Bitches to the right, yo!

Reno and Rufus, no yaoi Murder attempt, drinking. Also Rufus obviously likes to hear himself talk. A lot. Don’t know how many years I’ve been wanting to write this and now I finally got a chance.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it.” Rufus frowned. “I do. The thought, timing and, ah, execution was flawless.”

“But what, boss?” Reno sighed a little, dropping the few broken shards of what was left of the bottle on the sticky floor. It wasn’t as if the mess there could get much worse anyway.

“It’s just that the next time a would-be assassin disguised as a potential business partner tries to shoot me at close quarters in my own office, I would appreciate it if you used, say, a bottle of beer or even wine to break his fingers and smash his skull in. Not,” he gave Reno the full force of steel blue eyes, “an expensive and rather rare bottle of my most favourite champagne.” He took a step over the messy corpse, careful not to get stains on his suit pants.

“Sorry boss, can’t do.” Reno fished out the assassin’s gun from the  pool of blood, wiped it off a bit on his pants and checked the safety and bullets. “Who the fuck tries to shoot someone this close? Guns are ranged weapons. Fucking amateurs,” he muttered to himself before elaborating his former statement. “Ya see, a champagne bottle is made to contain 6 atmos of pressure. They’re almost half a cm thick and can easily break bones. A wine bottle might knock a man out, but I don’t like taking risks with ‘might’. So it had to be the champagne.” He pronounced it almost like shampoo.

Slightly stunned Rufus stared at his most obnoxious Turk. Of course he knew Reno was damn good at what he did within his field of work but honestly he’d always seen him as mostly a thug. He hadn’t known Reno took such a specific and precise interest in his work and his respect for the Turks rose a fraction.

“Oh. Well. I suppose I’ve never thought of it quite like that. Very well, you get someone to clean up this mess and you are dismissed for the day. Good work. I’d offer you a drink but my best champagne” – he pronounced it carefully incase it might actually stick – “is soaking up in the carpets.”

“I’ll just go with a beer then, thanks boss.” Reno picked up a bottle of expensive – if by no way as expensive as the champagne – microbrew beer made a salute and dialled up cleaning service as Rufus moved his white clad ass to his second favourite office.

Once in the elevator Reno allowed himself a small wicked smile as he opened the bottle and drank, Rufus always insisted on a drink after a failed homicide attempt.

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    &   that, beloved     is read as…. 

          “ Fine—-e. ” 

    Observe that loud, miserably long, and with just the right amount of being mockingly mournful sighing from his lips because his intention at being heard had never been so obvious. That both hands should be thrown back, coming to fold together behind his head as a whirl in his steps then led him to the line of pretty bottles lining the drinking cabinet might as well be expected. Just . Be . Cause . I . Know – each accented mental consonance saw gaze shift from one poison to another. Both hands slipped back beneath pants pocket now that a small forward crouch was required for a better inspection. Observe that escaped snicker as well, for that was as much a fuck as Red would give the cautionary tone. 

        “ But yer should ta know, yer security is m’ top priority ‘ere yo.            Say if a rat sneak in, then m’ obliged to catch it. ”   

    There, escaped another snort. Voice dropped to a murmur, more wry this time. 

              “ Might as damn well with a hug. ”

Okay… he’s not going to push it.

            What later may promise,   h o w e v e r ,             is another kind of game           e n t i r e l y . 

    One bottle missing, two bottles missing, why don’t we just make it   t h r e e   and let’s call this a game? Do observe as a bottle is snatched out and see how   e a s y   Red has just made it look as he unscrews the cap and snatches from the shelf another two glasses as well. Compare him to a ballerina all you want, just be sure you ain’t never at the end of that kick. 

            Because.... b o y ,             how he could give a fast one. 

    “ Not always. ” Joival tone may have sound all the higher in pitch, but hardly was the redhead’s later action made any less like a damn frickin’ Turk when he drops those burn in front of the blond. “ How ‘bout... ” The chair was next to be drawn forward, and give an encouraging twist so that the length of arm could come resting across its back. Two missing bottles to make two shots being poured now-- ain’t that grand or what?

