endurance: the outcome by frooit

ffvii - reno/cloud - one-shot (with issues)

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After a short jaunt down the alley, and an awkward piggyback ride via a stumbling and yammering Reno (that didn't help either of their cases any), they come crashing into Reno's dim bedroom, door slamming and bouncing off the wall, tangled in each other's arms.

Cloud is ravenous. He's brainless, breathless, sick and drunk. He's almost climbing Reno as he stands, pawing and pressing all of himself into his firm and willing frame. He's sucking the tongue right out of his mouth. He's pulling his tie taut. He's eager for more.

Reno reciprocates, gripping Cloud's ass and holding him near, keeping them close, keeping him buzzing and alight, rubbed and ready. He's enjoying his mouth, his eagerness, his pliability.

They come to a collective halt at the center of the dark room.

Their eyes won't need adjusting.

Inside the war and clash, the switch of bodies and tongues, Reno comes alive and fights back against him. He grips Cloud by the arms and turns his face aside, disengaging their mouths with an audible liquid report. He takes a great breath and shoves Cloud back in one motion.

Cloud stumbles, not ready for it, and meets the bed, dropping hard onto the mattress.

Reno remains: a dancing shadow.

"Not gonna have the energy after all that," he huffs.

Cloud groans.

"Gonna get me all worked up… and then drop out? Just like that?" he moans.

Cloud sprawls and stretches back over Reno's bed, sweat damp, rain damp, swelling with need, brimming with it, about to burst, burn up, drift on.

He got this far. He let himself go. He can't stop now.

"Oh, no," Reno breathes into the darkness between them. "See. I can just... get you even more worked up... while I catch my breath. And then it's on."

Cloud swallows, tasting all that forgotten illness. His head is spinning. His blood is coursing.

"Oh."

"Oh is right," Reno purrs.

He starts his advance. He glides across the room, a shuffle and whisper, and meets him in moments. He's climbing onto the bed with him, one movement at a time, crawling over, depressing the cushion, unsettling his rest, and forcing him to lie flat.

Cloud has no air. He parts his lips. He anticipates. There is only darkness.

Until Reno takes his opportunity.

He's a faceless shade dipping his head to make their faces meet. He's not making it quite that simple though. He's not giving over, giving in, and kissing him outright, like in the alley. He's teasing him, licking over his lolling, searching lips. He's nipping them, working at them, biting and sucking, leaving the thin flesh plump and receptive, glistening and unsatisfied.

Cloud is awash enough in that, overstimulated, overwhelmed, his mind rambling, ranting, a mantra, more, more, more—and then Reno's palming his cock through his slacks, and stars burst. He arches up, he contorts and moans, loud and long, almost crashing their skulls together.

What he thought was chaos before was only the beginning.

He grips at Reno, his arms, his shirt sleeves. He spreads for him. He wants for him.

"Oh, fuck," he whines.

But, he's still not getting all he needs.

Reno inspects his shape and size, making Cloud's strained voice cut out as he worries him through wet fabric. His palm digs, flat and firm, and Cloud's mouth works wordless, noiseless. He croaks and chokes. He rises to meet him. He can't really feel him. He has to feel him.

Reno abandons his rubbing to sweep over him, moving their bodies into line, pressing them level. His tongue he jabs into Cloud's protesting mouth.

Cloud reacts violently, clinging on, wrapping all of himself around him, enveloping. He is detached but so very present. Everything is stretching long, lagging, but also over-fast, over-sensitive, over-encumbering. He's sick and drunk and crazy, and now he's making out with Reno, hot and heavy, in his own bed.

Their heads roll and change, searching for the best angle, the deepest depths. Noses bump, jaws work, teeth click, lips slide and slick, cracking for air, a muffled gasp, a liquidy drag.

Minutes of it. Minutes of sultry sliding and humming, vibrations, moans, affirmation. Minutes of mapping the spread of wriggling muscle, and testing the feeling of fever flesh, and the roll of bones and joints, and sinew; the roll of hips and turgid want, caught between.

