Happy Birthday was made for you

There's that indefinite moment in time as Rude stands stock still and just...watches. Reno swears it lasts forever. He wishes Rude would DO something, SAY something, anything to let him know if he's about to fucking die here and then Rude sags against the side of the truck. Reno's hand slows a bit in its pursuit, he's suddenly feeling almost guilty and then suddenly Rude is moving again.

Powerful, deadly hands slam the sides of the truck to either side, caging Reno with walls if sheer muscle and he can sense more than actually feel the sheer mass of Rude behind him; it makes him pull up instinctively, straightening his spine and preparing for the blow to come.

There isn't much room to move between the truck and Rude and a moment of claustrophobia pops up as Reno's training screams through the haze that he's in a bad position here. He opens his mouth to say something, an apology perhaps, but his hand hits a good stride and a grunt comes out instead.

And then Rude's scent gets stronger the way it did in the bar but there's no bottle of scotch for Rude to be reaching for this time and Reno can feel the huff of hot breath against his scalp. The hair stirs in a way that's right on the pleasant edge of ticklish and Reno's eyes slip shut as every muscle in his body tenses.

He's caught on a knife edge between wanting to bolt for freedom (not that he figures he'll get far before Rude will catch him) and wanting to stroke himself all the harder now that he's got that scent so close. It fills every corner of his mind, drawn in on each huff of cold air, and he swears he can almost taste it.

Chills race up his spine and the hair on Reno's arms stand on end. Rude is smelling him, breathing him in and the man's very presence is almost smothering in its intensity. His more basic instinct, not to mention the alcohol, win out and Reno gives himself a few hard tugs, shudders racing up and down his body as the fantasy becomes all the more sharpened by Rude so near to him.

Reno's mind hardly registers the change in Rude's position, screaming out a warning that comes too late, when he suddenly feels a grip like iron in his hair. The tug hurts but not in a way his body doesn't appreciate regardless and Reno moves with it to lessen the pull, grunting at the sharp pain across sensitive skin.

His back smacks into a warm brick wall and he is forced to tip his head back to accommodate the pull, his hand coming up out of his pants as self preservation instincts tell him this has just gone horribly wrong. Rude is going to kill him. One hand snaps up to grip the wrist holding him while the other reaches around to try and brace himself against Rude's body, all while his mind reels for an answer he can give Rude on why killing him is a bad idea.

"Partner?" There's a note of uncertainty there, a tinge of concern that says Reno knows what the man holding him is capable of, but Reno's body tells him that it doesn't care, that Rude being deadly and about to kill him is all just part of the thrill that makes his cock so hard it hurts.

Reno grunts hard when he hits the front seat, expelling his breath to absorb the impact just the way he's been trained to do, and he scrambles on hands and knees toward the other door before Rude is on him again. He can hear the door slam shut behind him in the split second before he's pressed into the seat by his partner and then Rude's breath is against his hair again, this time accompanied by the full press of over six feet of trained fighter against his back.

Reno's heart slams in his chest, uncertain what the hell just happened and he struggles in vain for a few brief seconds, hands scrabbling for purchase on the smooth leather, when the grip returns to his hair and Reno finds his left cheek pressed into the seat. He stills when Rude huffs breath across his hair again and he shuts his eyes with a soft groan when he hears the snarl from above him.

This should NOT be turning him on but the fear coursing through him turns into a thrill of danger as it mingles with the booze and cranks his nerve ending up to full blast. His painfully erect dick rubs against the seat through his pants and he can feel what he thinks at first is Rude's EMR pressed into his back...until his mind helpfully supplies that the EMR was left at work the way Rude always does when they check out for the day.

Reno's eyes widen as realization hits him. If the piece of steel rebar currently bruising his lower back is any indication, Rude is as turned on as Reno is and that fact just makes being held down this way all the more exciting a prospect.

Were he sober, Reno would probably have been threatening Rude with castration for pinning him like this but in this inebriated state, he only knows that he's getting what he really wants, what he's been wanting for longer than he's willing to admit, and the thought of what Rude is capable of makes his hips jerk against the seat.

Rude's voice is in his ear, rough as chewed gravel as it commands, and Reno shivers under the larger man, swallowing hard and licking his lips again since his mouth still won't stay closed. He isn't about to argue with Rude even if he wanted to but the threat hovering in those two simple words almost makes him wish he could just to push that growl farther, to see what Rude would do if he refused.

