Chapter Text
If he were going down The Plate, his time there would be well spent.
When he could get away, he forwent the pink lights and manufactured smiles of the Honeybee and passed his time in Sector Four, Wall Market’s dark mirror.
Wall Market was for tourists. Four was for them. It would last forever, as long as the slums teemed with his kind.
There was never anybody there he knew each time he went back home, but he passed them all like they were lost relatives. It never changed: the same alleys remained hot spots to turn tricks, the same dope drops were where he remembered, and he got the same looks from every working girl or boy he passed. Same touches. Same cat calls.
He was trash there, like everyone else. No pretending. No badges. No crew. Just his weapon, a hard dick and a pocket full of money that he kept a hand on at all times. He’d learned to steal in these streets, a Four past-time that gave no quarter to visitors who made victims of themselves.
His favorite spot was in a dark corner, as poorly lit inside as it was out. The notion of beauty applied differently to Four dancers. They came in all different body sizes: some fat, some skin and bones, some crippled, some immaculate but for a massive blade swipe on the side of their face or a smatter of gruesome shrapnel wounds on their flanks, defects that would render them garbage in Wall Market.
But they were real to Reno, beautiful in the way that a street whore should be: completely unaware of their shame, ugliness, or misfortune. Unique in their suffering and appeal. Free from judgment.
Free.
They showed pussy and cock at this place, illegal anywhere else. Illegal there too, but there were no security forces to stop them, not like up top. Peach boys and dick girls danced in cheap imitations of the Honeybee uniforms, twirling around the bases of their poles or squatting provocatively in cages, mocking their Underworld neighbors one sector over.
Some wore nothing but crop tops, showing off their imperfections and idiosyncrasies, all busy with a sick fuck like him that took a shine to their perceived vulnerabilities. They robbed their tricks blind with a smile and a wink, a flattering word or two, and nothing more than two minutes on their cocks.
It was the cleanest way to hit a lick. All the guns and money the Topside had to offer wouldn’t change Reno’s mind about that.
He had a good time there with a variety of cunt, male or female, dick or none. It was all pussy to him. They liked him, too. Natives respected the game. His whores were fun for the moment and the experience, but there was nobody he would request more than twice, until he saw him on the stage: the only one there perfect enough to be literally anywhere else.
The only one there, besides him, whose eyes glowed in the blacklight.
The rest of him was a dark shadow outlined by the club's blue stage lighting that matched his eyes, and a head of pointed blonde hair that made his silhouette wholly unique. His body made the same curves and arcs as the currents that ran through Reno’s body in a fight.
Reno had seen his share of ex-SOLDIERs on the streets since he had become a Turk. Not a single one of them seemed to enjoy what they had become. None of them would be caught dead in Sector Four.
This creature was different. He owned his fall from The Plate, owned his body, owned what he was. He danced like he’d known no other life but the gutter he was in.
The outline of his cropped shirt and panties told Reno the most; a peach boy, petite, smooth and toned in all the ways that meant his muscle didn’t come from just dancing.
He could feel himself salivating in two places.
The song was slow and nasty, and the boy had such control over his muscle functions that he gave the audience the impression of being in complete slow motion. Not an awkward movement or a pause in time.
They spotted each other as soon as their lines of vision crossed.
The boy kept his dark-rimmed eyes on Reno as he danced, clearly drawn to him, giving the slowest of smiles as he trailed his fingers down the front of his chest, teasing with a smirk. He ignored the five other men crowding the stage, tossing coins and bills alike, as if he were beckoning for Reno to push his way through the crowd and come to him.
He didn’t.
His song ended, and the boy gathered his money. Reno craned his neck, waiting for him to appear onto the floor again. When he didn’t, Reno had to assume that he was swallowed up by a waiting customer as soon as his foot touched the floor.
The next time he saw his boy, he was sitting with several other girls when the blonde passed by his chair, led by a customer. He smiled at him, and trailed a finger along his shoulders as he passed, then disappeared behind the tattered curtains of the VIP.
Reno’s head followed him all the way out the door, and waited for him to return.
He didn’t.
At last, he found him leaning against a wall on his next visit, on his phone, ignoring a customer who looked broke enough to be wasting his time. Reno stood there for a moment, smoking a cigarette, before his boy looked up at him.
The second they locked eyes, Reno reached out his half-gloved hand. When the blonde took it, he locked his fingers into his and led him to an empty spot against another wall.