                    “ -- we play a game ‘ere? ”

this ship has the most nagging muse. smutty, btw.

Summary: Those flowers were ridiculously resilient.

“The Turks do not act on command, regardless the commander.

                    But that might be the talk                     for another time,   &                     e x e c u t e d                     on another day.

    They have created a whole new set of languages between them. ‘Yes’ could mean ‘No’, as ‘No’ could mean ‘Possibly’. Things either placed or demanded vocally are always checked against subtle gestures, deemed as holding more the truth than the wind they both breath.

    Between them, confirmation and contradiction always hangs in perfect balance until the moment one was given away by either an accidental glance, or a casual shifting of weight or the topic.

    And that is all fine and dandy with the redhead– this game. The excitement of constantly reaching beyond that imposed boundary keeps things in perspective for him. In a way, maybe thisisn’t just a game either.

    Had the smirk coyly playing upon lips just gone wider?

    Perhaps so. The gleam in baby-blue orbs as they peer past brightly lit lashes, fine fringes of vermilion seems nearly burning when caught by the sunlight, seems to suggest the same nonchalant stance opted in gait as thin shoulders roll back. “ Aw~w, dun be so cold ‘ere, boss. Cha know m’ only askin’ for the rescue ‘ere because of the said problem. ” He snickers, a sharp jerk of head given there to indicate the room Reno knows Tseng’s form would be occupying.  

              “ So, ain’t ya goin’ to tell me where’ve yer been?                 Or that’s a secret only for you and dot there? ”

Don’t be so cold? The world would surely come to an end were Rufus ever anything but. 

                                        ‘Why? Am I dousing your flame, redhead?’ 

No one better than the Ice Prince to smother Reno’s heat, after all. Most of the time it wasn’t even intentional. Careless banter thrown from crevice to corner; some harmless, some pushing just so for a reaction. Some so far past the line of ‘acceptable’ (which on its own was a questionable concept at best) that more lines ended up blurred than was ever intended. 

Most of the time it ended in a meeting of polar opposites; fire, meet ice. Ice, meet fire. Funny little and large differences that kept them both spectrums apart, but lent both understanding and confusion amidst that dizzying myriad. 

Rufus would have been lying if he ever claimed to fully understand Reno. The Turk was a tempest of vermillion murder topped off with a Reno-may-care attitude. Although most of the time it was : ‘Reno does not and probably never will care. Not sorry.’ The latter Rufus could grasp, but as for the rest of it…

                “It’s not my fault that you keep voluntarily walking right into said problems, Reno.                                                             …Leaping head first, even.” Rufus’s grin was a match for the redhead’s - barely there and barely lasting a moment, but about as voluntary as Rufus ever got to demonstrating emotion. 

As for where he’d been, however - 

                    It this meant to be a dare,                     a double dare ya,                             or...                     t r i p l e   the dare ‘ere?

    Because, you see, Red always gives as much as he gets-- sometimes, tripling the price even. Ask the late Don Corneo and fatso can always attest to that. All you’d ever need is just a bullet to the head, or just one Red on your tail.Think about it and make your pick.

    Should it be such a surprise then that the sharp snicker just slipping past pale lips would leave an after-image in the curve of lips, remaining as cocky as ever?

    Nah, there’s never dousing the flame. Where fire meets ice always bursts a jet of steam. Sometime people got caught up in the heat; sometimes people got hurt.

            Sometimes             people died.  

            No one is dying today.

    “ Call me a masochist. ” Had he sounded uninterested? Was the casual retort seem off-handed even? That’s probably about right because it was the impression he has wanted to give. Always with his upper body hunching forward and clothes that look like he has just landed himself a good ol’ tumblr, he was.

