Caro blog…

Sei stato riesumato per il COWT ma non farti illusioni lol

Gatta nera bimba bianca

Per il COWT12, uno spin off delle mie best girls Thalia e Carol. NSFW per colpa di un paio di righe fra le lemnzuola.

Prompt: “gatto nero”

Gatta nera bimba bianca

Questa dannata pioggia non finirà mai, cazzo. 

Thalia bestemmia, infilando per l’ennesima volta il piede in una delle mille pozzanghere del selciato pieno di buche. Forse dovrebbe guardare in giù, invece di fissare il cielo che incombe grigio su via Torta. 

Quasi a casa. Attorno a lei la gente cammina veloce, a testa china, grondandole acqua addosso; la strada è diventata un tetto di ombrelli sgocciolanti, la pioggia le incolla al cranio i capelli, ciocche rosa minipony, gonfie d’acqua le penzolano davanti agli occhi.

Tempo di merda. Fa sempre così a novembre, e sogna già di levarsi gli anfibi, lanciare i calzini bombi in un angolo e farsi un maledetto the. Magari con un po’ di rum dentro, se Lars ne ha ancora. Volta la testa, distratta dal vocìo di un gruppo di ragazzetti rincantucciati sotto il balcone sporgente del palazzo Malavolta. un paio ha in mano dei sanpietrini strappati al selciato, fanno circolo attorno a qualcosa, o qualcuno.

Assetati di sangue, anche lei era così a quell’età, e col tempo non è migliorata di certo. Allunga il collo per capire cosa stiano combinando, non vede nessuno dietro il muro delle loro schiene assiepate, macchiate da lunghi righi d’acqua. Poi sente un grido. Un lamento.

Un miagolio?

I bastardelli hanno intrappolato un gatto tutto nero, giocano al tiro al bersaglio con i sassi; quello non riesce a scappare fra le loro gambe e si è addossato al muro sudicio del palazzo, la schiena inarcata nel tentativo di sembrare minaccioso. Ma è solo patetico, un topogatto zuppo d’acqua che sta per incontrare la sua fine.

“Ma non avete niente di meglio da fare, teste di cazzo?”

Si voltano in tre o quattro; un aggeggio con il cranio rasato e ciuffi di capelli arancioni attorno alle orecchie fa atterrare uno sputo ai suoi piedi. “Cosa vuoi sorellina? Un po’ di uccello?” Si mette una mano al cavallo dei jeans laceri, spinge il bacino nella sua direzione con un sorrisetto invitante.

“Ah perchè ce l’hai?” Thalia gli ride in faccia, prendendolo per un orecchio trapassato in più punti da barrettte di metallo. Gli altri si agitano, ma si calmano subito quando Thalia tira fuori il coltello a farfalla e lo apre con tre scatti secchi del polso. Uno di loro estrae un Opinel ridicolo sfregiato da puntini di ruggine, lei scopre i denti e gli punta in faccia il palmo di lama scintillante del suo, quello fa un passo indietro.

“Cavatevi dal cazzo.”

Quelli se ne vanno borbottando e trascinando i piedi, c’è anche il fratello di Gaia, deve dirle qualcosa.

Il gatto invece resta lì, tutto zuppo, il pelo nero appiccicato al corpo. Se non scappa quelli ricominceranno non appena lei se ne sarà andata.

“Scappa, bestia, sei libero.” Il gatto la guarda, ha gli occhi giallo scuro, enormi , tutti pupilla. Muove la punta della coda su e giù contro il marciapiede bagnato ma non si muove. “Hey, allora? Meglio che vai, capito?”

Il gatto non capisce, non si muove e la fissa, tremando dalla punta delle orecchie aguzze al culetto addossato al muro. Apre la bocca per soffiare, ma senza convinzione, quando Thalia allunga una mano davanti al suo muso.

Poco più di un cucciolo.

“Hai freddo muci muci?” Si accoccola davanti a lui, allunga di più la mano finché non l’appoggia sul pelo gelido e bagnato. “Non ce l’hai una casina?”

