Final Fantasy VII, Reno/Rude, "This is my boomstick"
Reno rarely gets drunk, really drunk, because it takes so much booze to get him there, he balks at picking up the tab. Rude knows this, which is why he doesn't mind going out drinking with his partner after work. Elena gets silly after a few shots, and Tseng gets more formal, but Reno's nice and relaxed on a buzz, friendly, easy. It's when he starts hitting the hard stuff that you have to watch him, because he's got no fear at all even when he's sober; he's practically demonic when he's plowed.
Rude knows this. He only leaves the table for a minute, leaves Reno drinking tequila. Tequila. There shouldn't be any problem at all.
Only, "This is my boomstick," Reno is saying, loud and belligerent, on his feet with his back to Rude, shoulders squared.
Rude sighs, massages the bridge of his nose. They're going to have to beat the crap out of every person here now, or the Turks' reputation may never recover.
It takes a moment to realize that Reno is surrounded by a ring of wide-eyed stares, that both his fists are planted on his hips and his e-mag rod is nowhere in sight.
"Oh my god," someone says. "How is that even possible?"
"Is this guy human?"
Rude reaches Reno's side and glances down, and...yes, Reno has his pants unzipped. Again.
It's the dark suits, he thinks about explaining. They make Reno look skinnier than he is.
"I can't take you anywhere," he says instead, and Reno gives him a smug little grin. "Put it away. You're scaring people."
"My power is mighty," Reno agrees, his breath smelling of tequila and--
Rude glances at the table. Two of the five shots lined up there haven't been drunk yet, and they're black as ink. Hell. Mixed drinks. That explains everything.
You don't drink the Lord of the Abyss. The Lord of the Abyss drinks you.
No one says a word as he steers Reno out of the bar, impressed and envious gazes following them; they're usually glued to Reno's ass, though.
Pouring Reno into the passenger seat of the car isn't that difficult; keeping his partner's face out of his lap as he settles in behind the wheel is a different story. It's not that Rude minds, exactly; it's just that there's not a whole lot of room in these seats to begin with, and if Reno bangs his head on the steering wheel, he has a tendency to bite. He'd rather wait, only, "Come on," Reno is saying, "come on...."
Reno laughs when he huffs, but Rude reaches over anyway, jerks his partner off rough and methodical. And maybe it's not just the suits. Groaning sloppy curses, Reno spreads his legs wider and braces his feet on the floorboards, hands fisting on the edge of the seat. It doesn't take much--Reno is an easy drunk--and Reno comes in Rude's hand, staining his own shirt and going grinning and boneless after.
Rude reclaims his hand, licks it clean. Looks over at Reno.
"Boomstick?"
Reno laughs all the way back to his apartment, doesn't shut up until Rude occupies his mouth elsewhere.