Instead he slides his right hand back down from above his head but his elbow bumps against the arm braced by his side and Reno finds he can't budge Rude to get his hand back under him. There's only one way to get in a position that will allow him to follow Rude's order and it requires him pushing up against the other man.

Reno draws his arm in as close as he can and then uses his own considerable strength to push up with his back and legs, inadvertently grinding his ass up against the massive erection above him. He can't get more than a fraction of an inch off the seat but he uses that space to slip his hand under his body.

He has to draw it down his own chest, his fingers catching each button along the way, until he can get to his waistband. His free arm strains to keep him up enough to continue his movement under Rude's considerable weight and he slips the fingers of his right hand into his pants. His breathing speeds in excitement even as his mind reels and tells him he's fucking idiot for not stopping as soon as Rude had come outside in the first place.

He has no idea what Rude is planning on doing but he can take a wild guess and he can't say he doesn't want it even if he's nervous about how all this is going to go down. He's never been with a guy and the erection against his back tells him Rude isn't exactly "average size", a fact that sends a chill over his skin since he's the one that is apparently going to be on the receiving end tonight. Well....it IS my birthday. I guess I'm the one that's supposed to be given things, right?

Reno swallows the nervous laughter that tries to come up at the thought, giving off a shuddered if muted cry instead as his fingers finally reach their destination. He closes his grip around his own dick and gives it one timid stroke, drawing another huff of breath against the seat at the intensity of the situation.

He starts up as much of a rhythm as he can considering his limited field of movement and the gear shaft pressing into his stomach just makes him groan as he bucks up away from it only to be pressed from the opposite side by the bulge in Rude's pants.


Rude is extremely thankful for tinted windows, as well as the cold outside drawing the steam from the combined breathing up to stick to them as a shroud. He listens to every huff Reno makes, a minute shiver skating through him at every sound and shift, and finally moves, nudging his partner forward and pulling his own massive frame up to balance on one leg, knee against the glove compartment.

A slightly hesitant hand traces down Reno's side to grip the jut of his hip, guiding him to bring his knees to the edge of the passenger seat and give him more space underneath. The fingers in his hair tighten for a moment before untangling themselves, combing through it to straighten it out, and Rude has to freeze before the sensations around and below him drive him to unspeakable acts.

The grind of them with the pretense of fabric between their skins is maddening; he can feel the heat and pulse of Reno's heartbeat even through the layers and even so far away from his actual heart. Reno's writhing movements elicit an answering slither and pressure from Rude, one his mind whispers would create a lovely tandem should he choose to repeat it. His self control, however, only allows the once.

Rude spent years bringing himself under control to a point where he could effectively tamp down and ignore his carnal drive. This was triggered by a short series of sexual experiments which proved useless and generally unpleasant to him- twice with women who demanded things he was unprepared to give and too uncomfortable to try, and once with a man... Rude had received, and after the disaster that ensued, swore never to let people touch him like that again, including himself.


There was no reason for that particular facet of human nature; however, in order to conquer an opponent that strong, the first thing anyone has to do is learn it, know it and gain its trust. Had anyone been party to Rude's trust enough for him to relay his methods of conquer and control, they would have considered such things erotic at best, and probably somewhat sick.

When he closes his eyes, the year of training himself flashes behind them in all its sordid glory- methods of breath control, flow control, rise and restraint, self exploration, hidden and small forms of bondage to keep the thing down and out of sight. The year stood nearly as gruesome as the most advanced TURK training courses in resisting torture, though not nearly as detrimental as those had been.

gradually, he stripped himself of interest in sex or affection, effectively leaving the husk that turned into the death machine bearing down on Reno now. But Reno was the only factor Rude had never prepared himself for.

Eleven months of partnership. Nine months of the closest thing to friendship rude has ever allowed himself, and he only allowed it because Reno's advances of camaraderie were unyielding and persistent.

As often as Rude resisted the invitations to 'hang out,' Reno still wormed his way past the first of many barriers, elicited Rude's first smile in almost two decades, weakened other barriers with widening and crazing cracks every time he'd clap a hand to his partner's shoulder, nudge his arm, flick his ears, lean on him, defend him, cover his back in the line of fire... and somewhere along the line, another barrier began to crumble even as Rude struggled to keep it in place... hastily shoving fallen bricks into the chinks they fell out of, mortaring them with excuses and silent self-inflicted retributions for letting his mind wander.

