Theme: Drink
Without Words
It was a bar, not even that great of one, in Junon proper, and not even the one where either of them normally chose. There was no silence, no dim lights to make you curl in on yourself, and yet both were quiet, almost afraid of breaking a comfortable silence. The place was discreet; no one there was on-duty or would dare report back to HQ about the executive and the assassin sharing a drink. The regulars knew them anyway, so there was no harm in it. Or there should not have been.
Even over the noise of the three in the back, and the off-duty MPs they can hear each other. A wavelength that should not even exist is shared by them, and it makes the words redundant. Instead they communicate through small gestures and touches and most of all, eye contact. The smallest glance could mean anything from 'is it time to go' to 'another round?' A light brushing of fingers when once passes the other a napkin or a mug could mean affectionate things, and the lack of it would imply disappointment. Even Reno hadn't managed to break into their private little world after all of these years, much to the ire of the youth.
The sound of drunken slurs touch them for but a moment before shared look and thought finds them both rising and heading for the ladder up and out of their little bit of peace. The assassin goes up first, waiting at the top with a hand out to help the executive out. In the simple contact a promise not to leave him is given. In the slight squeeze anyone else would take as thanks is communicated the knowledge that such a promise has been given over and over, and never has he feared for it breaking.
Together they head out into the night, heading towards the hotel. One easily fakes drunkenness so the other can support him, the closeness deceptive on all parts. On lookers only find a dutiful Turk supporting the executive he is bound to protect for the duration of their stay, and even their friends would be suspicious of his sobriety. Truth is that he needs this contact, this chance to just pause and inhale the scent of the Wutain. And the Wutain just needs those few moments of the older man in his arms, because they had no other chance. Even their rooms would never be safe. As long as there would be Shin-Ra there could never be a them, not in the way that they want. They accept it, both more than just aware of how to deal with whatever pain he feels from the situation.
At last they are at the hotel, and to keep up their act they take the back doors and elevators. When they reach their rooms the 'drunken' one fumbles for the keycard to his room and 'fails' to find it. With a sigh the other pulls the thing from the breast pocket of his charges' suit. Carefully he balances the 'tipsy' executive while opening the door before guiding him into the room. Just as carefully he leads the older male through the room and helps him to the bed. Reeve lays down with a grunt and a sigh of comfort. Quickly the executive curls up to sleep. Showing more irritation than he could feel towards the man Tseng works Reeve's shoes and coat off. The tie and shirt comes next, and the blankets are pulled up over the rest. Everything is folded to satisfy the shared meticulousness of the pair and, just before he leaves, Tseng shakes his head.
In total silence he leaves the room, but not before hesitating at the door, fully in sight of the mirror, reflecting the image back to Reeve and reflecting Reeve to Tseng. A gentle smile passes over the features of the Wutain before the door closes and he leaves.
With that smile a small assurance of the love and patience of the Turk, Reeve curls up further under the blankets and lets sleep claim him with a true smile on his face.