RUDE .

art credit .

These were not made by me ( credit here ), but I wanted to share some of the Reno ones because they're gold.

MAKO REACTOR. PROPERTY OF SHINRA ELECTRIC COMPANY. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. Reno knew that there were secrets hidden in Nibelheim which turned the prodigal one-winged angel into an awol psycho. Reno had heard the rumours regarding polluted bodies of water adjacent to Mako reactors, supposedly altering the sex of wildlife who drank from the water. Mako was created from tapping into the lifestream, so could any real harm actually come from visiting all of the Mako reactors and living a lifetime in the heart of Mako pumping? Reno would not have called it harm —  quite the opposite.

Mako, magic, blessed witchcraft . . the redhead knew immediately that something was amiss. Even though he was severely groggy upon waking up, he felt heavy, heavier than all the times he had binged on massive street burritos at a terrible hour of night. Reno’s waking up routine typically involved kicking his legs up and rolling off the bed to land either in a push-up or on his side ( mood dependent ). There was no spring to his proverbial step. Legs nearly the size of tree logs swung over the edge of the bed, and like someone trying to will away their inebriation, Reno stared dumbly at his legs. Black boxers, muscular thighs, tan skin.

Hands moved to enter his field of vision, and the Turks inspected the large fists and muscular biceps of the partner he knew well. Reno knew his partner’s body like the back and front of his hands, capable of picking out a nude, or even clothed, picture in a lineup. I am drunk. I’m dreaming. I’m really fucking out of it. He fell back onto pillows and sheets that he realized then were not his own. The place smelled of Rude. I’m drunk. He didn’t feel drunk in the slightest, but there must have been times he thought the same while being inebriated. Hands jerked upwards to move through spiky red hairs only no hair greeted him.

At first, belly filled with panic, fearing his hair fell out. There was no hair. Rude did not have hair. Palms of hands moved down over his face, the face of his partner he knew so well, over naked torso and finally settled on his lap. Despite suddenly being three times larger, Reno jumped out of bed and rushed to the bathroom. It was his partner’s home, but it was his home, too, in a way, and he moved through it comfortably. There it was. There was Rude’s mug and brown eyes staring at him through the reflection of the mirror. Reno . . Rude, whatever was so massive he had to stand backwards to prevent the edge of the mirror from cutting off his reflection’s head.

Finger tips ran across bald head and chiseled chin before he lifted both of his arms upwards. He flexed, curling biceps and swiveling to and fro on his toes to really admire what the beef Rude worked with on a daily basis. Imagine being so tall, heads and shoulders over everyone else. Why didn’t the bald headed idiot show off more often? Reno had seen his partner more naked than he could count, but it was entirely different catching glances from the next shower stall over and actually being in his body. Naturally, the next thing Reno did was dip fingers under the band of his boxers and pulled the material down. A large breath inflated his chest, and shit, even that looked good.

Slowly, Reno took the heft of Rude’s flaccid dick ins his palms. he touched softly as though handling a fragile treasure. He committed this to memory. Palm ran along the shaft, then he lifted the flaccid cock upwards against muscular abdomen to cup and examine balls. He felt that familiar heat, and his partner’s cock began twitching to life. Rude stroked himself one, twice, and stopped. The Turk was no moral person by any means, but it felt as though he was taking advantage of his friend . . getting off in his body by his body.

Even if Reno went down that slippery slope, no other jerk off session in the future could compare. Reno had to force his hands away. He stepped out of his boxers on the way out of the bathroom and searched the nightstand for Rude’s comm device. Did he call himself? He flipped open the device, scrolled through the latest calls, and clicked on his own name. It rang, rang, rang, and the phone call connected. Reno in Rude’s body had to clear his voice; even that sounded bizarre.

                                 (  ❛  Uh . .  Rude . . How’s your mornin’ going?  ❜  )

" Oh, fuck me. . . " The more his mind returns, the more he's noticing discrepancies. For one, he's never been this pasty. He could always reach the top shelf, and last he checked, he's got no fucking hair. So these red locks? He doesn't got to the mirror for a long while. He drinks the coffee in silence, a sweet tooth today. Odd, but not impossible. He knows what's going on, more or less. He stands in that kitchen, buck naked and exhaling, slowly. Rude goes to the mirror, scowling when every suspicion was made true. " Damn it. " He cusses, pulling put the phone from the mattress covers and calling Hojo for an emergency appointment.

Rude gets dressed, to the best of his ability, he's working with Reno's closet, after all. He has to keep his wits about him. Rude needs to keep himself under control, but by fucking Minerva, he feels. . unsound. Like all the time he spent finding his rhythm, keeping himself razor sharp, focused and ready is just not there. He feels as if there's nothing under him, the lead that kept him sturdy's gone. The hop in his step was foreign, the lightness it felt, the taste of gristle and rum, the bit of chocolate on his lips mixed with cherry, and his nipples are fucking freezing because someone doesn't have buttons!

Before Rude gets to the door, his phone rings. Oh, and he finally answers the phone! Ten calls. Reno, er,. . . Rude prys the door open. No need to answer, he's already here. How's your mornin' going? He says. How does he think it's going?

RUDE GOES FOR THE THROAT . . . No, no. Rude stops. A finger pointing in accusation.