Another Halloween drabble: Rufus and Reno almost-smut.

Trick or Treat?

Rufus watches Reno slouched on the couch rolling a cigarette - deft, nicotine-stained fingers, and the quick flick of his tongue along the skin… Oh fuck – fuck – he's so –

"Disgusting!" Rufus says aloud.

"Ain't for you, so what's your beef?" Reno mumbles.

"It's a filthy habit," Rufus replies, repeating words he once heard his mother say to his father, who had merely rolled his eyes and finished his cigar. Reno only grins. "Yeah? And you Shinras do hate dirt." He lights up regardless, and inhales deeply, exhaling through his nostrils with evident satisfaction. Rufus wrinkles his nose. "Ugh! Do you have any idea what that looks like?"

"So don't look."

But this, Rufus thinks, is the whole problem.

"It's hard not to," he admits, looking, thinking of adjectives: unkempt, insolent, crude, wild. That stupid fanfare of a haircut! That rat's tail down his back – how Rufus itches to yank it – to cut it off as a trophy – something.

"It's like – the scene of a car wreck," Rufus continues. "Horrible, but you can't look away."

Reno shrugs. "A cat," he purrs, "may look at a king," and Rufus is left disorientated, because surely that's the wrong way around? Just who does Reno think is the king here, exactly?

"The Turks," Rufus says primly, "have a uniform."

"Wearin' it," grunts Reno, stretching, his crumpled jacket hanging open, his shirt fastened with only two buttons over his lean, scarred chest, pants low enough on his skinny hips to give Rufus ideas he doesn't want – can't help.

"Barely," Rufus comments, aiming for a dry tone; sounding breathless.

"Good enough for Tseng," Reno says, with a suggestive lift of one eyebrow that leaves Rufus wondering exactly what he's implying. The immaculate, professional Tseng would never –

Would he?

"Sit up properly!" Rufus orders. "You're supposed to be on duty! You look – so –"

Reno only leans back more comfortably, and his grin widens. How can anyone who smokes have such white teeth?

"So?" he prompts.

"So – slovenly," Rufus says, running one hand through his own hair. "You look like a slob. I presume you do do something in the department or you'd be dead by now, but most of the time you seem to be horizontal."

"Pisses you off, don't it?" Reno smiles.

"Well – yes –"

"That you still want me – considerin' all that."

"What? No! How dare you suggest –"

Reno stubs out his cigarette on the sole of his boot, and stretches out full length on the couch, hands behind his head. "It's here if you want it," he says, watching Rufus from beneath lowered lids, his eyes glittering, amused and dangerous. "Help yourself."

"I told you, I don't –"

"Yeah, yeah. I heard what you said."

"I meant it."

"Sure you did."

"You're bluffing, anyway."

"Try me."

Rufus considers, forcing himself to look at Reno properly, regaining some control over the situation. Reno is entirely comfortable under the scrutiny, watching Rufus' face, the left corner of his mouth quirking upwards into a sly smile. "Up to you," Reno shrugs. "You can always walk away. Might be more fun if you stayed."

Rufus hesitates. Reno looks up at the ceiling, seeming bored. "Don't know what you're scared of," he murmurs, as if to himself.

"I'm not scared!" Rufus exclaims automatically.

Reno turns his head and holds Rufus' gaze. "Prove it," he says. "If you've got the –"

Rufus reaches the couch in two determined strides. He grabs Reno's hair with one hand and his throat with the other, silencing the insubordinate Turk with a ruthless kiss. He's far from certain whether this counts as surrender or victory.