Seventeen. Hardly seventeen, and such a fucking slut. He walked into the office, shirt hanging open to his navel, where a single button stopped it being open altogether. His wild red hair could have been tamed, but he was just too lazy and instead held it back with a pair of glasses, almost lost under his bangs. His eyes, that pair of huge, intense azure eyes, half-lidded unless he was surprised, or outraged, or jacking off. The skin on his face was flawless, but his smooth chest and stomach and arms, where his sleeves had been half-assedly rolled up, were riddled with small scars. Even though he was young, with narrow, lanky teenagers limbs, an overactive libido and the rabid rebellious glint in his bright mako eyes, he was still a Turk, and he was still my partner, no matter how hard the urge was to undo that last button and slip those trousers off that fucking girly waist and take him in the middle of the office, in front of Tseng and Veld, who just happened to be there when Reno waltzed in, shoes 'lost' somewhere and belt undone, 'because it was comfortable, yo', dragging his trousers further over his narrow hips, showing that his hair really was that ridiculous vermilion shade. He was grinning like a fucking jackal as he leaned against Veld's desk, ass just perching on the edge, elegant, almost feminine fingers clasping the side. Tseng and Veld were staring out of a window that dominated the entire left wall of the room, and it was rather a very large room at that. Only the president's son noticed when I tramped over to stand, statue-like, next to the redhead. The kid was beaming, like he had done the greatest thing this fucked-up world had ever seen. I wanted to wipe that smile off his face, and at the same time, make those dazzling eyes widen to the size of dinner plates.
"Yo partner," the kid drawled in a voice heavy with no accent. And yet, from the way that he pronounced his words, although like everybody else, you knew he was a kid from one of the lower sectors. I looked down on him, seeing right down that loose shirt, but you could also do that from face-on. I remembered that he had addressed me, and rumbled a reply, something as simple as an acknowledgment. Reno yawned, stretching back, arms raised. His skin was so pale, and the grey-blue marks underneath his eyes suddenly stood out, as well as the slight flush to his cheeks from the temperature change from outside, to the air-conditioned office. I didn't mean to look, and I shouldn't have, but when he stretched, his back arched backwards. He wore black silk boxer-shorts underneath his standard issue black pants. Luxurious.
Rufus, the depressed-yet-determined looking blond who wasn't much younger than the redhead moved to stand at Tseng's elbow, and said something in a controlled, quiet voice. He was nothing like his father, I mused, to get my mind out of the gutter and off the topic of Reno. The raven-haired lieutenant turned and fixed his eyes on us, well, mainly on the young redhead. Reno often drew many people's eyes, and I couldn't blame him. He was like that – a kid who could get whoever he wanted, with a sly twist of his hips and a sarcastic grin. Oh fuck…
"Rude, Reno," Tseng said in that crisp voice, holding no trace of an accent. The only thing (and most major thing) that could tell a person that this guy was from Wutai would be his appearance. Everything else about him was Norse – voice, habits…
"Tseng," Reno replied, face not straight and serious at all, eyes shining with mockery (and Mako). Tseng gave Reno a disapproving stare, eyebrows narrowing and pushing the small black dot further up his forehead.
"At least do up your trousers, kid," Veld said, frowning far deeper than Tseng, the lines in his tanned face creasing up further. Tseng covered his mouth. Reno shrugged, hoisting up his trousers and buckling his belt. Like I said, Reno was a slut.