The first coherent thought that managed to make it through the haze that filled Gil’s head the moment he walked into his apartment was that he really needed to put the milk away before he took even one step into the living room. Because that one step would be a fatal mistake that would leave half of the freshly-bought groceries spoilt and then he’d have to go out again.

Grocery shopping really wasn’t supposed to be this dangerous.

Turning on his heels, Gil imagined that his left side was blind as he resolutely marched to the kitchen. Greg was grinning like a madman as he bounced around in the living room, dancing to one the CDs from the ‘Tolerable’ section of their collection in an outfit…. in an outfit that he really couldn’t afford to think about at the moment and that should be declared illegal in Nevada and the surrounding states.

“Need any help in there?” There was too much humor in Greg’s voice to be taken as anything remotely resembling innocent.

Gil had to admit that, reflecting on his past relationships and liaisons, he did tend towards more feminine looking men. Not feminine men, but feminine-looking. There was a distinct difference, at least in his mind, but in his mind Greg had always fallen more towards the male end of the spectrum.

Not anymore.

The milk went on the top shelf, vegetables in the crisper, including Greg’s special request of kumquat, two cartons of ice cream and three bags worth of frozen dinners in the large cooler compartment on the left side. The dry goods he left on the floor to be sorted later because he really had to turn around and… Damn.

They both had the night off, which meant Greg was likely to be more playful than usual but this… this was new.

“What, not going to complement me on the outfit?”

Greg flounced up to the counter that divided the common area of their apartment, technically Gil’s apartment but it hadn’t been purely his for a long while, with a grin that ruined the effect of the words. His outfit was worthy of complement but Gil doubted that he’d be able to make any of his thoughts audible in the next hour or so, at least not until that outfit was on the floor and Greg firmly implanted in their mattress.

The shirt was ordinary enough, though meant for a girl. Sparkly pink letters on the baby-doll T proclaimed Greg a Princess. While Gil was certain that somewhere in the living fantasy that was Greg’s head, Greg did consider himself a Princess, Gil wasn’t sure he wanted to know of what… The shirt, given Greg’s proclivity, was actually kind of normal. Not entirely normal, but kind of. On any other day, Gil would have seen the shirt, maybe blinked once or twice, then moved on.

What really did it for him was the skirt. It was a red-plaid pattern that reminded him of his childhood days, only this was childhood twisted back and bent over a school desk. Black lace rimmed the hem, a tiny spot of innocence that offset the sheer naughtiness of the whole ensemble. Black strips ran down the skirt at even intervals, studded with large metal hoops sewn throughout. A pair of studded suspenders, or at least that’s what he took the strips of cloth for, hung down at Greg’s thighs, also studded and attached to the metal hoops at Greg’s waist.

Gil had been to Lady Heather’s enough times to know exactly what those hoops were meant for, even if the skirt itself hadn’t been manufactured for that purpose.

While Gil had been termed ‘vanilla’ by Greg’s eclectic standards, the thought of doing to Greg what those hoops suggested sent a shiver down his spine.

“Greg…”

He wasn’t quite certain he managed to convey the entire sum of his need in the utterance of Greg’s name, but he was fairly certain that Greg figured it out when Gil moved around the counter to forcibly suck the life out of Greg with his tongue. Greg was all encouragement then, helpfully lifting a leg, cleanly shaven and feeling distinctly moisturized, when Gil’s hands started to wander and grope.

The curve of Greg’s ass was smooth under his palm. If he’d been younger and stronger, he’d consider picking Greg up right there and fucking him against the wall. Instead age and wisdom had its triumphs and he settled for pushing Greg down over the side of an armchair, feeling a small amount of thrill as the skirt rode up on Greg’s raised ass. A hint of pink cotton was revealed beneath the play of fabric and Gil felt his eyebrow lift as he pushed the skirt aside to find a pair of distinctly feminine panties. High-end ones at that, that did relatively little to hide Greg’s obvious arousal.

“Like what you see?” The grin was back on Greg’s face, not that it’d ever strayed far from it.

A fleeting second’s contemplation was all that he needed. “Yes, yes I do.”

