Author's Note: So I decided to take a break from updating 'The Spell' and interrupt with a sleazy little one-shot that was, admittedly, really fun to write. Pleeeeeeeeeease review!

The Lyrics: It is indeed a song fic to 'Low' by Flo Rida. The lyrics are in here if not gently modified to fit the context and they're not all in order.

Summary: Vincent visits a night club one evening and defines the guilty pleasures that Midgar shares. Oneshot. Very slight hints of VincentXReno.

Dislaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy, or the song/lyrics to 'Low'.

Low

Lights.

Pounded.

Green. Red. Blue. Yellow. Flashing. Black myriads of spastic colors.

Music.

Pounded.

Driving. Rippling. Toxic. Fateful.

Vincent Valentine sat in a back booth. The name of the club was irrelevant. Any corner of Edge had one. Places like these owned the people.

The edges of the bar were lined with tables where people like Vincent could lie low and sip at a drink. There didn't happen to be many people like Vincent on a Friday night at this particular club.

There was a spacious center inside the circle of tables for ordering drinks, dancing, etcetera. Vincent speculated that there were maybe 50 people partying. Their bodies heated and tremulous, aching for even more friction between them.

They was on it sexy woman, left them shownin'

They be want it, two in the mornin'

I'm zonin' in them rosay bottles foamin' . . .

He watched them dance, shameless and delirious with energy, liquor and anticipation. The driving beat of the song ended and another began.

The center of the bar was where the majority of The Mass's attention went. There was a large platform raised up for the main attraction. The main attraction would appear in five minutes.

Vincent watched Reno, long red hair thrown into a ponytail, still wearing that loose, stylish suit that fit his lanky frame so well. He ordered a drink from the bar and as he waited expectantly for his drink, he spotted Vincent in his corner. He threw a hand in the air in acknowledgement and as he received his bottle, he slavishly shoved people out of the way to get Vincent.

"Vince, yo!" He greeted, shouting over the sound. Vincent nodded at him. "Whatcha doin' here you bad boy? Hopin' to score some or somethin'?" Reno laughed, popping open his drink and jutting a slender hip to lean on Vincent's table.

"Don't mind me. Won't be here much longer."

"Oh but you gotta stay!" The Turk whined, smiling. "This place is a party. You want any fun and I can get ya some—y'know? Connections." He winked. "Alright well I'm gonna get drunk so if you take any pictures, please keep 'em away from Ruf. He kills me when that happens," he rolled his celery green eyes. "See you." Reno strutted himself back to the party circle, joining The Mass and chugging down liquor.

Two bright spotlights scanned over the crowd before finally landing on the platforms in the middle.

There was a blackout for a few seconds. The song stopped. Some people muttered to themselves, confused, while others whooped happily.

Then in the pitch black, a new song began. It was intense. Loud. Rhythmic. The people cheered.

Two spotlights flashed twice, pumping the crowd with energy. Expectancy. Whatever this was, it was gonna be good. Really good. Even Vincent was curious. The music almost climaxed.

A single spotlight shone on the blue foggy platform where a human figure was doubled over on the floor. The Mass screamed gleefully. The drums crashed into sound.

The figure dipped low to the side and a tangle of dirty blonde hair swung over the crowd. It then twisted sideways, jumped up, and began to pulsate with the music.

Shorty had them apple-bottom jeans

Boots with the fur

The whole club was lookin' at her

She hit the floor

Next thing you know

Shorty got low, low, low, low, low, low, low, low

She was thin and toned, wearing gray baggy sweat pants rolled up to her mid knee revealing perfect, golden calves that bent and drove to the beat of the song. She wore soft, brown cloth boots lined in fake fur and a silver gauzy spaghetti strapped top that reached mid stomach, proudly bearing a flat mid-rift. The top of a dark tattoo inched out of her lower back. Wavy, tussled dark blonde hair fell to her mid back and a pretty pointed face finished her. She must've been fourteen or fifteen years old.

The party started up again, and she danced. No. She writhed on that stage to the dark, pulsing music as if it was part of her. She lunged toward her audience, flaunting her tiny perfect body in their faces, insistently pushing her hips into the limelight.

The baggy sweat pants and the reeboks with the straps

She turned around and gave that booty a smack

She it the floor

Next thing you know

Shorty got low, low, low, low, low, low, low, low.

"She's good," one of Reno's friends noticed. The redhead threw off his black over-shirt.

"So am I," he grinned, glad he was just drunk enough to have some serious fun, and smoothly pushed through The Mass to climb onto the platform and help this girl dance.

One stack (come on)

Two stacks (come on)

Three stacks (come on)

What you think I'm playin' baby girl?

I'm the man, I'll bend the rubber bands.

They danced hard and everyone watched them. Their hips grinding against each other, she bent back, his hands sliding sensually over her body, her eyes shut.

The Mass cried and cheered.