Endurance.

He's already so far gone. So far away.

Reno has himself laid over Cloud, his full weight bearing down on his middle and chest. Cloud writhes beneath him, working his trapped legs the wider, pulling his knees high and far. He parts and lets him in, nothing but stitches as a barrier.

It's too much and not enough.

Always too much and not enough.

A lifetime of nevers and could bes.

They break for air.

Cloud whimpers at the dilemma.

"You… done this... before?" Reno rasps, husky, hurried, gasped out.

"Yes," Cloud hisses back.

Reno stills, breathing quickly controlled.

"Really?"

"I'm not... gonna lie."

"Oh, fuck," he swears, rising to look down on him. "That's almost... disappointing." Reno cocks his head and inhales before asking, "So… do you… have a favourite position then?"

Cloud growls, clawing at him.

"Shut up already..."

Reno does not. He looks on him, sweaty, boozy and half-lit.

"Hey," he gasps, "I'm just trying to cover my ass here. And besides, how am I supposed to know there's a position you prefer... if I don't ask?"

"Reno."

He leans down over him, just inches and air.

"Oh, I like that…" he tells him. "I like when you snarl my name. Please do that more."

Cloud glares.

He only hopes he can see it.

Reno's smirk is toothy, almost visible. He ducks to bite his throat. He uses those teeth against him.

Cloud melts, writhing, wilting.

Reno bites and he sucks, mouthing half his next words into the soft meat there. Words Cloud hears only because they stick and appeal, and they're so close, to his ears, and the truth. They manage to punch through some of the fog.

"You know… I don't think you want it given… so much… as you want it forced..."

He bites him.

Hard enough to hurt.

Cloud hisses and twists.

"Or is it taken? You wanna be taken?"

Reno sucks at his throat and slithers his hand high to yank his hair, flat and sweat sopping, threaded and throbbing.

Cloud cries out his approval. Even as it sounds pained and broken, he wants it.

He whines it. He mewls it.

"Might just... get on that," Reno utters.

He grips his fingers, bites, gnaws, licks.

"Might just fuck you ragged."

A hot puff in his ear.

Teeth promising more pain, fingers wrenching.

"Sweat that sickness right outta you…"

Cloud claws Reno's thin shirt. He groans up to the ceiling. He can't move. He is controlled, pinned from above, and all so easily too. All by the grip of a single hand and the tip of a few bottles.

"Yes," he hisses, mouth gaping. "Yes."

Reno is unfastening his slacks.

Cloud's blinking and watering eyes train on the corner of the room. He is kept contained with one hand, his head pitched back by the root of his hair, spine wanting to follow. Reno's other hand frees his cock.

Arching, springing, writhing agony.

Reno doesn't bother indulging him, or removing his slacks, but he does undo them, and hike up Cloud's t-shirt, and flick open his jacket, getting at his raw flesh, getting the air to him. That's where he stops though. Reno exposes as much of Cloud as possible with one hand, and then he quits.

Cloud is damp, choked and sweating from the heat of too many fires.

The flames of sickness; the cauldron of alcohol; the furnace of desire.

Strong fingers curl sequentially up his exposed shaft.

Cloud bucks and fights at the drum, the squeeze, tearing at his own hair.

Reno releases that hair and lets him watch.

And Cloud watches.

He tilts his head down and looks on while Reno's hand works his engorged cock. Long fingers, slender wrist, longer strokes. Tight heat. The slide of palm and knuckle. The curl of thumb. The press and prod of thumb pad. The slick, the slide, the ruthless rhythm. Cloud's lost in it. Caught in it. Dizzy, dim, dreary. Half awake, half present, but more alive than he's been in ages. He's not hollow. He's overflowing. He's swirling.

"You mind if…"

"Reeeno," Cloud draws out, moaning it out, clawing and clinging, bucking and bouncing.

He drops back and rolls his head over the mattress.