From this angle he could better appreciate the lacings that crisscrossed the back of the skirt. He considered undoing the neat bow-tie but the general naughtiness of the situation tempted him not to. Instead he slipped his fingers under the sides of the panties, pulling the fabric down to reveal his ultimate goal.

“Here.” Greg passed him back of thin bottle, retrieved from some random hiding spot. At another time he might have wondered how many places around their apartment Greg had hidden lube, but right now he couldn’t really fault Greg’s logic.

Gil unzipped his pants, not even bothering to drop them the full way, just lowering them enough that Greg wouldn’t have zipper impressions on his ass the next day, and then slicking up his hand then his cock with some of that fortunately provided lube. He didn’t even give Greg warning, just grabbed his hips and pushed in like he had every right to, which given their relationship and the boundaries, or more precisely lack thereof, that they had set, he did.

It was heaven.

Greg on a normal day was sexy and passionate and the best partner he’d ever had the good fortune to fall madly and deeply in love with. Greg on a day like this was that with all the erotic passion of a lurid Harlequin rolled into one tight ass. This was sex with no equal because there was no way anything could be better than the roll of Greg’s hips as Gil shoved his way in, or the loud keens that slipped from the back of Greg’s throat as he clutched against the opposite armrest, or the tight heat squeezing all the way around him.

Gil watched it all, sharp eyes taking in every detail of the way Greg twisted and shuddered beneath him, ecstasy driving the younger man into a place past thought. He was tense, his back and shoulders a bundle of nerves as he waited, his body open wide for whatever pleasure Gil would take from it.

When Gil finally gripped Greg’s hips tight as he shoved in, hard and fast one last time before he spilled himself inside Greg, cumming with a loud and primal shout, only then did Greg let himself go, his own seed dribbling down the side of the armchair in a lazy trickle.

He waited a few minutes, still buried hip-deep inside a now quivering Greg, while their breathing returned to normal and their hearts slowed down. Once he was back in control he slipped out, guiding Greg back to sit on the floor before pulling up his pants enough to walk in them. He grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the coffee table, cleaning both them and the armchair off before slinging his arms around a very melty Greg and navigating them both down the hallway to their bedroom.

As he rid them of their clothes, he made sure to fold the skirt and shirt neatly, placing them on top of the dirty clothes in their hamper. He could already foresee a shopping trip, possibly even a stop by Lady Heather’s so they could add more, similar items to their stock.

Youth had Greg curled against him asleep in a matter of moments once the covers were settled over them. Gil took longer because his mind kept picturing Greg in the full Catholic school girl ensemble, then adding hoops and straps and a number of entirely unwholesome things.

The bar was dim, smoky, and quiet. It was just what Barret needed right now. There was too much noise in the world, too much activity, too many things wrong with the place that needed fixing. He wasn’t looking for any of that tonight. No, he figured he’d earned himself a day off. He wanted a few hours of piece and quiet and he’d beat down any man who tried to disturb him.

The few patrons lingering in the bar kept to themselves, hiding away from the world in whatever shaded corner they’d found. Good for them. They could keep to themselves, which meant they’d leave Barret to himself. Bypassing the shadows, he walked straight up to the bar, his broad and bulky figure drawing wary looks from a few of the patrons. Yeah, they knew not to mess with him.

A slight raise of his hand was all it took to bring the bartender over as Barret took a stool next to a familiar-looking, passed-out redhead in a rumpled suit. Seemed like he wasn’t the only one taking a night off.

“Ev’nin’, mate. What’ll it be?”

“Scotch on the rocks. Light on the rocks.”

A muffled groan proved that the redhead was at least still mostly conscious. He lifted an empty sifter in an unsteady hand, head raised barely a fraction above the counter, his face obscured by a disarray of bangs. “One more, yo.”

Barret took one glance at the sorry figure on his right and made a decision. “Put that on my tab too.”

“Thanks.” The redhead let his head fall back on the counter. Barret didn’t make the mistake of thinking he was passed out this time.