Seven months of unexplained dreams that eventually faded into (Rude doesn't daydream, he has more important things to do) and imagery that often leaves him wholly uncomfortable. Reno has whittled away at Rude's conviction over these months, stolen chunks out of his walls and machinery.

Reno has weaseled one of these skinny white hands into a niche, squeezed one more drop of humanity out of the remainder of Rude's heart, one more spasm of lust from the aching human need Rude thought he ripped away from his being a long time ago.

Incubus, burning and breathing and wanting, Rude is convinced. He's watched Reno work his magic all too often- suffered fits of jealousy under the blanket of nervous stomach- and negated Reno's invitations for the last time. His eyes screw themselves even more tightly shut when Reno groans, and his own hips can't help but respond with something substantially more forceful than a nudge, though too awkward to be a tangible step up.

Reno needs to learn self control. Scotch or not, right in a parking lot (would be a dream come true)... Rude hisses out his own breath, lost in the ruffle of this impossible mop of hair, and his hand sneaks further down past the hip it was clutching a moment ago to cover Reno's working hand, sharing the coveted pump of muscle and heat.

Rude's breath, held for nearly two minutes, huffs out in two breaths before he holds it again. The lack and sudden rush of oxygen makes his peripheral vision sparkle almost dangerously, and he can feel the sparkle of sensation across his skin as his nerve endings receive air once more.

Breath control. So many effects from it he'd never thought about this way, and his mind wanders to the concept of repeating the single time he'd allowed a man to approach him. Would Reno be different? Would Reno know when to go, when to stop, where to hurt him and when to be gentle?

And Rude knows: Reno is a master of hedonism, an adept of the flesh. He would take Rude, know when to do what, know what they both want and pursue it with none of the hesitation Rude has built deposits of in himself for so long.

Would he allow Rude to do the same?

The fact of Rude's hand remaining where he left it with no protest from beneath him says it's very possible. But this isn't the place. Rude forcefully slows their hands down, nestles his face further into the hair and releases his breath again, working his lungs into a normal state of function again.

His hand squeezes tightly around Reno's, causing the redhead to squeeze himself, though Rude attempts to keep it just shy of a painful grip. "S-stop- Reno... I-I don't... know where you live," he pants, "and my house is... is close by... I don't trust myself driving further this... this drunk."

He tries his hardest to keep himself from sounding ashamed or disgusted, the alcohol tide in his awareness giving him the courage to be none of those to begin with, for once. He hopes Reno will understand the invitation he'd meant to offer before he found such a sight against his truck, hopes the offer will be accepted.


Reno only barely manages to keep the moaning in check each time Rude pushes against him from behind. He just knows he's not gay but the protest his mind forms falls short of explaining why he's making noises that are usually reserved for the most sordid of affairs in broom closets when Rude is barely even touching him.

There's no skin on skin contact save for the hand in his hair and yet the experience is far more intense than any Reno's had so far in his life. He's used to being in control, used to being the one on the giving end of things and he's used to just being given what he wants due to his innate ability to charm it out of most people.

Rude is different though. Reno had spent the last months trying his damnedest to get his partner to open up more, to develop a friendship from someone he honestly could say he had respect for and that respect (along with a healthy amount of frustration) had grown each time Rude had blatantly turned him down.

He knows now that Rude has done what no one else ever has, he got under Reno's skin, slipped past the wall of false charms that the redhead wore around himself to get his way and he'd managed to get what so many others had wanted from Reno: genuine interest. He doesn't want to just use the larger man, sure as hell had never thought THIS would happen, and if he weren't so drunk and turned on, there might be a genuine concern that he was risking their friendship with this.

The push from Rude's hips says he doesn't mind. Reno moans heatedly when Rude's hand makes it's way down his side and he risks opening his eyes just little when the grip in his hair turns into a soft petting.

That huge palm glides across the back of his head and it's the oddest feeling in the world to him as it evokes both a sense of the immense power behind those fingers as well as the protection he can feel in the gentleness. Rude might hurt him tonight but he sure as hell won't let anyone else do it and that only endears the bald man to Reno all the more.

He's never felt protected by anything short of a weapon before until the day he met Rude but he supposes that Rude is a weapon in his own right, a fierce terrible force to be reckoned with. Those strong fingers curling into his hip slide down under him to trace along his arm and down into his pants, eliciting a strangled noise of desire from the smaller Turk as he feels the strong grip wrap around his own hand.