He can't stand it. He can't handle it. He doesn't want an interruption. He doesn't want it to ever end. Don't ever stop. Don't stop. Keep going.

"Go, go, go," he chants.

"Hey, hey," Reno chides, squeezing him tight. "I was just gonna ask if I could turn the light on, yo. Can't see you. Wanna see you. Gotta see you. Seriously."

Cloud gasps and rises. His hips lift, his back arcs, bows. His shoulders and neck press into mattress. He doesn't care. He just wants to feel good. He needs to feel good. He maneuvers himself in Reno's lax and then gripping hand.

"Is that a yes?" Reno asks, clenching and releasing.

Cloud nods. Enough to jar his thoughts. Enough to make his heart skip and thump. Enough to make his drenched hair flick and snap.

"Yes, yes, yes, fine…" he grits out, a rush and stuttering breath.

Reno disappears. Along with his warm hand.

Cloud winces and balls his fists at the loss.

He has to feel all the bad again. The chill, the want, the wear, the weight.

The light clicks on. Too much all at once.

Cloud's eyes squint and close. He takes a wheezing, shuddering breath.

Reno hasn't returned yet.

"What're you doing?" Cloud asks the back of his eyelids.

He's impatient, panting, parted. He can feel the pulse pumping and bumping all the way to his cock. A shiver, a sway, a ticking time bomb. He can feel the stinging air. He can feel sweat roll. He feels exposed. He is exposed.

"Just enjoying the view," Reno replies.

Cloud flutters his eyes. He peers at him through a sliver.

He's just standing there. Tall and red. He's slicking his mussed hair into place, panting, sweating, still handsome. He's pale and perfect. He's disheveled and pumped up, and not just handsome anymore.

He's well into beautiful.

"Get back here," Cloud demands.

"Mmm," Reno hums.

He doesn't just yet. He turns and leans.

"Just need…"

He's rifling through his nightstand drawer.

Cloud squeezes his eyes shut. His teeth mesh. He rumbles annoyance in his chest and coughs a deep cough.

That smell. The sickness in him. The overwhelming heat. He coughs and coughs. He's getting upset. Angry. He's always loaded and ready to bite. He's always being stretched to breaking.

"You don't… need anything…" he snaps back.

"Oh?" Reno asks.

A rush of new heat and deepening shadow.

Reno is there when Cloud cracks an eye.

Reno is a giant, an outline. The mattress sinks as he leans and hovers, coming lower and lower, closer and closer, hanging right over him, ready to strike.

"Saliva," Cloud explains.

"That's it?" Reno confirms.

Cloud nods, swallows, gasps.

His sinuses are giving him so much trouble.

His whole damn life is.

Reno grins down at him.

"Fuck. Knew I liked you for a reason," he says.

Still no satisfaction.

He's making him wait.

He's holding him between life and death.

"Yours or mine?" Reno inquires.

Cloud thrashes.

As little as he can. He throws a minor fit.

"You ask so many questions!" he exclaims, as loud as his throat will let him.

And it's not loud. He sounds strangled.

He moans and whines in defeat.

"Calm down, sicky," Reno suggests.

"You—"

"Are so impatient."

Fingers return to receptive flesh.

Cloud is instantly placated.

Back to madness. Back to the pursuit of completion. Back to hands on. Two hands. Palms, fingers, fingertips, nails. Pressing, clawing, pulling at his jacket, his shirt, his pants. Every motion is liquid, lazy. Every motion is warm and distant.

Reno strips him bare and staggers back.

He himself remains as almost half a suit. His tie is loose, and his shirt. His sleeves are rolled to elbow. He is messy, spiky hair. He is pointed and piercing. He is cocking his hips, unlatching and sliding out his belt, drawing it from belt loops. He is unlooping and discarding his loose, red tie. He is undoing the front of his black slacks, reaching in, adjusting himself, and then he is climbing back.

"Ready?"

He sucks on the long fingers of his left hand and folds Cloud's right leg up to his chest. He doesn't stress it, he lets it go naturally. He gets him spread neatly, nicely, angled, and serious.

