Title: "Labeled"
Author: Lola Hard
Pairing: Reno/Rude
Rating: NC-17 (for m/m sex and a bit of swearing)
Summary: Rude's POV on 'labels' between the Turks
Disclaimer: The characters are a Square-Enix property; no money gained, only fun.

A/N: This story was written some time ago, I just wasn't sure I could post it here because of its rating. Not betaed, so please be kind to my mistakes.


There are things in life that label you.

Like working for ShinRa.

The Turk suit is a visit card of sorts. Turks are feared. Turks are respected. And those who stand above the Turks are labeled Gods.

Like Rufus ShinRa. He's called an Evil God. Well, he's just a man whose life is centered on achieving his corporation's goals. A man whose hands are elbow deep in blood. But a God nonetheless. Because Gods are almighty, and he surely is. Not many are even allowed to speak to him directly, only a limited number of people. And that is making him even more godlike. But those few know too well that Rufus ShinRa is as human as one can be. He has brilliant mind, but take his empire and live shield of bodyguards away from him – and he's helpless. I shouldn't be thinking such things, but it's my job to weight the information, to analyze, to count the odds. It's not like I'm going to act on it or use it in any way – ShinRa has given me too much in this life to do anything to destroy it… Well, like I said, Rufus is human. How many times I've seen that Look in his eyes when he delivered yet another 'disposal' order in my and Reno's direction across the room. We're assassins, we're his flexible and smart weapons he doesn't have to control – but he is the one who really kills all those people, because the 'disposal' is started only by his words, and not a moment earlier. And he knows it, he bears this knowledge behind those eyes. And I've never seen even the slightest trace of joy there. Not Evil, just business. And human. Not God at all.

Tseng. Tseng's a Fallen Angel. Rufus' right hand. I'd say the day Tseng would fall will be the day when ShinRa itself would cease to be. Because this man knows more ways to kill than all the Turks of the corporation altogether. And that's also quite an obvious reason why he can't be called an Angel. But it doesn't change the fact that from time to time Tseng drinks himself into nothingness, and it makes me question his invulnerability. Maybe this nickname has something to do with his past, 'cause you don't become like that in one night and without a good reason.

Where Tseng is, there's Elena. A Valkyrie. The one who gave her this nickname must have a good sense of humor. Elena would surely appear on a battlefield, only to collect the dead bodies of Turk-warriors and get them to the ShinRa Medlabs-Valhalla. Though, I must say, she's a real valkyrie when Tseng is smoking in the office, or when Reno happens to drink all coffee before she manages to get a cup.

I'm sometimes called a Silent Golem. I haven't always been silent. It just came along with the work. Tseng was by my side that First Day years ago, he was the one who saw me become who I am now. Though I'm not sure he knows exactly why, he never mentioned that. Maybe he does. The reason is simple. It's easier to kill when your emotions are cut off. Well, when your prey doesn't see your emotions, to be exact. When I pulled the trigger and sent the bullet into living flesh that day for the first time in my life I knew I'd always remember those eyes, no matter how hard I'd try to forget. And I put the equanimity on, like a mask of an executioner. It told those I killed that there's no hope, and they silently accepted their fate making it easier for me. It saved my sanity. Besides, I'm not too good with words, so when I don't know what to say I just say nothing, and it's still okay. As years passed, it became something akin to my personality, because Turks are always on duty.

And then there's Reno…

Reno's a Cocky Bastard. I swear, those two words flashed in my mind the first time I saw him. He greeted me in his trademark Reno-style I hadn't been aware of at the moment, saying that he could bet I wouldn't be that serious if I had my cock down his throat. The next second when I had my hands around his neck and his slim body pressed with mine into the nearest wall I realized that somehow this almost-stranger had managed to shift my perfect balance in only five seconds and I'd just lost my impenetrable façade in the face of an unwelcome fury, and regretted it. I could see in his eyes he knew it too – and instead of fear and apologies I got a cocky smile from him and a low laugh followed by a breathed assumption that we would work well together which traveled from my ears through my stomach and straight south. How could he do that? Damn Cocky Bastard, I thought. And less than an hour later I'd heard he had exactly that nickname among his colleagues.

He was right, we did work well together. He can't keep his mouth shut for more than five minutes and often speaks for both of us. But even though everybody thinks he's got a crazy mouth, I know better. There are times when he doesn't know what to say, either. And just as I have my sunglasses and silence to mask my emotions, Reno has his cigarette and a sly smile to do the same job. Mine is oblivious stillness, his is absent movement.

He was right when he'd told me I wouldn't kill him if he broke my sunglasses. Quite a bold statement taking into consideration that I'd just told him the opposite. And the fact that he actually broke my sunglasses after making that statement made it even bolder. But this cocky bastard was right. I just made it my habit to drag a spare couple with me from then on.

He was right when he'd said I couldn't drink him out. I remember feeling like shit embracing the porcelain toilet bowl at the back of some bar while he was laughing his ass off behind the closed door and banging it with his EMR periodically. I remember taking some awfully tasting pills to absorb alcohol and make my head clearer, but they wouldn't work for another agonizing hour.

He was right when he'd said that he could bring me home on his shoulders. He's not as slim and fragile as I assumed him to be. He's a Turk after all. He's my partner. I tried not to fall asleep on our way to my apartment, and by the time he put me on the bed I blessed those shitty pills, 'cause I felt much better.

He was wrong only about one thing – having my cock down his throat I'm serious. Deadly serious. As in I do care what will happen tomorrow morning when we wake up beside each other. I'm trying to say his name, but it feels so fucking good I can't seem to go past the first syllable. He's reading my mind – I feel his comforting and burning hand on my abdomen, and it says, "yeah, I know, don't speak, just feel." And then only uncommitted low moans come out of my throat as I feel his hot wet tongue slide up the underside of my cock to curl around the slick head. Those lips were created not for a stupid banter Reno's doing every damn day, but definitely for sucking all the strength out like that, for driving insane, for making me forget my own fucking name… I'm surely not a god, I don't come close even to the illusive godliness of Rufus – and yet I feel worshiped. Pleasure so close to torture in its intensity that I'm almost ready to die here. And when a blinding orgasm comes, for one crazy moment I think I did die, except if the face in a fire of blood-red hair above me belonged to an angel it wouldn't be covered with sweat, aqua eyes wouldn't hold shameless passion and those swollen lips wouldn't give me that cocky smile that's making me hard again. Or would they? I feel like these are the only right things in the world. But when I caress his cheek with my damp trembling hand and finally whisper his name from the first letter to the last, his smile disappears and he covers my palm with his, and I really can see that he knows what I'm trying to say to him.

He's not that cocky and not that bastard after all. Just like I'm not always silent and my body, unlike golem's, is just flesh and blood in the end.


A/N:Thank you for reading. Please review :)