“Took you long enough,” the blonde said as Reno pressed up against him. His torso opened up to him; they fit together nicely.
He had those minx eyes that conveyed the same intent as his body when in motion, half lidded with a hint of malice, like Reno’s own but with ice instead of fire. His voice was deep enough for there to be no room for misunderstanding: he was a man, heart-shaped face, eyeliner, slim waist and pussy be damned.
“You’re a busy one,” Reno said, leaning in so that his mouth was closer to his ear.
The boy caught Reno’s cigarette just before it went into his mouth for a drag, plucked it from his fingers, and placed it between his own plumped, glossed lips.
“Shouldn’tve let that stop you." He toyed with the end of Reno's ponytail. Reno watched the strands fall between his white-tipped fingers.
"Got a name?"
He took a drag, "Blue," and blew a ring of smoke out of the corner of his mouth.
Blue. Simple, fitting, easy to fit onto the tongue. Reno liked that.
He held up a hundred gil between his fingers, enough for two songs.
“Dance for me.”
The money crinkled as Blue took it in one hand, and Reno's hand in the other.
Follow me. He let his eyes lead the way to the VIP.
It was like his body responded in every possible way to this creature and the way he navigated this world and his body.
Alone in one of the worn down private rooms with tears in the leather couches, Blue spread himself for Reno. He arched, he curved, he went to his knees, opened Reno’s, slid into his lap and draped his arms around Reno's shoulders to grind against him.
Reno's skin crackled, his blood warmed, the mako in his own eyes swirled as it met with Blue’s. He slid his hands up the sides of his thighs, past the crude ink there.
"You're fine as fuck," he breathed, hotly. He toyed with the barbells in Blue’s nipples.
Blue's eyes closed and he bit his bottom lip to obscure a shy smile.
"Not bad yourself."
Reno saw that he'd been dying to give him a dance since they first met. Some things you can't fake, not to the experienced.
Like a wet cunt. Reno knew when he could smell one.
When the first song finished, Reno ignored his aching cock and beckoned him to sit down by patting his thigh.
Blue slid right onto it, and placed an arm around Reno's shoulder as he pulled out a bag of dope.
Blue unwrapped himself from Reno so he could lean over and take a line, then waited to be offered one himself.
Sniffling done, Reno took Blue’s chin in his fingers and turned him towards him.
"Nice eyes," Reno said as he inventoried as much of Blue's body as he could in the dark, running a palm against his thigh. He felt blood hiss in his head. He liked the way Blue felt, curled into his arm.
"Likewise."
"So what rank were you?"
Blue blinked, and turned his head toward Reno, indicating that he heard and understood the question.
"Hm?"
He could be one of those fake dumb hoes, Reno thought.
"You heard me, doll." Reno accented his words with a playful flick to one of Blue's side locks. "What rank?"
Blue shook his head, and narrowed his eyes coyly, placing a hand on his Reno's chest.
"Can't hear you, stud. We can go somewhere quieter, if you like."
That was Reno’s cue to leave.
So he did, pulling Blue behind him.
//
The night ended with shots and another line each before they even reached Reno’s bed.
He woke up the next morning to what felt like an axe splitting his head open and the sound of the shower running.
How the kid could even stand after all the shit they did would be a mystery. Oh, right. Ex-SOLDIER.
Reno opened his eyes.
The kid. Ex-SOLDIER. A hand instinctively flew to his throat as he forced himself upright in his bed.
His pants were still on, completely undone, and a crusty mess. He cradled his head and doubled over. The amount of light that filtered through his vertical blinds told him that it was well after ten in the morning. He looked at his closed bathroom door.
He’d brought a whore home. A Sector Four whore.
He leaned over to look into the trash can at the side of his bed. Three dirty condoms at the bottom. Under his blankets, he found pieces of foil from their packets.
His work phone buzzed on his bedside table, still plugged into the charger from when he got home more than fourteen hours prior.
“Shit,” he hissed, when he saw the name of the caller. He grabbed it.
“Rude?”
”Let me guess,” Rude’s stern voice rumbled over the phone. The background noise meant that he was in a vehicle. ”Not coming in today.”
Reno looked at the bathroom door. “... No. I’ll do it remotely. Sorry, partner.” Rude hung up, and Reno leaned back in his bed for a moment to collect himself from the nausea. He'd deal with Rude's attitude later.