Reno can't stop the breathy wanton sounds that filter up from him with each stroke and he squeezes his eyes shut to concentrate on all the sensations over his body, the hand on his own, the shift of Rude's arm that tugs on his waistband with each movement, the weight and heat of Rude's body above him and the almost disturbingly intoxicating push of Rude's erection against his lower back that makes Reno spread his legs a little farther subconsciously.

He can't decide if he wants to push back into Rude more or push up into his own hand, a feeling of frustration in him rising as his body demands more and more. He wants Rude to move his hand out of the way, to take a grip on his cock so he can feel what it's like to be stroked by someone with hands this big and calloused from years of fighting.

The whole experience is so much different than any other lover he's ever had, so much rougher in ways he's never felt and it makes something in his stomach come to life and tingle. Reno's pretty sure that if this keeps up he's going to cum or go insane but then Rude slows his hand and Reno lets out what almost comes across as a desperate whine, even to his own ears.

He doesn't know about the training Rude has put himself through but there has never been a time when he didn't get off due to someone else stopping him. He's never been denied like this and he tries to move only once before the squeeze of his own hand around his dick, forced from outside by Rude's, brings all movement to a grinding halt. Reno lays shivering and panting lightly against the seat as he listens to that perfect deep voice in his ear.

In his intoxicated and sexually aroused state, Reno takes the statement for what he would have meant had he said that to any other lover himself. He's too drunk and feeling too good to turn it down even if his mind is drowning in the last of his internal protests.

He's pretty sure Rude is asking to take him back to his place to finish this and with his need to release getting stronger every second Rude is on his back, the answer is blurted out before his thoughts can catch up to process it. "It's fine, ain't got much space at my place anyway....take me to your's, Rude. Fuck, just....Nngghh..."

Reno bucks against his own hand again though the grip keeps him from moving very far. He doesn't care where they go, hell, he'd be happy staying here as long as Rude keeps doing what he's doing, but it's obvious that Rude doesn't want it to happen in his truck.

It takes a sweet chunk of time for Rude to bring himself back under control enough to move properly. Eyes closed, he pulls his hand away- but not before running as much of his palm as he can over the crown barely peeking from the cup of Reno's fist- and sits up, using his other hand to grope behind him for the door handle.

He reaches up to adjust his shades, caught for a moment in the thick and meaty scent of Reno's sin across his palm, turning his face only a fraction of an inch to take in more of it. Finally he gets the door open and slips out, still breathing somewhat more harshly than normal.

"Sit up and... and buckle in,' he attempts to instruct, desperately clutching for control over the situation and his sense of reason again, but Reno's back, Reno's hips, Reno's tousled hair, Reno turning his head a sliver to look at Rude, threaten to sweep it right back out from under him, and Rude quickly closes the door and swoops to pick up the jackets and cigarettes from the ground, shaking the building blanket of snow from them as he makes a beeline for his own side.

He unlocks his own door, slides into his seat, tosses the coats behind them and grips the steering wheel, staring a hole into the door of the lounge in front of them. The origin of his downfall. Not really, though. A deep breath later, and his hard-on visibly retires, withering under the fabric of his slacks as he works to talk himself down out of habit to drive properly.

His worst mistake after that is turning his head to look at Reno through his slightly skewed shades. the redhead is a hot breath of lust in and of himself, and Rude notes the flush over the skin he can see; he can feel the heat in the air emanating fro his partner like a poisonous gas. Self control.

His personal control techniques flash across his mind in a slide show again, and again, and this time they run through as Reno... and in that instant, Rude loses years of ability to keep himself in check. It was easy to learn when he had nobody to be attracted to. when he was sober. When there was no Reno.

But now images of Reno half asphyxiated and red-faced, Reno wearing binding control devices where nobody can see- but only Rude would know are there- Reno gripping and breathing and meditating naked as a newly birthed god... Rude nearly chokes on his own tongue, and the withering effect reverses. He wonders how far Reno would let him go.

".......keep a tight grip on it," he growls, "thumb... at the base... to control yourself. I..." He trails off, and something dark and almost ugly awakens to whisper the rest of the words he grinds out under his breath. "If I see you let go, I'll restrain it myself." With that, he turns back to stare ahead and start up his truck, shaking his head clear of inebriated fog so he can see his way home.