He slides those two wet fingers down Cloud's bare and bent leg, starting at his trembling knee. He paints them down his inner thigh, cooling, tickling. He watches Cloud's every reaction, eyes locked on, ecstatic, gleaming.

They heave and gasp together, alcohol aroma mixing with the musk of sweat and flesh.

Reno slides those wet fingers on, and then he makes them disappear too.

Every new and exciting sensation he offers, he so quickly takes away.

Cloud whimpers his frustrations. He balls his hands in blankets. He rears up.

Reno smiles sweetly though. His face assures him everything is okay. He proves it, and rewets his digits, sucking the two middle ones slippery wet right before him. Cheeks hollow. Eyes shine, pupils vast and yawning. His face is flushed, lips swollen red, stretched. Red enough to match his hair and tattoos.

He sucks his fingers moist and glistening and then he closes in, draping over him, leaning in, pushing him back. He ghosts those wet fingers over the rise of Cloud's cock, over the thin, pulsing flesh. He moves them lower, for his opening. He brings his face close. And then he's making a solid, sudden, and sodden connection.

Just fingertips at first.

Cloud jerks and then writhes.

"Like that?" Reno breathes.

Cloud moans in return. He quakes and shivers. He can't watch. He shuts his eyes and focuses on his breathing. His haggard breathing. His gutted breathing. He chokes and coughs.

The fingertips press and push. They test him, stress him. Reno prods and digs, just a little here, a little there. An inch at best. A concept. Reno offers him so little. He eases in slowly. He threatens to retreat always, pulling out just enough, sliding in no deeper.

Cloud agonizes. He relaxes. He tenses.

The hand pushing his leg down and up won't allow him the freedom of movement. He has to take all the punishment as it's dealt, sweet and slick.

The fingertips are almost to the first knuckles now. Reno twists his wrist and rolls them, turning them, causing a fuss.

Cloud grunts and tries to rock down and meet them.

He can't.

Reno stays him.

"Not so fast," he gusts.

"Not enough," Cloud complains.

His desperation must be convincing.

Reno splays his invading fingers, stretching, scissoring, opening.

Cloud cries out, hisses and shudders. It's the best kind of torture.

The fingers twist and spread. They roll over and push deeper, deeper. Slick, hot, solid. They twist as they drill in. A corkscrew of unending proportions. A barrage of sensation.

Cloud gasps, gulps, drenched in sweat. His legs pull wide, his whole body shuddering and shaking. He takes Reno's fingers, flat on his back, flat in Reno's bed. He takes them to the last knuckle. And he doesn't just take them, he strains to impale himself further.

"Oh," he breathes. "Oh, fuck."

Reno meets depth and already he starts their removal.

Cloud has no time to rest.

The fingers drag out, slow and steady.

"Oooh," he moans, ragged, rasped.

They retreat halfway and then push back. Back in and then out, faster. Out and then forward, fluid. Reno pumps them into him repeatedly, the fingers sliding in solid, squeezed tight, all the way to the last knuckle, reaching and ruthless. He rolls his wrist, he works the motion. There's no sound but their squelching, their meeting, their wallowing.

Cloud can't breathe. He can't move. His jaw is dropped and working, his fingers are clenched and spiked. He's frozen in ecstasy. He's getting all he bargained for.

And more.

Reno finally allows him a break, easing the pace, slowing it down. He doesn't drill him anymore, he caresses him. He slips his two fingers out and then back in, languid and lavished. He calms and corrupts. He strokes and stokes. He wiggles and worms.

Reno drops his head down, mouthing where his teeth and lips land. He injects his fingers into Cloud's heated and sultry flesh, lazily, lasting, as he licks and nips his throat. He plays him like a tune he already knows so well.

And Cloud, he would sing for him too, if he could. He only groans and grunts, gasps and rasps. He's losing his voice more with every utterance. He's lost his words already. And his mind. He's trying to keep his head above the tidal wave. He won't last. He won't.

