InsaneJournal

"For Nice Boys," FF7/FMA
Title: For Nice Boys
Author: Laylah
Fandom: FF7/FMA
Pairing: Kimberly/Tifa
Rating: worksafe
Prompt: food kink
A/N: more with the gangsters! I meant for there to be more bits of this, but even the ones I've gotten through I like pretty well. ^^;


For Nice Boys

"So, you got a name," the guy drawls, "or does everyone call you sweetheart?"

Ah, Tifa thinks, one of those. She looks the guy up and down, sizing him up. He's on his third glass of gin and it doesn't seem to be affecting him yet. He wears his suit jacket just a little too loose to be fashionable, like he wants to be sure he could throw a punch without needing to take it off first. And then there are his hands.

"Most people just call me sweetheart," Tifa says. "It's not as flashy as 'Crimson,' but it's all right."

He raises an eyebrow. "You know who I am?"

"A girl hears a lot of things in a job like this," Tifa answers. Let him take that how he will.

Crimson's smile is sort of creepy, flat, not making it all the way up from his mouth to his eyes. He's not the first one of those Tifa's met, either. "Sweetheart works for me. What time do you get off work, sweetheart?"

"Late," Tifa says. "And before you ask, I don't need you to walk me home." She'd have plenty of takers on that from guys she already knows, if she wanted an escort. And she keeps a set of brass knuckles in the front pocket of her apron, though she doesn't advertise the fact.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Crimson says, and knocks back the rest of his gin, his throat working. He slides the glass across the bar toward her, and some sleight of hand she didn't catch has a five dollar bill trapped under it. "Keep it coming, sweetheart."

Tifa takes the glass and their hands brush for a second, and that time the smile does touch his eyes, lighting them up. They're the color of bootlegger's gold. "More gin?" she says. He could have the rest of the bottle for the money he's put down.

"Sure," Crimson says. He's looking down her dress a little, but everyone does that -- even Mitsuru, sometimes -- and if it really bothered her that much Tifa figures she wouldn't be working the bar in a Kirijo speakeasy in the first place. "That walk you home crap is for nice boys."

"And you're not that nice, hmm?" Tifa says as she pours more gin.

Crimson shrugs. "You know who I am," he says. "How late is late? You think you might still want to go out dancing?"

Tifa smiles to cover how flustered she is all of a sudden. "You want to take me dancing?" she says. Her hand shakes as she sets his glass down and a little of the gin spills over the rim, wets her fingers.

Crimson grabs her wrist before she can reach for a towel. "We can start there," he says. He lifts her hand to his mouth and licks the gin off her fingers, slow swipes of his tongue that make the creases between her fingers into something intimate and suggestive. Tifa blushes hot. "What do you say?"

When she pulls, he lets her take her hand back. "I'll think about it," she says, and wishes her voice didn't shake.