    But head had tipped back slightly just there, and the low timbre that had just escaped appeared to suggest strongly the same note observed in a pair of baby blue orbs. Make no mistake for there was a flame there, a backdraft that has yet to burst out. The door was kept close for the time, however, hidden beneath another flash of cocky grin as one callous hand stole up, the tip of thumb placed just so at the edge of the blond’s lip where a soft nudge of encouragement was given. With a small quirk of brow, another hand soon joined the first on the other side.

    “ Heard someone sayin’ if cha kept something in its place long ‘nough, it stays. Reckon m’ oughtta try? Sortta look nice on ya-- the smile. ” Make it so like you were appreciating a piece of art you have just made as well, why don’t you? So with a small nod and another smug grin would the hands draw back. Probably wasn’t going to stay that way...

    -- but it’s not like he can’t hope, eh?

              “ Yaya, miss you too, kid. Ain’t gettin’ no love note                  m’ afraid. Reckon either boss eat it or teeny                  misplace it. Costa, huh? ”

MERRY CHRISTMAS @flammefatale ! Guess who was your secret Santa~ Enjoy your present my dear!

Merry Christmas!!

ALSO AVAILABLE HERE ON A03

0008-Summer

“I see…yes I’ll be right there Mr. President” The cool slightly accented tone of the ex Wutain Turk ended the call and turned to his subordinates. They had successfully kept the President out of harm from Meteor but had a much bigger threat now. Something no one really understood just yet. Something was so very wrong with the president. At first the doctors had thought it a little more then a rash brought on by something in the air after the crash. They weren’t too far off. It was something much worse then a rash.

    So don’t mind him if he might just have helped himself to a pinch or two of those pale cheeks. Hell, he might have even added a small smooch to the tip of that dainty nose as well. “Ya ya, do me then, ya grump.” The redhead gives a soft snort as he releases both the grip and draw back, the same perpetual smirk playing knowingly across his lips as he places both hands on his hips.  

    “ Say, are yer goin’ ta rescue us ‘ere or not?       Chief’s been worryin’ sick ‘bout cha ‘n boi,        ain’ m glad for some fresh air. ”

However, were everything on Reno’s terms, that would turn every no into a yes, every screw up into a job well done and every invisible boundary crossed something that was somehow, unquestionably, okay. 

If Rufus was Reno’s royal-pain-in-the-ass, then Reno was the wild flame that spread throughout ShinRa unkindled, unchecked and untamed by anything.

Or, at least–

–Almost anything. 

There were certain reservations on Rufus’s part for this redhead. Looks and expressions kept in permanent reserve that nobody but said redhead was ever on the receiving end of. Tempered, careful sort of glances that spoke everything all at once without ever needing to be graced or aided by things as insignificant as words. 

                    But that might be the talk                     for another time,   &                     e x e c u t e d                     on another day. 

    They have created a whole new set of languages between them. ‘Yes’ could mean ‘No’, as ‘No’ could mean ‘Possibly’. Things either placed or demanded vocally are always checked against subtle gestures, deemed as holding more the truth than the wind they both breath. 

    Between them, confirmation and contradiction always hangs in perfect balance until the moment one was given away by either an accidental glance, or a casual shifting of weight or the topic. 

    And that is all fine and dandy with the redhead-- this game. The excitement of constantly reaching beyond that imposed boundary keeps things in perspective for him. In a way, maybe this isn’t just a game either. 

    Had the smirk coyly playing upon lips just gone wider? 

    Perhaps so. The gleam in baby-blue orbs as they peer past brightly lit lashes, fine fringes of vermilion seems nearly burning when caught by the sunlight, seems to suggest the same nonchalant stance opted in gait as thin shoulders roll back. “ Aw~w, dun be so cold ‘ere, boss. Cha know m’ only askin’ for the rescue ‘ere because of the said problem. ” He snickers, a sharp jerk of head given there to indicate the room Reno knows Tseng’s form would be occupying.  

              “ So, ain’t ya goin’ to tell me where’ve yer been?                 Or that’s a secret only for you and dot there? ”