Reno removes his fingers without warning. He's stumbling back and shoving his trousers down. He's pulling himself out. All of himself, in all his plump and ruddy glory, stiff and swollen. He's licking his fingers and wetting his head, his shaft, full and flushed. He's throbbing for him. He's getting ready for him.

Cloud watches, mesmerized.

Reno reaches out. He lines himself up. He's lining them up. He's pulling Cloud to the edge of the bed and bringing him into position, where he waits, hot and living, his knees on the floor.

Cloud braces his own feet on the edge of the mattress, thighs open, everything open, and drops his head back. He doesn't look. He can't look. He can't keep his head up anymore. He can't wait.

He feels Reno all at once as intense heat. He is radiance. He is nearness. Their distance shrinking. And then he is pushing. He moves in, having crouched before him at the side of his bed. He presses Cloud's legs wider, and up to his chest, opening him. He bumps his head into clenching flesh.

Cloud shudders and grits his teeth.

He's trying not to cough.

He's trying not to expire.

Fly apart.

Wake up.

"You okay?" Reno asks.

Cloud rolls his hips, coaxing, persuading.

Reno doesn't need to be told twice. He slides him towards him, dragging Cloud inches across the bed, forcing him onto his cock with the weight of his own body.

It's the best and worst part. The squeeze, the clench, the minor pain, the strain, the moment before madness, and true success, and true satisfaction. Reno has to get past Cloud's tight muscles before he can take him. He has to claw and pull Cloud onto him, until he gives.

And he will. And when he does, it's with a dry, mangled cry and a jump.

Reno rocks inside, passing the point of no return, sliding far, sliding on.

Cloud can't stop himself from shredding his already raw throat. He shouts it out, broken and jagged. He can't stop. He won't stop. He sounds near frantic. He sounds in pain. He could be. He doesn't know. He knows he's being split apart. He knows he's being tested.

"Wha's wrong?" Reno slurs, stopping his charge.

Cloud's first thought is.

Oh, oh, too big.

He actually flushes at the idea of admitting it, even as he feels him hot in his bowels.

"You're… you're…" he rasps.

"I'm… I'm…" Reno mocks, just as breathless.

He doesn't dip himself deeper, but he does wiggle, and jig, and worry back and forth.

"Oh, fuck, fuck," Cloud groans. "Big."

Reno hums.

He doesn't filter the wolfish grin.

"Oh, yeah? Don't tell me I'm too much for you."

"No," Cloud breathes, shaking his damp head.

Reno nods down between them.

"Why don't ya take a look?"

He's smirking now. He's not wiggling and pitching anymore. He's waiting for him to obey, to see, to witness. He's forcing him to. He won't move, or give him another inch, until he does.

Cloud breathes. He wheezes. He winces and whines, and shakes his head.

No, no, no. Negative.

"Take it easy. Hang on…"

Reno reaches long for the head of the bed. He doesn't have to go far, but he still has to disrupt and jostle Cloud as he lies, half pinned on his cock.

"Here's a pillow, yo."

He slides the item over.

Cloud takes the cushion and folds it under his neck. Now he can almost see their violent joining. Now he can almost watch Reno fill him up, as slow or as fast, as much or as little, as he wants.

He still can't.

He shuts his eyes as Reno rocks forward, pushing himself deeper, darker, digging.

Cloud switches up from clawing and bunching the sheets and blanket and latches onto Reno instead. He finds his forearms. He grips and tears. He cries out, noiseless, choked, chipped. He whines. He coughs.

Reno hisses his happy return and bucks his hips, making those nails bite down hard, harder. He groans, he moans, he's getting closer, he's filling him all the more. He's making the space. He's almost there.

"Open your eyes…" Reno tells him.

Cloud whimpers. He rolls his head.

He can't.

He can't.

"I…" he gasps.

But, he's staring into turquoise.

"Watch me," Reno gusts over his face.

