FicWad

disclaimer- dont own the boys. merely borrowing for a bit. no profit made




There wasn't enough alcohol to deaden his indignity, not enough on the planet.
Though, that didn't stop Reno from trying. A graveyard of bottles and glasses littered the table in front of him. The barmaid had stopped trying to collect the empties as Reno was belligerently defensive of his battle trophies, and no one wanted to tussle with a drunk Turk. The bouncer had taken to delivering Reno his drinks. Just in case.
The Turk was currently contemplating something a vicious shade of green as if it might contain the secret to happiness somewhere in its neon depths. Alternately, he might have been wondering if he had discovered a fuel alternative. Either way, it was sure to burn the nausea roiling about in his stomach, mostly by virtue of the fact it was rather dubious if he would have a stomach left after ingesting it.
It was bubbling a bit.
Reno made a face as some thought or another occurred to him and downed it, not even flinching.
"If ya cant 'pend on yer par'ner, wha' else is zere?" Reno demanded on the glass, which wisely declined an answer.
Maybe after another drink or five it would be able to offer him some advice. At least suggest a technique with which to smash in Rude's insufferable skull.
He should have seen it coming. All the signs were there; the 'missions' Rude had to be off on that no one else knew about, the sudden headaches, being overtired...
The bastard had been cheating on him.
No one cheats on Reno. Reno was the one that was supposed to do the cheating. He had it down to an art form, from the noble art of dating four girls at once to the perfectly apologetic smile to use when found out and confronted. And the bastard had gone and cheated on him.
Well, that in itself he could understand, and forgive, having felt the urge himself at least once a week with everything he had ever dated. it was perfectly understandable.
What sent him stumbling to a seedy bar, his stomach in the back of his throat and his brain trying its best to erase his generally photographic memory, was the image of his partner pressed up against a locker, biting at the metal while he was well and truly fucked.
The lockers were going to have some interesting dents come tomorrow.
Rude never bottomed for him. Never. The man was no ones bitch.
Or hadn't been. And with a partner that big, that taciturn, and that prone to the rough stuff Reno had never pushed the issue. He liked a bruise or bite as much as the next person, but Reno was fond of his bones in one piece. Messing with Rude guaranteed at least one broken bone. The man used them like punctuation when irritable, ending every short sentence with a strategic punch.
Now, usually seeing his partner, his fuck buddy, being bitch to someone else would have prompted a good bout of temper, a fantastic confrontation, not a desperate scramble to as much alcohol as possible.
But, at that first glimpse of gravity-defying blond hair his stomach had twisted in on itself in denial.
Rude wouldn't...Rude wouldn't be letting himself be fucked by that whiny little SOLDIER boy...He couldn't be making such satisfied little noises...
The Cloud shifted a bit, and Reno not only had irrefutable evidence that Rude was in fact enjoying the benefits of the blonds aroused enthusiasm, but Cloud actually wasn't trying to compensate by carrying around that ridiculously large sword.
It was more information that Reno was willing to take in, and really was just adding insult to injury.
Reno's stomach did a little dance, reminding him that he should drink some more, maybe vomit a little. A good gut-wrenching purge would do him a world of good.
"Blue."
The bouncer-turned-Reno's-personal-server looked confused.
"I wan' som'thin' blue." The bouncer returned with a glass of something an impossible shade of blue. Just like Cloud's eyes. And Reno smiled. it seemed a perfectly poetic color to vomit.