He waited until the bartender moved off before striking up conversation. “Been a bit since I’ve seen your face around Midgar.” Another time he might have been offended sharing the bar with an enemy, but the night didn’t seen right for quarrels. Barret knew he didn’t really feel up to one, and his companion probably wouldn’t be able to put up one anyways.

The comment was met with a muffled grunt. “Jus’ ’cause y’ haven’t seen me don’t mean I haven’t been around, y’know.”

Their brief conversation was put on hold again as their drinks arrived, clear glasses clinking as they were set on the polished counter. Barret tossed a few notes on the counter, enough to cover both their drinks and probably most of the sizeable tab he guessed his companion had rung up. Judging by the bartender’s smile and nod, he’d got most of it.

Amber liquid swirled in his glass as he picked up the sifter, taking a short sip before setting the glass down again. He didn’t feel like getting drunk anymore.

Minutes passed in the silence of the bar and the redhead still didn’t move. Barret poked him once in the shoulder, testing to see if he really had passed out. A low grunt and awkward swat answered his efforts.

“You gonna drink that?”

The redhead sat up, glaring slightly at Barret before downing his drink in one go. Judging from the color and smell, Barret would have guessed it was straight vodka. Barret caught the redhead by the shoulder before he could slump on the counter again.

“So, what are the Turks up to nowadays?”

Reno glanced between him and the counter before shrugging, propping his head on his elbow as he looked over at Barret with an unfocused gaze. “Not much really. Not anything, actually.”

Barret accepted that with a grunt. Either they were planning something and Reno wasn’t going to say, or they really weren’t up to anything. Not much sense in prying, even drunk he had a feeling Reno still knew how to hold his tongue. Barret searched for a change of topic and came up empty. Really, he knew next to nothing about the guy beside him.

“Hey, do you think I’m attractive?”

The question threw Barret for a moment, and he stared over at Reno like he’d turned into Sephiroth. He gave the shock a minute to wear off before he actually considered it. “Yeah, you’re not bad for a bloke.” Hard to really judge much in the bar when the guy was practically falling off the counter, but he remembered from past encounters that Reno had always been easy on the eyes. The girls certainly hadn’t stopped talking about his looks the first time they met, though they’d had a few comments on his personality. Something about slime and grease if Barret remembered properly.

Reno snorted and rubbed his face in the hand that was supporting it. “I thought so. He’s an idiot.”

Barret raised an eyebrow. This was certainly not a conversation he’d ever expected to be having with a Turk. But then if someone had told him yesterday that he’d be hanging out in a bar with a drunk Turk, he probably would have shot him. Still, curiosity got the best of him and he couldn’t stop himself from asking. “He?”

Silence sat between them for several long minutes before Reno turned to him, red-rimmed eyes staring at him with as much seriousness as a drunk could muster. “Would you do me?”

“I’ll try anythin’ once.”

Reno lurched to his feet in an instant, grabbing Barret’s arm and weakly tugging him towards the exit. “C’mon.”

Temporary insanity must have seized him. That was the only way to explain why he was even contemplating this. At least he wasn’t the only one that seemed to have taken leave of his senses. Barret’s problem wasn’t so much that he didn’t want to, ’cause really, he would try anything once and Reno certainly wasn’t a bad choice to try. But he shouldn’t. Drinking was okay, he could excuse that as just being nice, but this was going a bit closer to fraternizing with the enemy and he wasn’t entirely certain he was okay with that.

Then again, it’d been a while, and they were both professionals. It’d sort itself out, he knew, and Reno didn’t seem like the type to stick. They could do this, kick out whatever bug had crawled into Reno’s brain to make him suddenly want to, then go back to killing each other the next day like pros. No problems. Once that was all worked out in his head, Barret was a bit more eager to follow along.

Reno led them through Midgar’s back-streets, stumbling more than once, but still heading in a mostly straight path. The apartment building he stopped in front of was at least one of the better ones, though still in the lower end of Midgar’s housing accommodations. Barret took one look at the twisting stairs that rose up above them as soon as they got inside and knew he’d have to sling Reno over his shoulder to get them both up all those. Reno bypassed the stairs, lurching down a short hall to collapse against the wall in front of the elevator.