Il gatto volta la testa di scatto e la morde, una stretta di avvertimento, i canini che pungono senza affondare davvero nella pelle. “Suvvia muci, sei un ingrato. Ti ho appena salvato le chiappette.” Lui apre la bocca lentamente, lecca dove prima aveva morso.

“Così va meglio muci. Buona strada. Vai via veloce.”

Il gatto piega la testa come se la stesse ascoltando; lei gli fa un mezzo sorriso, riprendendo a camminare verso casa. Ferma davanti al portone del palazzo dei Radicali, frugando nelle tasche alla ricerca della chiave magnetica, all’improvviso si sente osservata. Volta la testa e il gatto è lì, fermo in mezzo ai piedi in movimento della gente, la coda dritta come una bandiera.

“Ma che, mi hai seguita? Speri in un’adozione alla volée? Non ce la posso fare, muci, sono pessima per queste cose.”  Passa la chiave sul lettore, si appoggia con tutto il peso al portone per aprirlo. il gatto salta sullo scalino dell’ingresso, si scrolla via l’acqua dal pelo e le sguscia tra le gambe infilandosi nell’androne.

“Oh, gatto? Ma vedi te-” Il portone sbatte alle sue spalle, facendola trasalire. Troppo concentrata su quegli occhi tondi e gialli. Il gatto fa un miagolio tenero e viene a strusciarsi contro il suo anfibio. “Sei proprio un ruffiano eh? Per oggi puoi restare, così ti scaldi un po’, ma domani ognuno per la sua strada, ok?”

“Per prima cosa accendiamo la stufetta.” Ma guarda che cretina, ridotta a parlare con le bestie. Il gatto continua a seguirla mentre si aggira per la stanza soppalcata che chiama casa, lanciando a terra vestiti bagnati. Acchiappa l’asciugamano e si tampona i capelli zuppi. Il gatto la guarda e fa un mezzo verso. “Vuoi un’asciugata anche tu?” Lo acchiappa con una mano sotto la pancia, lui la lascia fare senza alzare un’unghia. “Siamo amici?”

Il gatto non risponde, ma inizia a fare dei rumorini soddisfacenti mentre lo avvolge tutto nella spugna gialla, strofinandogli il pelo per asciugarlo il più possibile. E’ leggero, e caldo contro il petto; quando lo rimette a terra, il pelo nero è sollevato in mille punte soffici e lui sembra raddoppiato di volume. Va a piazzarsi di fronte alla stufetta, la coda arrotolata sui piedini, lasciandosi arrostire dalle serpentine incandescenti.

Sembra a casa.

E probabilmente lo è, tant’è che il giorno dopo lei non ci pensa nemmeno a mandarlo fuori.

Tanto più che piove ancora, peggio del giorno prima. Mangiano insieme, sardine dalla scatola e cracker stantii per colazione. Lui le si accoccola in grembo, quando Thalia si siede sul letto, schiena contro i cuscini, per iniziare a dirimere la sua persona pubblica nella rete.

“Muci. Come ti chiamiamo?” E in quel momento capisce che è fottuta, perché se gli dà un nome sarà suo per sempre. E del resto in due giorni è già diventato parte del suo mondo, e il cuore le si squaglia un pochino in petto quando lo trova ad aspettarla accanto alla porta, ogni volta che rientra a casa. “Che ne dici di Carlo?”

Come il suo primo fidanzato, quello che l’ha portata qui dalla Grecia in fiamme. Gli deve tutto e lui non chiede mai niente; ma a lui piacciono più giovani, molto più di quanto lei sia ora. Continuano a vedersi spesso, per una birra da vecchi amici.

Il gatto la guarda con la testa inclinata, occhi grandi di un gialllo così scuro da sembrare quasi marrone, picchiettato di scintille d’oro. Una panterina morbida come un sogno, soda e muscolosa sotto il pelo lucido. 

“Ok, allora Carlo.”

Il gatto strizza gli occhi un paio di volte e le struscia la testa contro la mano.

“Meglio se la chiami Carol.” Lars fa ondeggiare un cavo sopra il naso di Carlo, zampine veloci lo colpiscono con una serie di schiaffetti, facendolo ondeggiare. Lars alza il balocco all’improvviso e Carlo.

Carol?