Vincent watched this child dance with the Turk, curiously. Her head bobbed to the music as if were the beat any more intense, her head would be wrenched from her neck. She moaned at each sinister chord the music hit, her teeth at her lips as if to keep her from screaming. The girl was completely entranced.

So sexual, she was flexible

Professional, drinkin' X and oh!

Hold up wait a minute, do I see what I think I—

Whoa!

Vincent noted with interest, that as Reno and her practically made love to the beat, Reno had absolutely nothing to do with it. It was the music that was fucking her.

The more he watched her, the more he realized it was true. Her body released and relaxed with the purest sense of sexual pleasure as the music rippled through her body.

She gasped lungfuls of air as the music replayed. Whatever she had left of her virginity, it was being grabbed and devoured by the lustful song.

Reno, however, was less metaphorical. He was in fact very aware of a rather excited throb somewhere below his big clunky belt and it didn't help that this kid was rubbing her ass right in it. God. He could never be a pro dancer. Although it did seem like he was getting his fair share of fans.

Hey Shorty, what I gotta do to get you home?

My jeans full of gwap

And they ready for Shones

Cadillacs, Maybachs for the sexy grown

Patrone on the rocks that'll make you moan.

Finally the song ended and Reno slid to a stop, taking a mock bow.

"Kiss her!" Came the popular demand of The Mass. Reno grinned, laughing, took the dazed girl in his arms, dipped her (that earned him some brownie points from the crowd) and left a smooth kiss on the girl's perfect mouth before stepping down to continue downing his drink.

I ain't never seen nothin' that'll make me go

This crazy all night spendin' my dough

Had a million dollar vibe and a bottle to go

Them birthday cakes they stole the show

"Awesome," a friend laughed. A new song came on and the girl began to dance alone. Reno shrugged.

"Yeah—good huh?" God I need another beer. Grab me one will ya?" He asked. His friend nodded and left.

The environment fascinated Vincent. Strobe lights glared at him and its users.

Vincent finished his drink. Maybe he should leave now before the meta-reality of the place faded and all that was left was sick drunks and an empty young girl with fur boots and no music.

Someone from Reno's clique said or did something funny that sent the crowd into a fit of hysterical laughter. Tears rolled down Reno's face and he gasped for breath. Vincent stood up and made his way through The Mass.

"Hey Vince, decided to join us?" Reno asked, now thoroughly drunk. Vincent paused. Why was he even here in the first place? He shook his head slightly. Reno shrugged. "Suit yourself. See you later, yo." A curvaceous 20-year-old wrapped her arms around his neck. "Good god Amber," he said loudly, tossing her from him with a flirtatious smile.

Caught up with the Amber girl, the young man neglected to notice the small waitress coming around—she was young too—maybe twelve or thirteen. Wearing a small top, a smaller skirt, and tall skinny high-heel shoes. Their feet entangled and the girl tripped, spilling the drink she was carting all over herself and the Turk and falling to the floor. The Amber girl giggled. Reno scowled.

"Goddamn," he muttered, grabbing a napkin from his friend's table and dabbing at his sleeves, ignoring altogether the fallen child if not angry at her. The girl on the floor quietly gathered her tray and its contents together. Vincent pushed wordlessly through to her and offered her a hand. She looked up at him with large green eyes that were darkened with that familiar twinge of infant sensuality. She took his hand cautiously and he helped her up.

Vincent thought that he heard a murmured 'thank you' from her lips before she fled from the humiliating scene, but it was hard to tell over the music. He looked at her as she left and wondered how people became so old so soon.

He reached the exit. Looked back. Reno lay on the floor, luxuriously stretched out, giggling. He was a beautiful boy. Really. All these people were.

He looked over to the platform where a young teenager thrashed and bucked to the music, tears of pleasure streaming down her golden skin. Seemingly unaware of the awestruck stares that ogled her.

He saw angry eyes of the bar's manager who'd seen his little waitress trip and spill her tray. Vincent supposed that what would ensue after the doors were closed and the lights were out would not be pleasant.

Vincent felt a sudden tug in his chest and with one last look at a giggling Reno, Vincent smiled a tiny smile and stepped out into a refreshingly cold wind. He felt regretfully relieved for leaving. Maybe next weekend he'd just go to Seventh Heaven—quiet and satisfying with friends and reality.

But then he remembered the girl on the platform, grinding herself into the floor and bobbing her blonde head. Exquisitely sublime. He remembered a gorgeous Reno, smirking and knowing that there wasn't enough of him to go around. He remembered the little girl and thought that maybe one day he'd set her manager permanently straight. He thought and he knew that he'd be at that club next weekend, just as fascinated with life as he had been only 20 short minutes ago.

In the back of his mind, comprehension dawned and he understood.

Edge had sunken to a beautifully shameful new low.

XxXxXx

Shorty got low, low, low, low, low, low, low, low.