Call it OCD, or just a strange urge, but something always unnerved him beyond reason when he saw that man... it made him so agitated! But it was quite a long time before he actually figured out why, and much longer before he decided to do anything about it.
Vincent had been recently visiting Cloud, Tifa, and the orphans, and currently lurked in the back corner of the bar when Reno came in for his nightly drink. Tonight he'd arbitrarily chosen to stop by the 7th Heaven... and once again was unknowingly giving the gunman that awful feeling.
"I'll take a bourbon, Tifs." he said with his characteristic cocky grin as he draped himself over the barstool and counter, his chin resting in the palm of his hand.
"For Bahamut's sake, Reno..." Tifa murmured, glaring at him for the use of the nickname, and cursing the horrible irony of the fact that she'd chosen today of all days to wear a low-necked shirt.
He merely grinned cheekily, and waited for his drink.
Vincent never took his eyes off of him through the entire time Reno sipped at it, always scrutinously observing. There it was... that thing which he'd suffered so many sleepless nights over, his mind toiling on that one single fact. It must have been the Ancients themselves who had sent Reno here so that he could at long last fix the problem.
When Reno had finally finished it off, and clacked the glass down onto the counter, he at last stood up to leave. "See ya later, Tifs." he called to the woman, tossing down a few gil tip. She merely sighed wearily and pocketed it, then went back to wiping down the wooden surface with a wet cloth.
It was now that he made his move. Red eyes followed red hair right up to the threshold of the outdoors, then he stealthily got up from his seat in the back, and made his way over, following the other man's path. Reno was already outside, and his pursuer had to slip nimbly through the closing door so as not to alert the man to his presence. He shadowed him a few steps further, before finally deciding to act...
The usually-alert senses of the Turk were currently slightly hampered by the alcohol... and therefore he didn't notice a thing until rough hands grabbed him by his upper-arms and held him still.
He let out a little wail of protest, and began to struggle, but went stiff when he felt a hot breath against his neck, and a familiar voice whispering in his ear.
"I'll have you know, Reno, that I've been wanting for a long, long time to do this..." it said huskily, the hands lightly letting go of his arms and slipping down lower.
"Vincent?" he gasped, glancing back and catching just a glimpse of the fiery coals of eyes.
Vincent's hands, flesh and claw alike trailed down the Turk's sides, then around his back, toying with the fabric of his clothes there, before they came to his front. The very tips of his fingers slid down the man's stomach, trailing a tingling feeling behind them until they reached the hemline of his pants.
Reno gasped again, Holy Hades, what the fuck does he think he's...
Then they slipped beneath, and Reno bit down hard on his lower lip, and squeezed his eyes shut in preparation...
...but nothing came.
The warmth of Vincent's body against his back had gone away, and the soft, tickling velvet of his flapping cloak had left. Reno looked over his shoulder once more, his face the very same color of that cloak, and his green eyes wide and questioning.
Vincent disregarded this look, and was already walking quickly away, a dark form swooping down the streets. He offered only a few words to explain the situation, which Reno had just finally understood upon looking down at himself. The gunman's words were tinted with amusement as he spoke: "From now on, keep your shirt tucked in."
Author's Ending Note Thingy: Inspired by a roleplay I'm doing with a friend of mine... Vincent and Reno, an odd, unlikely pairing that there's not enough of, and I've only recently been introduced to. XD I don't plan to write any serious stuff between those two (with Reno, how could it be serious?), but I just couldn't resist this little drabble.