Cloud drowns in his bright eyes. He gapes and breathes, blinks and grips. He is rinsed over with his want, his need, his determination. He watches Reno's ecstatic face as he surges up inside him, pinning him, opening him, every unflagging inch wanting to fill him, end him, bend him.

Meaning and moaning. He watches as he pulls out, taking that meaning away. He watches Reno's every muscle in his lean arms, and chest, and neck seem to undulate and shift. A wave, flowing, growing, receding, rushing in and out.

He watches as Reno returns, again, deeper, longer. He watches him fuck him into his bed. And Cloud takes it all like a knife trying to kill him. He exclaims it right into Reno's sweating, panting face. He holds his legs wide and meets his assault. He doesn't want to slow down. He doesn't want to come down. He wants to be used. He wants to be well-used.

Hips smacking, flesh packing. Legs splayed and pressed higher, wider. Reno pins and slams into Cloud, hips rolling, crashing. He's making his toes curl, and stripping his throat. In return, Cloud's howling, rising, wrapping his legs around him, locking him in, restricting but enforcing.

Reno eases into a lull.

They sit joined.

They both pour sweat.

"Still too big?" Reno gasps.

Cloud groans and looks away.

Reno licks along his exposed throat cords. He nuzzles and bites the flesh there. He roll his hips, reminding him of just how far he's driven. Just how big he is. Just how screwed he is now.

Cloud soaks it up. He coils around Reno, legs and arms. And Reno does the same. And then more. He sweeps him into his arms, gathers him up, picks Cloud up, and brings him onto his lap, his knees braced on mattress. He brings him right down onto his inches, eased, squeezed, upright.

He doesn't stop there. He latches onto Cloud's hips and helps him work himself in a rhythm, a succession, a churning and surging.

Cloud holds himself steady on Reno's shoulders. He plants his feet on the edge of the bed for a springboard. He spreads his knees wide. He rises and drops. He spears himself, reveling in the friction, the slide, the press. His cock rolls and bumps over their abdomens meanwhile, caught between. He gapes at the ceiling. His soaked hair sticks and flicks off his forehead. Droplets fly.

The rhythm sustains, and then slows. He draws up less and less, worked to the bone. He's gotten so tired. He was already so tired. He eyes Reno as he works around him. He pins him with his eyes. He drops slowly, slowly, slowly. He stares him down, gasping, sweating, drenched, daring.

Reno looks ready to swallow him up.

And he doesn't wait long to do so.

As soon as Cloud drops back into his lap, all filled up and faded, all snug and close, Reno catches his mouth and they lock. So much saliva. So much sensation. Cloud's cock caught between them. Reno's cock wedged inside him. Cloud's eyes stream. He exclaims into his smothering tongue.

"Reno."

And comes like a thunderstorm.

He cracks and splinters. He rumbles and moans, groans, gutted, choked. He washes their abdomens with his release, blinding hot, blistering. He convulses and clutches, tensing around Reno's rock solid invasion, crashing with the waves.

Cloud catches him by surprise.

He must.

Reno's gusting, nonverbal reply sounds startled, alarmed, and all too short. He's tossing him down, mowing Cloud over onto his bed, his back. He's furiously pounding and thrusting, folding and stretching. His face severe, expression pained, inches away, sweating, dripping, frantic. He's carving out his ending, grunting it into Cloud's gasping, reeling face, taking it out of his hide.

He pops.

He shouts it out.

Reno comes with a jolt, a rise, a curl, and a strained shout. And, it could just be more sweat drops, drip, dripping, cold and constant, but it's not.

Cloud opens his clamped shut eyes and sees the wetness streaming down Reno's flushed cheeks and his long, white throat, stretched and working.

The wetness, the dripping... they're tears.

Reno's exalting the ceiling. Reno's quivering and struck.

He's all poured out.

He's holy, huge, heaving, and heavy.

Cloud can't take it.

His eyes again clamp shut.

He feels the sweat and the tears fall.

.

.

.

Early morning finds him waking up next to Reno.