He got up, fixed his pants, stripped the bed, and started the sweep of his room that came hand in hand in bringing a stranger into his place.
Everything was in the exact same place it was in before he left the night before. His safe hadn’t been tampered with, his weapons hadn’t been touched, the kilo of cram hidden in the bottom drawer of his wardrobe was undisturbed.
Blue’s go bag was on the floor next to it, unzipped, but closed. With one bare foot, he kicked open the top flap, and squatted to have a look inside.
Condoms. Lubricant. Baby wipes. A couple of pieces of makeup in a zip bag; travel toiletries in another, mouthwash, a toothbrush, a small comb, the usual fare. A folded change of clothes, everything neat and clean, the way a soldier would have kept his wall locker. Men’s trainers. A fat wallet, with several gil peaking out the corners.
Seeing the money fed him flashes of the night. Now he remembered. Blonde spikes. Shitty tattoos that were obvious cover-ups on an otherwise flawless body. Blue’s back curving as he fucked him from behind, the look on his face as he turned it upward to look at Reno. The way his cunt, pink and slick, gripped his cock as he pulled out. The sound of his own voice, breathless and hungry.
"You’re a tight little bitch, ain’tcha?”
Hips snapping. Barbells. The dip in his navel as the blonde leaned back and rode him. His eyes closing. The way his teeth felt against Reno's fingers. His wet cunt smearing itself all over Reno’s thighs. Shedding one condom for another, then another.
Blue opened the door to the bathroom, and saw Reno next to his things. Reno glanced up at him, and went about his business checking his bag.
Plenty of times, he’d woken up to find that the person he’d taken home had been lucky; lighting at strip clubs was forgiving of unfortunate features. Save for the freckles visible without his makeup, Blue was just as Reno remembered. He hadn’t imagined the mako eyes.
Or the fair skin, or the soft face, or the toned arms.
Blue waited silently, a towel around his waist, for Reno to finish the familiar ritual customary between prostitutes and the johns of Four. Once Reno cleared his bag and stood, Blue knelt down, took his clothes out, and began to get dressed at the foot of the bed.
As he reached for his wallet--which contained every gil that he had left the club with--it occurred to Reno that this was the quietest hooker he’d ever brought home. Not a bad thing.
A bit eerie, though.
He pulled out two thousand gil, and set it on the dresser in front of them. Blue reached over and took it to count.
"What's your name?"
Rather than answer, Blue rotated his neck on his head, mapping the dimensions of the room, before his eyes settled on the white, black and red Shinra badge hanging on the open door of Reno’s closet. Beyond it, several black, identical suits hung in a perfect row.
He looked back down and slid his feet into his shoes.
“Thought I told you last night,” Blue muttered.
“You told me a lotta things last night.”
Blue smiled when he reached in and pulled out Reno's cock, squeezed it, and gave the shaft a little shake, testing its weight and girth.
"Like it?" Reno smirked down at him and put a hand on his upper back.
"Love it." Blue kept his eyes on him as he leaned down to put it in his mouth.
"Did I?"
He sucked him for what felt like hours. He'd liked it, spreading his knees, caving his torso in. He knew what looked good, and he made sure there was plenty of spit and precum drooling down the sides of his cock as he detached from it.
"Not with your words."
Reno couldn't handle more than ten minutes of that. He shoved Blue over on his stomach, and Blue sank down into the bed, presenting.
Maybe it was the dope, but he had wanted it.
"Hm."
Blue gave a quick smirk, and the vacancy in his sober eyes shifted, just for a moment. He remembered it, too.
Without saying another word, he gathered his things and walked to the door.
"Hey," Reno called out to him.
Blue froze on the way out, but didn't turn around. His shoulders tightened. Reno remembered that he'd looked dead at his closet, saw the Shinra logos, realized what he was, and was likely spooked. He picked up the folds of gil Blue left on the bed and held it out.
"Your money."
Blue relaxed, and turned around.
In Reno's hand was more than just his pay for a good fuck. It was reassurance that he wasn't whatever Blue was running from; that the baton on the bedside table and the pressed suits weren't for him.
It meant that if they were, Reno could find him anywhere, any time without spending a dime.
Reno examined Blue's face for indication that he understood, and raised an eyebrow.
He did. He took the money from Reno and pocketed it, letting the corners of his mouth relax into the most sheer of smiles.
"My name's Cloud," he said, and then walked out the door.