Title: Reaction Time Characters: Cloud/Rude. Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 822
It's on now. They've synchronized their cell phones. The buzzers will go off any second. Cloud's mounted up on Fenrir, leaning forward over the handlebars a bit. He looks to the side and catches Rude's stare before pulling his goggles down tight. Rude grips the steering wheel. The buzzers sound. They're off.
Rude's out of the block so fast the tires are squealing but Cloud is faster. For a little while anyway. A blue electric crackle runs over Fenrir and Cloud cuts back considerably, keeping neck and neck with the Turk. So Fenrir's running handicapped, is it? Rude smirks at Cloud. Don't think this Turk's going easy on you just because of a faulty ride and your pretty face. No room for that kind of thing when your ass is on the line.
The road is tough but the truck is tougher. It's Shinra deluxe standard and it's seen Turk use. Built for power more than speed, maybe, but it can do great things in the right hands. The steering wheel cover is molded to Rude's grip.
It's touch and go for a while. Fenrir is still a beast and a highly maneuverable one at that. Cloud's edging forward, gaining precious inches in the fight. Even with his motorcycle halfway on the fritz he has the advantage – he's got a SOLDIER's reflexes, and for the dark, a SOLDIER's eyes.
Tough. Rude's dealt with SOLDIERs before. He's not letting this one get away. The road narrows up ahead. They see it at the same time and know they both can't fit. The rock was cut away to make a small gap and the rock face is too steep for driving. They know what has to be done. Someone has to go off-road. Someone has to speed up. Someone has to pull back.
That's the least acceptable option, Rude figures, and shifts the gears. There's a lurch that he's been meaning to get fixed but it helps him forward, closing the gap. Give it up, Cloud, give up. This Turk is stubborn and immovable as that damn rock up ahead. Pull back, get closer if you can but don't figure on sliding through that gap before him.
Seconds from the narrows they're still neck and neck and if something doesn't happen fast it's all going to end in a bright orange blaze and a roar before it really begins. One heartbeat... two...
Cloud vanishes. The taillights on his bike are there one minute and the next, poof, no sign. Rude scrapes through the narrows, grazing the side of the truck because he looked back to see what happened.
An arc of light in the sky catches his eye and he stares at Cloud spinning and swerving in midair with Fenrir gripped between his thighs. He descends, man and machine landing with a neat bump and they're off again, kicking up gravel in Rude's windshield.
Rude growls and hunches down. Damn SOLDIERs. Always showing off. Rude floors it. Kalm's not far. The lights are up ahead and the buildings are clear. He sees Cloud glance back, taking stock of their positions. Then Cloud leans forward, rising up in the seat a bit, giving Rude a perfect view of that perfect...
Damn him! Rude might take time to admire Cloud's ingenuity later but it's bloody unfair that the blond would use that for the purpose of distraction. Plus it's fucking hard driving with your third leg getting in the way.
Rude swears and takes the truck off-road. It's a straighter line this way, shorter than that slight bend in the road. Rougher, maybe, but the truck can handle it. He's edging forward and the truck is roaring. That blue crackle is running over Fenrir again but Cloud's not slowing down. It's going to be close.
With one final burst, it's Cloud who crosses the border first, swerving between startled bystanders as he drives through the town proper. Rude has just enough time to watch him pull into a side parking spot on one try. Fenrir stops on a hair but Cloud does not. Rude's heart lurches as Cloud flips over the handlebars, but it's only to propel himself off the wall and back into the main street, running for the door.
Rude's beat. He's got enough sense to know it. He's still in his truck and Cloud's out and running. No way Rude can compete with that. He decelerates and pulls up alongside the bike, taking his time now that it's over. It's over. The race. They hadn't formally set any stakes on it, but the wordless "gentlemen's agreement" hangs between them. Rude tells himself it's just the adrenaline surge winding down that's got his feet tapping on the pedal like that. That's all it is, that and a little healthy anticipation. He lost and it's time to go face the music, if he can just get his hands to let go of the wheel.
Title: Finishing Line Characters: Cloud/Rude. Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 323
Fenrir's looking none the worse for wear, no strange crackling even. The truck's probably got some interesting dings and that's just the cosmetic damage. Rude toes a front tire and the thing gives out. It's going to be a fun time explaining this to Tseng. Rude makes a round, surveying the damage, giving himself time to come down from the fighting high. His body won't cooperate, though. He tries to deny it but he knows why. He takes his time, straightens up his jacket and dusts off his pants. No sense putting things off forever.
He steps out into the main street, rounding for the door. Two old timers playing chess under the street lamps bob their heads at him in greeting. “See your buddy fixed his bike.” Rude nods back and takes a deep breath before he rounds the corner.
He finds Cloud lounging near the main door, arms crossed, eyes closed. “You kept me waiting,” Cloud says without even looking.
“You kept me waiting first.” Rude steps past him to put a hand on the doorknob but Cloud's there just as fast blocking the way. He insinuates himself into the doorway, arms spread across the frame to bar Rude's passage to the room he has inside. Rude draws himself up to his full height, but all he gets is that little smirk again. Cloud doesn't back down, not even when Rude moves closer. They're barely an inch apart now and Rude doesn't know if it's the heat of Cloud's body he feels or just his own building up inside him. Those mako eyes are daring him on.
“I won,” Cloud says, with just the slightest hint of rubbing it in. So that's how he wants to play it. This fight's not over yet. Rude fishes in his pocket for the real prize.
“Maybe so,” he says, dangling it before Cloud's eyes. “But I'm still the one with the keys.”