They stayed silent for the long minutes it took until the elevator finally reached the ground floor, Reno appearing lost in thought and Barret unsure what to say in a situation like this. He stared at the peeling paint above Reno’s head, his gaze drifting down every now and then to run over the redhead’s figure.

Reno stumbled away from the wall as soon as the elevator doors opened, almost falling until Barret caught him. That seemed to be a prevalent pattern for the night. When they finally got up to Reno’s apartment on the sixth floor, Barret’s arm around Reno’s waist was the only thing keeping the Turk consistently upright.

“Thanks,” Reno mumbled as he fumbled with his keys, having obvious difficulty finding the right key and then getting it to go in the lock.

Barret resisted the urge to sigh in relief when Reno finally unlocked the door. They entered together, Barret supporting Reno over the threshold. The door clicked shut behind them, locked with an absent flick of the wrist before Reno turned to him.

The kiss was unexpected. Barret’s mind had been lagging behind the reality of exactly what he’d talked himself into, at least until he found somewhat cold lips pressing against his own. It was like a bucket of ice water was dropped over him, shocking him into realization of what, or more precisely who, he was about to do. He froze for an instant, almost thinking about stopping. Then he saw the quick flash of disappointment that crossed Reno’s face, and he knew he wasn’t going to leave, at least not for a few hours.

Taking hold of Reno’s waist, he leaned down and kissed Reno like he meant it. Barret knew he wasn’t the best kisser in the world. He’d had enough relationships to knew where his strengths and weaknesses lie, even if this was a lot different from his past relationships. Reno didn’t seem to care about Barret’s level of skill, but then the redhead wasn’t exactly working with all his guns either. Between the two of them it was probably one of the most disorganized kisses he’d ever had, but there was a force in it that made up for that.

A tug on his shirt started Barret moving. They shed clothes as they staggered awkwardly through the sparse apartment, stumbling more than once as Barret relied on Reno’s impaired sense of direction to get them into the bedroom. They ended up on Reno’s thin mattress in just their skin. Reno was beneath him, Barret’s weight pressing the redhead down into the mattress. A quick thought flashed through Barret’s mind, pointing out that Reno was vulnerable like this. Barret was bigger, stronger, and still armed despite his lack of clothing. He could literally do anything he wanted to Reno right now and the redhead couldn’t stop him.

He pushed that thought away as a pale leg wound over his hip and focused instead on the naked flesh beneath him. Resting his arms on either side of Reno’s head, he leaned down to taste the exposed skin of Reno’s neck. The girls were right when they’d called Reno a beauty, and Barret had a feeling even their complaints would melt away if they saw Reno like Barret was seeing him now. But the girls weren’t here, so it was easy to forget that he was AVALANCHE and Reno was a Turk. Instead they were just two men, naked and needing pleasure.

Barret was distracted out of his thoughts by a warm hand fondling him between his legs. He was already fully-hard in Reno’s hand, and not an unimpressive length judging by the look on Reno’s face.

Reno looked up at him with an off-center grin. “You gonna use that?”

The words brought a smile to Barret’s face and he rocked his hips forward, shifting both their bodies on the mattress. “Yeah, I think so.” He let his hand trail down Reno’s side until he reached his leg. Cupping his hand under the flesh, he lifted Reno’s leg to join the other hooked around his waist. “What d’you think I should do?”

The look on Reno’s face was well worth the teasing. A frown crossed the redhead’s pretty face and he opened his mouth to say something.

Barret didn’t let him get that far. He leaned down, suddenly hungry for more than Reno’s touch, and let his tongue slip in Reno’s open mouth. That seemed to be the spark that ignited both of them and suddenly they were moving, hips thrusting hard while their hands grabbed, groped, scratched and fondled.

Reno’s hands moved away, scrabbling frantically at something on the floor before they returned to Barret’s length and spread something slick on him. He wasn’t about to complain. Grabbing Reno by the ass, he pushed the redhead up the bed, breaking the possessive lock he’d held over Reno’s mouth as he did so. He moved Reno up far enough to line up his hips, feeling with his hand to make sure he got the angle just right.