And not just next to him either. He's on his back and Reno is above: a human blanket. Their lower bodies are cushioned together. Reno's torso and head have slid off to his left, face obscured, hair mussed. Elbows and inner thighs, ankles and wrists, knees and hips. He can feel him breathing, even and constant. He can feel most of him. Where he isn't numb.

He's sore and warm, and.

"Morning," Reno groans.

He rises, lifts, and peels their chests apart.

He looks down.

"Thank you," Reno states.

"For... what?" Cloud croaks, his throat tight.

It's difficult to form words.

"For giving me... a purpose."

Cloud blinks up at him.

Oh, shit. This is getting too serious already.

Reno groans and shifts to better accommodate their melded bodies. He twists and rolls, sliding his naked form from atop him and then right back up into Cloud's side. He drapes his heavy limbs long, and his chin onto his shoulder.

"You gave me purpose," Reno admits.

"Reno…"

Cloud winces and swallows.

Reno winces with him.

"Shit. Sounds like you did lose your voice, man. I'm not surprised. We weren't very… gentle. Like we should have been… You were screamin' like a banshee..."

Cloud shakes his head.

Reno rolls his eyes.

"Okay, yeah. Sure. And... before I get too far from the point... I'm just gonna... lay it out there," he breathes, looking away, and then right back. "I still work for Shinra. But. We're helping now. We're helping all the… uh, the orphans. All the… ones from Midgar. And everywhere else too. You gave me the idea. It's my project, man. I'm gonna fix it. I'll smooth over what we did. What... I did. I'm trying to."

"Are you…"

For real?

Cloud jolts upright in bed, Reno be damned.

His head be damned.

"I'm... leaving," he grits.

"Come back soon," Reno advises, showing little alarm, and rolling onto his spine.

Cloud takes no more action. He stares. He sees.

"You're serious," he whispers, able to say that well enough.

"As a heart attack," Reno returns.

Cloud drops back next to him.

"So you're staying?" Reno asks, scooting close.

"For a…"

But, Cloud can't finish. His throat won't let him.

He coils around Reno instead.

Reno pulls him near.

"I'll make you more eggs," he states. "And gallons of hot tea. Because I can't send you home on an empty stomach… And I also promise... not to tell anyone about how you... put out on the first date… and don't practice safe sex."

Cloud rises just enough to sock Reno's shoulder.

"You don't either," he enunciates, forcing it out.

"Yeah, but... that surprises no one."

Cloud half smiles.

Reno beams.

Cloud drops back into his arms.

Time passes.

"So… how do you feel about a shower first?" Reno asks.

Cloud shrugs in his embrace.

.

.

.

Now he's in Reno's bathroom.

Again.

He's crowding into Reno's shower, with Reno (after having swallowed more pushed pills to the tune of: you're still sick, dumbass).

He's appreciating Reno's form, fluid and firm and white. He's either very sick now, still waking up, hungover, or those pills are especially potent. He can't look away. He's breathless and foggy. He's beyond all hope of saving.

He's noting Reno's imperfections, scars, dips, bends, protrusions. And so far, he likes what he sees. He likes his hips and spine. His shoulders are divine. He likes his stupid hair, almost black as it's wet, falling long over his back. He likes the imprint of a seam his shirt left in his flesh on the underside of his arms. He likes his eyes, sharp and sly. He likes his rubbed red elbows. He likes his bony ankles.

"You're so fucking tiny," Reno notes.

He's not the only one having a look.

"I mean, your frame. Lookit you. You're tiny," Reno explains. "I knew you were small, but damn… And damn that I like it so much too…"

Cloud pushes that tiny frame into him.

"Oh, hello," Reno purrs.

What could have been nothing, or slow and sensual at the very least, becomes chaos.

They're sliding their wet skins over each other. They're fumbling for friction and ease and pleasure. They're a whirl of tongues and limbs.

Things escalate quickly.

