Cloud/Rude Title: Perfection Characters: Cloud/Rude. Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 502
Turns out Cloud's very good.
With his hands.
At repairs.
Straighten this, unscrew that, he knows what he's doing, clearly knows his ride inside out. It's a competence Rude has to admire. There's no wasted movement, no missteps and swearing. Cloud works quietly in the dark.
Rude doesn't offer to help. It would almost be an insult in a way to intrude on this kind of surety and besides, you don't put your hands on another man's ride without permission. Maybe he should ask, though, on the chance that he could touch a little. Fenrir is one sweet piece of work, cold steel and raw power. Perfect for a warrior. Rude doesn't have to think too hard about why Cloud is out here, working feverishly in the dark.
Halfway through Rude has to get the flashlight out of his glove compartment and the big toolkit stashed in the back, just in case Cloud needs something he doesn't have. No need, apparently. There's a flash, the unmistakable glow of materia. Cloud's using that in place of a blow torch. Now that's something Rude didn't expect. He's never seen materia used with that kind of precision before. Cloud's had lots of practice, sure, but this takes a light touch that most don't possess. An unexpected tremor moves up Rude's spine.
He shines the light on those multiple swords, seeking somewhere safer to rest his eyes. Fenrir really is a work of art, sleek but strong, and with those swords out now, displayed in their semi-secret compartment, Fenrir is deadly. Perfect for Cloud.
Rude turns the light back on the man. If Cloud asks he could claim he's shining a light for Cloud to see, but it's at least half a lie. Cloud doesn't seem to need it with those mako eyes of his and the last purple light still on the horizon. The flashlight strays from Cloud's hands to his arms, to those beautiful shoulders. There's some dirt on him, maybe a little grease, but if anything it just shows up how pale the skin is underneath. Mountain-bred. The light glints off his earring and Rude follows the line from one ear to Cloud's jawline, to those lips parted as Cloud breathes, sweating over the final adjustment. Rude fidgets, needing to make a few adjustments of his own.
It's the look on Cloud's face that calms him. Cloud's... well, not worried, exactly. Maybe concerned. His hands trail like a lover's over the scars in the paint. Rude can't think of any materia that would help with that. Fenrir might be laid up in the shop for some time after all. Cloud sighs, the sound audible only because there's nothing else to hear out here in the scrub.
Rude's suddenly sorry for the things he'd been thinking of doing to Cloud before he heard what really happened. He understands completely now. If he had something so strong and wild and beautiful in his possession, he'd drop everything to take care of it too.
Title: Challenge Characters: Cloud/Rude. Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 648
“Thanks for holding the light.”
“Least I could do.”
Cloud is leaning back against the bike now, the natural tilt of the position angling his hips out just right. Rude lowers the flashlight a bit, glad for the darkness. He gestures awkwardly towards Fenrir. “She's a beauty.”
Cloud laughs a little. “Fenrir's not a she.”
Ah, right. As if Cloud hasn't already said what he likes between his legs. Rude doesn't blush on principle, but he can feel the urge rising. Which brings another question to mind.
“Going to Kalm to finish your delivery?”
Cloud shakes his head. “Did that on foot earlier.” He looks restless but makes no move to go anywhere. Rude knows that he has to do something now.
“It's a long ride back to Edge in the dark,” he says. Let Cloud think about that for a second. Half a moment and the blond is nodding, slowly. Kalm is closer. Rude steps into the gap. “I've got a room booked.” There. It's out. Offer's made. Ball's back in Cloud's court.
“I don't know,” he says. This skittishness is frustrating. It was Cloud who brought the whole thing up in the first place. Why is he backing out now? Rude watches the gloved hands drifting over the faint lines in the paint. Great. Cloud's got motorbrains. Can't really blame him, with a beast like that in his keeping, but now that Rude knows what to look for, he can see the signs. Cloud's tense. He wants his baby fixed up, pronto.
“Will it be okay to ride back?” Rude asks. Cloud nods.
“Oh, yeah, it'll hold. It's hardly my first field repair.” He looks down and for a second he's almost the same shy blond he was over a month ago, when he was sick and didn't tell anyone. “Thanks again.”
Rude gets it this time. Thanks for understanding. Cloud's a moody little punk with weird priorities, but he's gorgeous and Rude can be patient. Hell, he works with Reno. So if Cloud's not up to anything, Rude will understand. “It was nothing,” he says. He has to walk past the bike to get to the truck. “You know where to find me...” He lets it end there. It's Cloud's turn again, or will be once Fenrir's back in shape.
Then two fists grab his lapels and Rude finds himself spun around and shoved back against the bike. Cloud's eyes are bright, just inches from Rude's face and this time they're almost wicked. “You were going to let me ride away?” His lips are so close. “You could at least try to get your hitchhiker to thank you properly.”
Then Rude doesn't have time to think about what kind of games Cloud might be into because there's a tongue in his mouth and a thigh rising up his body. No time to waste. Rude reaches down with both hands and grabs the ass he's been wondering about for weeks. The sound Cloud makes against his lips is pure sin.
Rude shifts as best as he is able, pushed backwards against Fenrir as he is, and lets one hand roam over everything he can reach. Every inch of Cloud is firm. Every inch. Rude tears his mouth away from Cloud's, eager to get his weight back on his feet. It's Cloud who should be off-balance, bent over, maybe right here on Fenrir.
Cloud pulls away completely, as if he can tell what Rude's thinking. Rude swears softly, missing the contact. Cloud's smiling up at him and there's a look in those eyes that would do even Reno proud. Yeah, Rude, now what?
Rude straightens himself up, tugging his jacket down over the bulge in his pants. So Cloud wants to play? Fine. Rude sizes up the truck, takes a speculative gaze at the bike. He meets Cloud's look head-on. “Let's race.”