Spicca un balzo pazzo rivoltandosi per aria e atterrando sulla schiena, un altro e un altro ancora, finchè Lars non lo blocca mettendogli una mano addosso. Con l’altra alza la codina, il gatto fa un miagolio sdegnato e si rivolta, soffiando. “Vedi ha due buchini? Quello sopra è la fichetta, quello sotto il culo. I maschi hanno le palle. Pelose.” Ridacchia e molla Carlo. Carol, che inizia a girare su se stessa velocissima, cercando di acchiapparsi la coda. 

“Non me ne intendo, mai avuto un animale, prima.” 

Lars ridacchia. “Io sono un ragazzo di campagna. E comunque è lei che ha te.Ora.”

Se ne rende conto abbastanza presto, quando inizia a pensare a Carol con una frequenza inquietante, aspettando di arrivare a casa per prenderla in braccio e coccolarla tutta. Alle volte si spinge perfino dal macellaio ai margini di S. Ambrogio per raccattarle frattaglie gustose. Felice di farla felice, contenta di sentire le sue fusa rimbombanti contro la cassa toracica mentre cura le sue mille Thalia-identità inutili. 

Thalia quella vera è qui, stringendo fra le braccia una panterina rombante.

Finché un giorno, quando riesce finalmente a raggiungere casa dopo una mattinata impossibile,  non trova Carol seduta ad aspettarla vicino alla porta. Né in alcun angolo del microlocale, non accovacciata sopra ai panni sporchi, non stiracchiata al sole sul davanzale della finestra che dà su via Torta. 

Anzi, quella finestra è aperta.

Spalanca la porta e vola giù per le scale, poi in strada. “Carol? Muci muci?” Ma Carol non è in vista e sente il suo cuore sbriciolarsi. La cerca sotto ogni auto e dietro tutti i cassonetti. Chiede di lei a Lars e Vinyl e Gaia e il vinaio della piazzetta e la signora con l’edicola di giornali e giocattoli. Nessuno ha visto una gatta nera con gli occhi belli. 

Niente. 

Chiama Carol e cammina, cammina e chiama Carol,  guardando in ogni buco e in ogni anfratto, allargando man mano il raggio delle sue ricerche fino a Beccaria, un macigno di paura che le cresce piano piano nello stomaco. 

Niente. 

“Carol! Dove accidenti sei finita?” Gira la testa, puntando lo sguardo sui muretti e sotto le siepi. Si sta alzando dopo aver controllato l’ennesimo sportellino del gas e qualcuno la urta, la fa sbattere contro una jeep parcheggiata male. Una mano grande si stringe attorno al suo braccio e la tiene miracolosamente in piedi

“Hey!”

“Scusaー” Alza gli occhi su un viso scuro, difeso da occhiali da sole allungati; un sorriso bianco, spalle larghe e una Fruit grigia con le maniche tagliate a scoprire braccia muscolose. Capelli neri fitti di riccioli, raccolti in una coda paffuta al colmo della testa. 

“Tutto a posto?”

Scuote la testa. Niente, niente è a posto se Carol si è persa. Ci vede male attraverso le lacrime che le riempiono gli occhi, ma la sconosciuta ha una faccia buona e placida. 

“Hai perso qualcosa?” 

“Carolー” 

La tizia solleva le sopracciglia. “Ci conosciamo?”

“Eh?”Che domanda è?

“Carol sono io.”

“Davvero??” Thalia si asciuga gli occhi con la manica della felpa verdolina, guarda fisso la sconosciuta ma non l’ha mai vista in giro. Eppure conosce quasi tutti qui attorno. “Carol è anche la mia gatta. E si è persa.”

“Oh mi dispiace.” La tipa aggrotta le sopracciglia. “Ti aiuto a cercarla se vuoi.”

Vagano per un pezzo. Carol parla poco e sorride molto. Si è trasferita da Costa il mese scorso, fa l’imbianchino; il verde oliva dei suoi pantaloni militari è costellato di schizzi multicolori. La gatta non si trova da nessuna parte; è una decisione difficile da prendere ma forse è il momento di arrendersi.

“Senti, lasciamo perdere. Magari intanto è già tornata a casa. Posso offrirti un bubble tea?”

