Slash, One-shot Reno and Rude have a conversation while laying on a car under the stars. Fluff.
Constructive criticism is desired and appreciated.
“Hey, Rude,” Reno started, like always. “Have you ever wondered what stars think about before they die?”
“…What?” Rude asked.
“Well, think about it for a minute; all the stars we see in the sky are dead, right?” Reno said, sitting up. “They do have a lifespan, it’s just we only see them like, what, eight minutes after they’ve died? Anyway, do you think they have thoughts or any goals?”
“…No…” Rude said carefully. This conversation was starting to make him wonder about the stars he and his partner were laying under.
“I’ve always thought it would be really depressing to be a star,” the redhead began again, hugging his legs up to his chest. “To not be noticed at all when I’m alive…only be looked at when I’m dead. Even then, people would probably never look just at me.
No one would ever talk to me, unless I was their ‘wishing star’ thing, but I always thought that would suck, too. I mean, people consider those stars to be their friends, right? What kind of friendship is it when all you do is take and the other person just gives?”
Rude wasn’t sure what to say. Was Reno hinting at something? Was trying to tell him that he felt burdened by him? The older man felt incredibly uncomfortable.
“Wow, that was a monolog, eh, Rude?” Reno laughed, poking his boyfriend with his elbow. “I have no idea where that came from! So, anything you wanted to talk about?”
“…Were you trying to tell me I take too much from you?”
“What? No, I was just telling you what I was thinking about.”
Reno laid back down next to Rude on the car. He looked sidelong to his companion, letting a contented sigh escape his thin chest. He folded his hands, which were a little cold, over his stomach, then tilted his head so it would touch Rude’s shoulder.
Rude gave Reno’s red hair an affectionate ruffle. He couldn’t look at the stars the same way after what Reno had just said about them. As he waited for the younger Turk’s words to fade in his mind and the stars to return to their normal appearance, he turned his gaze down to their feet. His own were dangling a little uncomfortably off the nose of the car, but Reno’s were able to stay on. In fact, shoes off, the redhead only came up to just an inch or two above Rude’s elbow.
“You’re really short,” Rude said.
Reno swiftly sat up and punched Rude quite hard in the stomach. He laid back down, arms crossed and he now wore an angry expression. Rude stifled a laugh. He tried to kiss Reno’s neck.
“You’re not worthy,” the redhead growled.
Reno rolled over, arms still crossed. Rude rolled over, too, looking at the red ponytail he’d been itching to play with for a while. He played with the very tips of the soft hair. Reno had a few split ends. A tiny part of Rude was envious of those split ends.
When Rude had hair, he’d always kept it cut to about half a centimeter’s length. He secretly wished he’d enjoyed it more. He ran his fingers through the long strands of red goodness, then Reno tried swatting his hand away.
“Don’t touch me,” Reno said, as he smoothly plucked Rude’s sunglasses off of his face and tossed them into nearby gravel.
Rude listened for a crunch. One came, confirming that they’d broken. He bowed his head in a moment of silence for them, then put on their successor. He slipped an arm under Reno and pulled him into a cuddle.
“You’re cold,” Rude said lovingly. “I’m keeping you warm.”
“You called me short!”
Reno fought him, wiggling violently, but Rude was stronger and maintained his grasp. He nibbled the younger Turk’s earlobe and rubbed his tummy. After a few repetitions, Reno melted, snuggling into his larger partner.
“This is only because you’re chubby and warm,” he half-heartedly said.
“…Did you just call me chubby?”
“Hey, Rude?” Reno started. “Have you ever wondered who the first person to ever swear was?”
“Nice subject change,” Rude said flatly.
“Well, who decided that some words are swears? Why so few? What made those words so perfect for the occasions in which we need to say something harsh and dramatic?”
“I would imagine that the desire to have an outlet for anger is part of human nature.”
“That makes sense,” Reno said, nodding. “Keep nibbling.”
Rude smirked, rolling his eyes. His nibbling resumed and Reno gave a happy sigh.
“Feel free to keep giving me the belly rub,” the younger man suggested. Rude obeyed. “So, have you ever stopped and wondered what a ‘douche bag’ actually is?”
“…Not until right now.”
“I was thinking about that last night. Nibble. How did it become an all-purpose insult? It’s like the counterpart to the phrase ‘no offense.’ You can say anything you want as long as you tack on ‘no offense’ to it. You can also call anybody a ‘douche bag’ and be totally cool with them twenty seconds later.”
Rude was enjoying this sample of what went on in his young lover’s head. He really didn’t know anything about Reno. He knew his age and birthday, what kind of car he drove, what kind of oral healthcare brand he preferred and what kind of dog he had and that was it. He’d hoped he’d learn more since they’d moved in together, but that wish wasn’t coming true.
“You’re a smart person, Reno,” Rude said.
“Really? I feel like I’m at about average intelligence. Oh, it pissed me off yesterday; Alton, you know, that wimpy guy from accounting, he came into the bookstore and I was there reading and he goes ‘Hi, Reno! Hey, I didn’t know you could read! Good for you! I really support adult education.’”
“What did you do?” Rude asked, surprised. He saw Reno read all the time.
“I punched him in the mouth in the parking lot. He spit out five teeth. I’m going to make a necklace out of them.”
“Good for you.”
“Yes, good for me.”
It was getting colder. Rude wished he’d brought a hat. That was the problem with autumn; it could be nice out all day, but come nightfall, it cooled way down. Reno was wedging himself further into his bald partner and Rude cuddled the redhead closer for warmth. He didn’t want to go home; he was afraid that Reno wouldn’t keep talking to him like this if they left this ballpark field.
“Hey, Rude? I’m getting really cold; you want to head home?”
“…Might as well,” Rude said reluctantly. “The dogs are probably wondering where we are.”
“Yeah,” Reno said, hopping down off the hood. “Well, whoever owns this has a very nice car.”
“Indeed they do. You remember where we parked?”
“…Not so much.”
They sauntered off into the darkness, with Rude pushing the button on his remote to flash his truck’s lights. Once found, they got in, cranked the heat up and drove off, leaving the owner of the sixty-seven green Mustang to wonder how a couple tiny dents had gotten onto the hood of his car.