Both hands, metal and flesh, clasped around the pale hips beneath him, holding Reno still. One sharp thrust and he was inside. Distantly he heard Reno cry out but he was too busy sucking in a breath. He forced himself to stop, to freeze where he was, buried deep inside welcoming flesh. It had been a while since he’d been inside something this tight and warm. Glancing down he watched as Reno panted, obviously surprised at the quickness with which Barret had entered him but not put off by it. If Reno felt pain, he didn’t show it. Instead the redhead arched, shifting his hips in a subtle request for more.

Barret wasn’t about to let him down.

Lifting his hands off of Reno’s hips, he let himself move, slowly at first, helping Reno get used to the length inside of him. Reno was helping him, arching his back and using his legs to lift himself off the ground to a better angle, moving with each one of Barret’s thrust. Their voices mixed with their saliva, grunts and moans filling the air while Barret was filling Reno.

Nothing existed outside the mattress and their thrusting bodies. There was nothing. Barret felt himself fall loose of his past ties, an unnoticed weight lifting off his shoulders between the space of one breath and the next. He let go and took Reno with him.

Passion swept him away and he felt like a wild animal, starved then loosed from his cage. He needed and Reno gave. Thrust after hard thrust was met between Reno’s wide-spread thighs. The redhead’s hair slipped loose from its messy ponytail, spreading like blood over the pillow as Reno’s head fell back, his eyes glazed over in mindless pleasure. Barret felt hot, heavy and weightless all at once.

Reno clenched beneath him, nearly stealing Barret’s breath away as he found himself surrounded by an impossible tightness. He let go as Reno’s body arched one last time, a soft sigh slipping from the redhead’s lips before he melted back against the mattress. Barret’s hips slowed, then stilled as he finished spurting inside of Reno. Sticky liquid pasted their chests together, more fluid spilling down Reno’s legs as Barret thrust in lazily one last time.

Blue eyes watched him, radiating contentment as they both fought to even their breaths. Neither of them moved. Barret felt like he was trapped, stuck here in this moment of time and he could honestly say he didn’t mind. He was happy, for the most part, and sated, a good kind of tiredness washing over him. If he didn’t move now, he knew he was never going to, so he pushed back, letting his member slip out of Reno’s body before he slowly rolled over onto his side. Reno rolled with him.

There wasn’t much room on the mattress for both of them, but they shifted around until Barret was on his back with Reno draped half across his chest. The redhead was the first to close his eyes, exhaling in a soft sigh before his breathing settled into an even pattern.

Resting his head against a thin pillow, Barret let himself join Reno in sleep.

*****

Barret was a little disconcerted when he woke up and he wasn’t in his own bed. At least he felt good, better than he had in weeks, which meant wherever he was he’d slept damn well. He shifted his weight to the side, only to freeze as a grumpy voice chastised him.

“Stop moving, Barret.”

He raised an eyebrow at the lucid reply, Reno’s voice clearer now than it had been last night. “I thought you were drunk.” Considering the amount of alcohol he’d guess had passed Reno’s lips, the man should be having a sizable hangover, though he certainly didn’t sound like it.

Clear blue eyes looked at him through a mess of red hair, a delicately pale cheek resting against Barret’s chest. “Not that drunk.”

“Oh.” Well, that saved him from some awkward morning-after conversation, which meant that he could turn the conversation to why Reno had started all this. “Who was that ‘he’ you mentioned last night?”

Reno shrugged, a fleeting cloud of emotion passing over his face before disappearing completely. “Doesn’t matter anymore.” The redhead was silent for a long moment. Barret would have thought Reno’d gone back to sleep except for the blue eyes still staring at him. “Do you want breakfast?”

“Y’ actually have food here? Don’t ev’n look like y’ live in this dump.”

Reno shrugged again, taking the criticism as the affirmative it masked. Barret watched as Reno shifted to sit up, his eyes following the expanse of lightly scarred pale skin revealed as Reno got out of bed. The redhead didn’t even bothering grabbing clothes on his way out of the room.

“You coming?” The words drifted lazily through the apartment.

A smile quirked on Barret’s lips as he slowly started to move.