“Conosci un buon posto?” 

Carol (la gatta) non è a casa quando fanno ritorno a notte fonda, ubriache come pesci, ridendo forte. E non si mostra nemmeno nei giorni successivi. Carol (la tipa) invece si fa vedere spesso, porta alcol e fiori. Un giorno arriva carica di barattoli di vernice e le ridipinge di tutti i colori i muri rovinati del microlocale.

Finchè una sera Carol si accovaccia fra le sue  gambe aperte, e Thalia inarca la schiena alle carezze ruvide della sua lingua contro il clitoride, aggrappandosi alle lenzuola stropicciate, piantandosi i denti nel labbro per non urlare.

Carol le infila due dita nella fica fradicia e spinge, fino in fondo e lei singhiozza e spinge il bacino contro la sua bocca che la mangia tutta e la risputa, sudata e ansimante, esistendo solo per contrarsi in spasimi che le cavano l’anima attorno a quelle dita.

Carol fa un sorriso lento, un’ultima leccata, fissa nei suoi quegli occhi d’oro e nocciola.

“Tu.” Ansima. Senza fiato. E quasi vede orecchie nere e appuntite spuntare fra i riccioli densi di Carol. “Tu sei il mio gatto.” 

“Eh?”

“Non importa” Che stupidaggini.” Si lascia cadere all’indietro contro il cuscino, cerca ancora lo sguardo di Carol.

“Miao.“ risponde Carol, sporgendosi per incontrare le sue labbra.

Midnight ball

Per il COWT12, una RdRn minific (super rough ma così vanno le cose ultimamente chez the unlikely) ambientata più o meno durante l’arco di Before Crisis/Crisis Core.

Prompt: “vestirsi di viola” “dressing in purple”

TW: Canon typical violence, smut, gay people loving each other too much <3<3<3. I’m not sure if it’s an MCD tag, feel free to choose your fave flavor for the murder husbands.

Midnight ball

“It will be an easy one.” This is what Veld said. “I hope you will enjoy. It is going to be something grand.”

Reno’s eyes lit up at the thought of the open bar, only to burn in spite as he heard that he had to dress up as a woman. Again. Probably his little number of a couple of months ago hadn’t been enough. 

“You must be kidding me, boss.” He whined, raking a hand through his messy hair. “My feet are still hurting.”

“I’m not, Reno. You two will be much less conspicuous this way. And I’m sorry about your precious toes, but this is what the job requests.” Veld’s smile was sharp, but he spotted a shade of enjoyment in the curve of his lips. As if he couldn’t wait to see Rena in action. As if this thing appalled Veld  a little too much.

Well, Reno in femme was something to behold; softened by makeup, his slim face became eerily cute, and fierce at the same time, a girl warrior. Rude imagined he could fall in love with him if he was a woman, instead of his loud mouthed partner. Maybe.

Maybe even have children with her. Provided they didn’t inherit his obnoxious character.

“You said it was going to be an easy one, boss.” retorted Reno, rummaging for the cigarettes in his inner pocket . 

“Carefulness is never enough. The outfits will be delivered in Rude’s quarters the day of the party.” Veld winked and walked out of the open office, leaving Reno and him speechless. 

As Veld said, the outfits were delivered the afternoon before the party, wrapped in luxurious black lined bags. For him a snazzy black tuxedo, with purple lining and stitching, a high collared white shirt, closed by pearls buttons, and the most magnificent tie Rude had ever seen. Made with handspun silk, with spiralling motifs in violet and blue, so dark to be almost indistinguishable unless in full light. 

Reno refused to show him his cocktail dress and shoes, and hung the bag into the wardrobe with a mischievous smile. “In due time you will be allowed to see it.” Then he headed to the bathroom, shedding his suit on his way. 

“You’re a jerk!” He retorted, but Reno had closed the door already. 

A long nice shower later, Rude is standing in front of the long mirror by the door of his room, wrapping said tie around his neck. Savoring its slickness against the costly fabric of the shirt. 

Sprawled on the bed, still bundled up in one of Rude’s white tees, damp hair falling over his face, Reno is playing a very noisy game on his console. He’s naked underneath, Rude licks his lips at the sight of the sweet curve of his ass that peeps out of the tee hem, and has to struggle to focus on his tie again.