Reno pushes them away from the drumming spray, locking his lips over Cloud's lips, locking his knee between his legs, keeping him stable, keeping him caught. They sag and sway, spar and parry. They fight for supremacy. They grip and glance. They lavish and lust.

Before long, they're panting into each other's open mouths, and Cloud can't breathe.

"Can I…" Reno gasps. "Can I…"

He nods to the shower wall behind.

Cloud turns to looks at that wall, not getting the idea at first, not having enough mind, or oxygen.

Reno doesn't explain, he grabs Cloud's shoulders and twists him around, gently, carefully, making sure to mind the slick floor. He turns him all the way away from him and then pushes him up into that tiled wall. He steps Cloud's legs wider. He presses himself in from behind, full body. He gusts into Cloud's ear.

Cloud immediately feels the press of his solid want.

And then he knows what it is he wants.

He pushes himself back into Reno. He rocks his head back and wiggles his hips as Reno bites his nape, worrying and raking.

"Bend over a bit," Reno breathes.

Cloud shudders and complies.

Reno pulls himself away.

His hips and his heat stay.

"Hold on tight," he suggests.

The slide is different this time. It's harder and easier. It's the same and not. It's just… different.

The hot water falling and slicking them both isn't a good enough lubricant, but it's not a bad one either. Reno takes a moment, probably to lick his fingers and wet himself proper, and then he's grabbing Cloud's narrow hips, making the final adjustments, bringing him near. Reno bends his knees and crouches, angling himself in with his hand, angling in for that opening.

Cloud feels the press, he feels the struggle. He drops his head and hikes himself onto his toes. He dips his back and brings himself into better alignment, jutting his hips and ass out, and then he feels the sudden push, the prodding spread. He gasps and braces himself on the vaporous wall with both hands, flat and slipping.

As soon as he has a foothold, Reno's guiding hand joins with the other on Cloud's hip. Reno brings Cloud to meet him. He works himself inside, inch by inch, the friction immense, taxing, toiling. He knocks and grinds up into him, filling him in moments, clawing his flesh.

Cloud can't make a sound. He can't shout or cry. He focuses on keeping himself upright. He focuses on the sounds Reno makes, and on the recession and the return. He focuses on keeping his breathing even, his hips just right, his back straight.

The packing, thudding, slapping sounds resonate in the small space.

Reno grows louder and louder, taking them over.

Cloud rumbles and groans, strained, stressed, slipping, rocking, swaying.

"Oh, fuck…"

Reno moans it out, every stroke an utterance.

"Not gonna…"

He digs and dips. He gasps and groans.

"Not gonna… last…"

He crashes in and stays put, trembling, shaking, on the edge.

They both live out the moment.

And then Reno snakes his hand around and finds Cloud's bobbing cock.

The resulting jolt and clench Cloud offers up sends Reno into a frenzy.

"Oh," he gusts, taken, turned.

He's dragging out and driving home. He's threatening to send Cloud up the wall.

Cloud pushes back, against the wall, against Reno, against the thudding invasion. He mewls and whimpers. He wants to scream it out. He wants to rejoice, loud and proud. His throat locks and does nothing.

"Here it... comes," Reno grunts.

And for some reason, that statement, that silly statement, that's the trigger.

Cloud comes all at once, by surprise, right into Reno's curled hand.

Now it's a struggle of staying on his legs.

He drifts and strains as Reno pummels on, heaving out his impending elation, boundless, senseless. He struggles as Reno crows and jerks, stopped now, sunken now, emptying himself inside him for a second time.

Reno cries out just the same, in alarm and relief. The resulting and overwhelmed tears are probably washing away, concealed in the steam, the heat, the moment.

The resulting and overwhelming madness runs right down the drain.

.

.

.

The small bathroom stays steamed up and warm, even after the water is turned off.

They step out and towel down side by side, together and separate.

"Hell of a quickie," Reno remarks.

Cloud half smiles, half nods, wholly lost to the ether, the reality, the possibility, the hope.

It really was.

And he might just be hoping there's more where that came from.

Because he might just be willing.

.

.

.

.