drink now?"
Rude's snort in the dark, one hand against the back of Reno's head; yes, the hair was soft. He had always wondered. Then hand on a shoulder, resting.
"Don't know," Rude responded. He could feel a slight hitch in Reno's breath as he circled his thumb over the shoulder, and even he was surprised by the soft touch. His hands had never been made for soft touches, and neither had Reno's body--but there it was.
Reno didn't say anything else. Then he took a chance and leaned into Rude, and it was simple again, all over again, like back at the beginning where there wasn't any thought to it. Rude's arm draped over him, and he closed his eyes.
When the room was no longer dark and the birds had returned to the trees, he was still warm. Just the faint smell of booze and of Rude, and he wrapped himself inside of it in a dreamless sleep.