“You should start to dress up, or we will be late for the grooming session.” 

“There’s still plenty of time.” Reno dangles his crossed leg at the rhythm of the  quick music of the videogame, eyes crossed, the tip of his tongue pokes out of his lips. But in a couple of minutes he abandons the console among the messy sheets and saunters to the wardrobe. Rude’s tee sways around his slight body, leaving bare his long, defined legs. His red hair is tied in a small bun on the nape of his neck. A ballerina of doom, poised for destruction.

And he is sure that Reno’s aiming at him.

At least this is the impression, as Reno leans languidly against the wardrobe door with the consummate ability of an actor, and extracts the black bag. Rude surveys him in the mirror, still holding the ends of the tie, as Reno opens the Velcro straps one by one. Then he turns to him; Rude keeps on wrapping the silky strip in a Windsor knot, as if he hadn’t been spying on him since the start.

“I can see you aibō.” Reno sounds like utter mischief. “You look quite sharp, it pleases me.”

He chuckles, turning to look directly at him. “Why don’t you wear your dress too? So that <i>I</i> can see as well.”

“You’re getting a bit too much enjoyment from this damn thing, for my tastes. You and Veld.” Reno grumbles, but his narrow eyes glint in amusement as he lays the bag on the bed. “Outta here, dumbass, it must be a fucking surprise.”

“”Let me finish this.” His hands work quicker on the tie, pulling gently the slick fabric, he inserts the right end into the knot, pulls it evenly against his neck, folds down the tips of the collar and calls it a day. 

Reno is at his back already, pushing him out of the room. “Don’t you dare to get inside until I have finished.”

He just shrugs, not willing to give Reno any kind of satisfaction, but he’s curious as a damn monkey. The last time that Veld asked Reno to act as a woman, he chose for him a luxuriously long midnight blue siren dress, complete with high heeled sandals of the same color. Rude recalls Reno’s strained moans as he fucked him upright, face pressed against the wood of the door, legs trembling on the pedestal of his shoes. He’s hoping for the same mission output this time, to be honest, as he switches on the kitchenette hood and lights up a cigarette. That would be perfect, he loved smearing Reno’s red lipstick all over that triangular chin. Mellow and messy, the makeup staining his cheek with black lines as he cried in pleasure.

Something stirs in his belly, not the best timing for these kind of thoughts, he should be focusing on his job only, on the best way to keep the Vice President safe as he tries to milk Gil out of the richest families in Midgar for his damn foundation. What was its name then?

He couldn’t remember, he can’t care less. He just keeps his eyes trained on the door of his room, as if he could open it with just his mind and have a full view of what’s happening inside. He just can hear rustling of fabric, and a small “fuck” of awe from his partner.

It seems to last forever, although he’s still smoking, as finally the door creaks open, and Reno calls him. “You can come.”

“For real?” He’s chuckling as he gets inside, caressing the bulge of his cock under the slacks. Reno’s eyes widen at the gesture, his probably widen more, at the sight of his partner. 

The dress is violet and slick, falling artfully on Reno’s lean figure, wide sleeves leave his forearm bare, the front hem caresses his thighs well above the bony knees. The back is longer and flutters gently down to his calves. Rude follows their clean lines, down to Reno’s feet, trapped into black pumps with steel stilettos, and starts to salivate.

“How do I look?” Reno twirls, offering him the back, and the sight of the rope-like muscles of his back, exposed by the deep V neckline that reaches down below his waist, almost to the crack of his ass.

It takes him a couple of heartbeats to regain his speech again. “Like one million Gil, I swear.”

“Ohooooo, so you’re sensitive aibō.” Reno bites ho lower lip, looking at him through half closed lids. “Wait until you’ve seen the panties.”

He feels his ears take fire and runs the palms of his hands across the length of Reno’s taut thighs bunching up gently the violet fabric, so soft. It feels like heaven is gathered in his palms. Pale violet lace encases Reno’s cock, hung on the bumps of  on his hipbones by shiny silken strings. He hooks them with his forefingers, following their lead, to where they join together on the small of Reno’s ass, together with a third that runs through the crack between his cheeks. He pushes Reno against his body, grinding their cocks together, pulling at that silken rope, up and down against Reno’s asshole. 

