Title: After Characters: Cloud/Rude. Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 590
Cloud still has traces of the road on him, dust from riding across the open plains all day, a little grease under his nails. Rude, ever the gentleman, lets Cloud have the shower first. Nothing else he can do, seeing as how he can't seem to get his own feet to stay under him at the moment. It's easier to just lie there as Cloud left him, listening.
Cloud's padding around in the bathroom from sink to shower and back. There's not much room to turn. Rude can see the shadow of feet turning in a tight circle in the sliver of light below the door. Shower's turning on, Cloud's getting in. A little splashing, not much. Rude wonders if Cloud likes a long shower, or if it's just the long day that needs steady rinsing. How hot is the water? Does Cloud's hair lie flat under the flow? Does Cloud ever sing in there?
Rude's smiling at that thought, then laughing at himself a little for how ridiculous it is. Eventually he finds it in him to sit up, to gather his clothes, neaten the bed a little. The room's paid through for the night. He has no reason to leave.
There's a light clatter from the bathroom. Rude almost asks if everything's okay. He stares at the door, at the light steam creeping out from under it. Hot water for Cloud, then, just like Rude. What would have happened if he had asked if it was alright? What, would Cloud actually need assistance? Would he need Rude to come in while he was soaking wet and naked? In your dreams, Rude, in your dreams. He's in the shower after you've had him, or he had you, hard to tell, considering, but it's plenty so don't go getting greedy now.
Shower's off, door's opening. It takes a couple minutes before Cloud comes out. He steps out, naked and not the least bit shy, drying his hair with a towel. Hell of a view. Rude takes it in now that he's got the time for it. Well, Cloud's a natural blond, for sure. Those pants he wears don't do him justice, all baggy and hiding those legs. Nobody jumps like SOLDIERs do and Cloud's got amazing thighs. Rude can almost feel them gripping his hips again.
“Shower's free,” Cloud says, by way of polite notice. Rude pulls himself off the bed and wills himself to walk. He steals a glance at Cloud's head as he passes by and almost regrets that he has to shut the bathroom door. The mirror's all steamed up, but Rude leans over the sink and stares anyway. He's not really seeing the watery blur of his reflection, only the way Cloud's hair still sticks up even though it's wet through. Stubborn.
He turns the shower on. The water's two degrees short of scalding, just the way he likes it. He can't hear anything from outside with the water falling into the tub. Cloud's out there now, maybe getting dressed, getting ready to leave. Rude recalls the way the blond spikes first pulled free, bouncing when Cloud yanked his shirt over his head. Do they bounce back up as fast when he pulls the shirt on?
Rude steps into the shower, finally, not knowing what he'll find out there when he steps out. Stupid Turk, he thinks. Should have asked Cloud to stay, told him even, or at least should have taken a look at Cloud's bare naked ass instead of worrying about his hair. Stupid Turk.
Title: Shy Characters: Cloud/Rude. Rating: R Word Count: 583
Cloud's not gone when Rude gets out. He's not even dressed. He's lying completely bare on the bed, sitting up against the headboard with the TV remote in one hand. It's the best goddamned thing Rude's ever seen.
“Anything on?”
Cloud shrugs. “The usual.” Nothing, in other words. Rude lets the towel fall from his hips and slings it over the back of a chair. If Cloud's not being body-shy there's no reason for Rude to be. He joins Cloud on the bed, sitting comfortably.
Cloud slides the remote over to him. “Got any preferences?”
“Not really.” There aren't too many channels for surfing. Popular entertainment's taken a dive since Meteor and there's still not too much more than reruns available. There's a fight on channel three and chocobo racing from Gold Saucer on five. Reeve's on six in the news headlines, PR for some group he's trying to get off the ground. It's interspersed with fuzzy still frames of Avalanche, the new guys, Cloud's pals, who are still alive.
Cloud groans. “Switch it, please.” Rude's not fast enough. A clip of Cloud in action rolls up. He's leaping through construction, bouncing from beam to beam. Beside him, Cloud groans, burying that face into a pillow. “Where do they get these things?”
Rude doesn't switch the channel but he does turn the volume down. Rude knows he's got a smile on his face that Cloud might not like, but he can't help it. “There's security cams around the city,” he says, as if that makes it any better. True though. Not as many as Midgar, but Edge is tapped.
On the screen, Cloud's putting his swords together. The image is grainy and the figure is distant but Rude can see how the pieces fit, sort of. It's precise and neat and a little involved, getting those blades to combine but Cloud's quick at it, and sure. He's so good with his hands there. It's no wonder he manages the same precision with them everywhere else. Rude finally switches the television off.
Cloud's still hunched forward on the bed, face buried in the pillow he's got propped on his knees. Those hands are down on the bed, not tangling in the sheets, but the fingers twitch slightly. He doesn't seem too tense, but Rude can guess that for a guy so good at being off by himself the media attention must be a bother.
Rude reaches out with one hand and strokes Cloud's back. Up and down, up and down, big, slow strokes that maybe go a little higher and lower each time. Cloud's hair is still damp, but it's soft and fine at the nape of his neck. There's muscle, sharply defined, all the way down that back and lower.
“Rude?” Cloud turns his head to the side. His mouth is serious but his eyes are laughing. “Rude, are you trying to get at my ass again?”
Rude smiles for him. “You know I am.”
Cloud unfurls, setting the pillow aside and rolling over to Rude with some of that easy grace. “All you have to do is ask,” he says, settling himself in Rude's lap. He smells like soap and his own skin. His hands are steady, going up Rude's chest. His tongue knows so many ways to work an earlobe over.
Rude groans as Cloud shifts over him, pressing their cocks together. Yeah, Cloud's shy about a few things maybe, but this isn't one of them.