Cid/Cloud this time. ^.^ Kinda pointless and short, but whatever. Enjoy. :P

Disclaimer: I don't own FFVII. ;.;

Cid was the sort of man who didn't mind getting dirty. In fact, he rather lived for it.

Oil was routinely smeared all over his body after a hard day's work—he'd reek of the stuff and wouldn't give a damn whether it bothered anyone else or not. Shera constantly had to bleach and wash his clothes, and when that didn't work, she'd go take his Gil and buy him new ones. No biggie, really.

Yuffie complained, though. She was always screeching about how he stank, how he looked, blah blah blah. According to the Wutai ninja, he'd never settle down with a woman because females generally did not like men who were slathered in oil. The kind of oil that was associated with all things mechanical, anyway.

Well, he had informed her, until he found someone who didn't mind their man a little dirty, he was gonna stay fuckin' single. And that was his plan.

When he had asked where the company's resident hero was, he hadn't expected Vincent to reply, "In the garage."

Cid blinked, crossing his arms. "How come?"

"Fenrir," Vincent said slowly, staring at him like he was an idiot. Cid scowled and started towards the garage, trying to figure out why Strife would be there. Fenrir… it was the name of the kid's motorcycle, if he recalled correctly. A mental image of Cloud helplessly trying to fix something wrong with the engine popped into his head, and Cid chuckled. He'd try to help the kid out, at the very least. Backwoods Nibelheim natives never would've learned how to deal with machines, he reasoned.

Pushing his goggles higher up on his messy blond head, Cid lit a cigarette with practiced ease and shoved both hands into his pockets, trying to look casual. He strolled into the garage, eyes intensely looking for Strife, though not in an obvious way.

He found him soon enough. The beautiful bike was up on its kickstand, gleaming in a way Cid hadn't seen it during battle. A rag was off to the side, showing that the wipe down had been recent. Cloud himself was sprawled on one of the standard garage creepers that let you get underneath your vehicle, carefully tightening a bolt next to one of Fenrir's gleaming chrome pipes.

His fingers moved in a way that showed he wasn't a mere amateur—each deft twist of whatever tools he kept grabbing was carefully measured, thought out and precise. Cid moved forward soundlessly, watching as a few drops of thick, dark liquid splashed onto a bare stomach. Cloud didn't seem to mind.

Slowly Cloud pressed his feet against the floor, moving him up a little bit to reach some other part of Fenrir. His legs spread with the movement, and Cloud made a happy noise as he did something to his beloved motorcycle that was to his liking.

Cid's mouth fell open and his cigarette fell to the floor, sizzling out. Something alerted Cloud to Cid's presence, and he said haphazardly, "Hello?"

When Cloud rolled out from underneath Fenrir, hair mussed and face streaked with oil, Cid knew it was love.

Pink lips parted and Cloud's eyes widened, a dark smear of something under the left one. "Cid?" he questioned, starting to sit up.

Cid quickly strode over to the smaller man, yanked him closer with the help of the creeper, and, grinning manically, crushed their lips together.

When Shera heard two heavy pairs of boots on their way towards the kitchen, she put down the can of whipped cream in her hand next to a pie she was making, turned around and pursed her lips. Her annoyed look melted off her face when she saw Cid arrogantly come in, followed by Cloud.

"…You're…filthy?" she said, as was her usual comment when Cid returned from the garage. However, it came out like a question as she stared at them.

Cloud looked absolutely bewildered, lips red and swollen as his glassy eyes flickered all over the room. Great, dirty handprints were all over his chest, a fair smattering of Fenrir's nasty grease all over his right nipple. Cid's shirt, mainly the area near his shoulders, was streaked in it. It looked like someone had been fisting the fabric for all they were worth, with that kid of handprint.

"Yep," Cid agreed, grinning. He grabbed Cloud's hand and roughly-but-somehow-gently yanked him forward, leaving another greasy smear on Cloud's hand.

"I gotta go find that brat," Cid said, referring to Yuffie. Shera watched Cloud teeter behind the pilot as he was pulled out of the room on unsteady feet.

Cid was one dirty man. Now there were two. Together.

She'd have to start charging them for doing their laundry.