Reno gasps, parting his lips, he’s quick at pushing the tongue inside his mouth, playing with Reno’s tongue, soft and squishy and warm. Reno lowers his eyelids and hooks his arms around Rude’s neck, pulling him down, pressing his body against Rude’s, cocooning him in the heady mint of his body wash, and the venomous flowers of his hair cream. 

He’s so good that Rude would like to eat him whole, savoring every bite on his tongue, but time is always a tyrant and he has time to taste just one bit, so he must choose wisely. Rude has no doubt and seals Reno’s mouth with a last sloppy kiss, before kneeling between his parted legs. He licks slowly Reno’s cock, through the flimsy fabric of the panties, leaving a wet trail on the lace.

“Aibō- uh.” Reno pants harder as he pulls again the g string, a sweet friction against his crack, that makes Reno’s back arch in his hand. He bites at the panties , pulling them down, the tip of Reno’s cock peers out of the hem. He kisses it, filling his nostrils with Reno’s scent, fresh and musky, sucks at it gently and finally takes it in his mouth. Up and down he strokes it with his wet lips and his tongue, feeling it harden in his mouth, and Reno’s breath increases its pace. Reno whimpers as he squishes his balls in his hands, increasing the depth of his work, feeling warmth building up in his belly, and the slack suddenly tight against his stiff cock. He moans around Reno’s cock, as the tip touches the back of his mouth, making him gag, squeezing tears out of the corners of his eyes. Spit runs down his chin, he gathers it with two fingers and pushes circles against the tight ring of Reno’s asshole.

A long whine leaves Reno’s lips, when he inserts the first knuckles, stretching gently, pushing Reno forward to fuck deeper his mouth. He gags some more before being able to pace his breath with Reno’s thrusts, his partner started hesitant but now every push brings his auburn crotch hair flush with Rude’s nose.

Then suddenly Reno stops moving, and pulls out of his mouth, struggling to turn around in his hold. “Fuck me. Fuck me aibō.”

Rude grunts, pushing deeper his fingers inside Reno’s ass. “We’d make a mess of our outfits..” He licks Reno’s gland eliciting a whiny moan out of those rosy lips. “When we’re back tonight I swear I will wreck your ass.”

“Is that a promise?” Reno pants, caressing the shaved curve of his head.

“It’s a threat. Now, you fuck me.” And he swallows Reno’s cock again, moving his head up and down at killer speed. Reno grabs his head and pushes back and for a weirdly long moment there’s nothing but their mixed moans filling the air, and the perfect girth of Reno’s cock filling his mouth, making him whimper in pleasure and drool against his flesh.

“Ah-aibō.” Reno trembles, clinging to his skull, his hot cock pulsates harshly and cum fills Rude’s mouth. He chokes, out of breath, struggling to swallow without making a mess of them both, feeling it trickle down his chin anyway. With a cupped hand he tries to save the situation, feeling the stickiness smear over his chin. Some drops fall, missing the front of his shirt by sheer miracle. Reno’s cock plops out of his mouth with a wet sound, landing on the palm of his hand, Reno staggers, holding onto his shoulders, cock twitching as he licks it clean, getting more bothered at every swipe of his tongue. He’s so hard in his boxers, now, that he’s afraid his cock might explode, but tugs Reno’s back into the lace panties, anyway. Reno’s head drops, falling against his.

“You must be crazy.”

He feels a smug smile creeping up on his lips. “You’re too good. I couldn’t resist.”

Reno chuckles hoarsely. “Sometimes it feels like I don’t deserve you, aibō.”

“It’s probably true, but never mind. I’m happy to serve.” And it’s true, he’s slave. Slave to Reno although non one has to know. Not even him.

Reno’s steps are dancing, as they stride down the dormitory hall, down to the main office where someone will doll them up. He walks a step behind Reno, filling his eyes with the gracious sway of his ass inside that billowing dress, with the paleness of his nervous back adorned by smatters of pale freckles. Reno’s ankles look thinner than ever in those black pumps, the gracious curves of his malleoli just perfect against the matte leather. 

He balances perfectly on the thin blades of his stilettos, once more Rude is left to wonder where his partner could have learned that subtle art. 

The purple of the dress clashes so nicely with his red hair, a match made in hell, the color combo of madness. Mamà used to say. He doesn’t know anything, only that Reno makes him crazy, and daring, like he’s never been before in his life.

His partner.

Tonight they’re even color coordinated. Partners to the farthest limit. A nice tingle invades his body, he likes that. He likes that they’re so tightly bound, and everyone knows. And probably wonders about the depth of their relationship.

It’s as deep as Reno’s tight ass, probably. As deep as Rude can reach with his cock to make his partner scream.

They cross Freyra on their way to the Auditing Office, she casts an incredulous look at Reno’s attire and then smirks. “Looking hot, senpai.

Reno laughs. “Everything for the sake of the job.” 

He laughs too and wraps a possessive arm around Reno’s narrow waist, staring at her behind the shield of his dark shades. Reno leans against him like the sweetest of fiancees, and everything is so perfect that he’d cry.

Tonight he’s allowed to get public with his displays of affection. More so if Reno looks like a girl, and the two of them like one of the many couples enjoying their night out. 

He will have room to make his moves, it’s for the sake of the mission. 

Reno keeps on taunting him for the whole trip to the venue. They got a nice red porsche from the Shinra’s  array of cars and he speeds along the streets, lazy hands on the steering wheel, casting glances at Reno sprawled in the passenger seat. His partner keeps on lifting the skirt of his dress, to bother him with his white thighs, and of the tip of his cock peering out of the lacey panties. He’s succeeding perfectly in his intent.

Then the fabric raises a bit more, and Rude catches a glimpse of the white round scars scattered on his belly. A wave of nausea rises up his throat as he recalls the VP’s coming of age speech, that never took place, and the sight of Reno wheezing, curled up in his own blood, after taking himself the bullets meant for Rufus.

Tonight’s ball will take place in the Main Hall, again, and again it will be an event in honor of the Vice President. The blood freezes in his veins for a moment, his fingers grip tighter the steering wheel. That had been too close, really.

As too many jobs during their short career.

No Turk has the illusion of getting old, it’s becoming unnerving being so affectionate to one of them.

Reno turns in his direction. “You ok, aibō?”

He just nods, looking straight out of the windshield, refusing to reciprocate his partner’s gaze. Trying to think only about Veld’s words. “It’s going to be an easy one.”

He’s still uneasy as he lets the car key fall in the hand of an usher, and leads Reno inside the venue.

But he soon forgets, as the crowd surrounds them, in the sparkle of jewels and silky dresses. They hover around the VP, as a couple of VIP guests coming from afar. He keeps his eyes trained on Rufus’s surroundings and his hands over Reno. His fingers playing with the curls of his long blond wig that makes him look like an eerie creature from another world. 

But the feeling of Reno’s small taser through their clothes, stuck into the garter on his left leg, always brings him back to reality. They’re partners, bodyguards, assassins. This is a job, not a party with his hot boyfriend.

After many speeches are given, there’s a final toast,. He’s clinking his glass against Reno’s when someone pushes his partner and some drops of red wine spill from his slim glass on his white shirt.

Reno chuckles. “Sorry aibō.”

He says nothing, touches his balls against misfortune through the fabric of his pocket and sips his drink.

The party is about to end, already. An easy one, as Veld promised. It would have been boring, wasn’t it for Reno making snide comments by his side at every woman crossing their path. To Rude it seemed that he was always right, that Reno was actually the most beautiful girl in the venue, wasn’t it that he is a man.

As he’s leaving their glasses on the tray of a waiter, the first shot rips the air. 

Without a second thought, Reno kicks away his high heels and starts running in the direction of the commotion, taser already in hand. They fend through the panicking attendees until out of the blue someone’s aiming a gun at them

He just grabs Reno by the wrist and flings him aside, shielding him with his body.

The pain in his chest breaks him apart, the boom of of the gunshot numbs his ears.

He falls, Reno yells his name.

The sizzling of the EMR fills his ears then dies to nothing.