Happy Birthday was made for you

Reno nods and picks at one frayed edge of the tablecloth that dangles down by his leg. He can't seem to calm the nervous jitter that's pulling at him and he isn't even sure where it's coming from. He's been around Rude on and off since they became partners and they've even hung out on the few rare occasions when Reno had been able to drag Rude out of the office but he has never felt this way around the larger man before and it leaves him a little confused.

Rude had never made him nervous, he would trust his partner with his life, but he finds himself shifting in his seat a bit and glancing around the room more than he needs to since his eyes seem to have developed a bad habit of wanting to settle on the man across from him. "I might just come here more often....ya know, iffn you don't mind 'n all." Reno grins across the table at Rude.

The larger man is the first one in a long time who's shown any interest in Reno's personal happiness for what seem to be unselfish reasons and he doesn't want to impose on that kindness by suddenly inviting himself to show up at some place that Rude might want to keep to private. It isn't that there haven't been others who have wanted to do things for Reno but there was usually a running theme to those.

The women saw him as either a 'bad boy' or some 'emotionally wrecked' thing that they could coddle and they had a tendency to want to own him outright while the men who gave him things usually either wanted him to kill someone for them or they wanted to kiss Shinra's ass through him.

He knows Rude isn't the second kind because the big guy has as much access to the President as he does and if Rude wants someone killed, the big guy is more than capable of doing it himself.

That leaves option one but again, nothing about Rude's behavior suggests that he wants to coddle the redhead (if Rude is even CAPABLE of coddling something, which Reno doubts) and Reno is fairly certain that Rude doesn't want to own him in any way. The man has been around him long enough to know that Reno and leashes don't mix unless it's a kinky game.

The thought hits him between the eyes like a lead pipe and is accompanied in full technicolor glory by a mental image of Rude in bondage gear holding his leash. Reno blinks for a few seconds and does his damnedest to ignore the slight burn he feels rise in his cheeks.

Holy fuck.....

Reno can't understand where that just came from...or why it made his stomach tingle. He's never thought of a guy like that before and it's damn near scary. So why the hell can't he seem to drive it from his head? He feels an immense relief when the waiter brings out the drinks and sets them in front of both men. Reno's is already in his hand and half downed before it can even be formally introduced to the table as he tries to drown out that mental image with a good stiff drink.

I'm going batty or somethin', he thinks as his throat welcomes the familiar burn that it's been subjected to for over a week now, I can't be thinkin' bout Rude that way...what the hell? I'm not gay, yo.... Reno just wishes he can get his body to agree with that statement, maybe if he has enough to drink, he can pretend he didn't just think about Rude like that.

He hopes the blush wasn't noticed as it would be hard to explain away, Reno is far from the type that blushes often, and he can't exactly blurt out that he was picturing the bald man in a compromising position without the fear of finding himself out in the parking lot with Rude's truck door closed on his head.

"I don't," Rude replies quietly. Why would he mind? It isn't like he haunts around here often enough to run into Reno more than once in a great while. Oddly enough, that concept is slightly upsetting to him. Over the last several months, his refusals to spend time with his partner outside the confines of work have held less and less conviction.

His home regiment has become progressively annoying to him, though he sticks with it for lack of knowing what else to do. He notes with interest the speed at which Reno disposes of his scotch and most of the sake, while Rude still idly turns his wine glass as he thinks. He calls the waiter once more to request running refills of Reno's shots, or perhaps just the bottle, as well as more sake.

Rude tends to save his hard drinking for home, where he won't be going anywhere with the chance of a collision, or doing reckless things he would regret the next day, like spending the night elsewhere.

He doesn't quite understand why 'elsewhere' immediately supplied the option of Reno's house, or even particularly Reno's bed, if the redhead even sleeps in one. His disheveled appearance lends more to the idea of him sleeping on a couch more often than not, if he sleeps at all, and Rude hasn't let anyone see him in anything less than his full suit in years.

If he isn't spending his nights recklessly, in someone else's bed. Rude can't imagine these sorts of things very well. He assumes his imagination supplies the image of his own bed because he has never seen those of other people. His body, because the thought of this wiry figure intertwined with that of a woman turns his stomach for no particular reason.

Rude's thoughts battle themselves and each other while holding up a protective screen against his observations, giving him excuses for the things he thinks, comfortable conclusions that prevent him from considering personal involvement.

Such protection is, however, false, as are most when he makes the mistake of allowing himself to think. By the time their food arrives, Rude has already decided to partake of a shot or two of scotch himself, much to Reno's surprise. The waiter only knows that Rude is troubled, as he never drinks anything that harsh unless he is.

Reno clinks his glass back to the table having finished his third shot of sake tonight. He's hitting this stuff harder than he should but it isn't doing much for his problem of a runaway imagination; instead it seems to be making matters worse by bringing a strange sort of clarity to it all that has Reno feeling less and less comfortable in his seat for a multitude of reasons.

Azure eyes widen when Rude takes a glass in his own hand and fills it with the scotch. He'd certainly never imagined Rude as the drinking type unless it was something decantered out of a bottle that was older than both of them. The scotch is still classy though so Reno shrugs it off. This is Rude's bar and so for all Reno knows, the man might have a stiff drink now and then just for kicks.

He has to wonder exactly what it is that his partner does when they get off work. Rude never says much about it and Reno has never pried, knowing how much the other Turk values his privacy. Truth be told, he realizes he knows a lot more about Rude than anyone else in the company and a lot less than he'd like to.

"Bes' take it easy on that. You gonna have to drive me home tonight and I don't figure old dot head's gonna let us get away with the excuse tha' we wrapped yer truck round a tree." Reno chuckles and holds his shot glass out of the way when the food is laid out in front of him.

He leans over and inhales deeply, drawing in the overwhelming tang of the seasoning mixed with the more earthy scents of the meat and side veggies. His body reminds him in no uncertain terms that the week of boozing and little food have not done good things for his health and the growl from his stomach is loud enough to be heard over the music.

He grins up sheepishly at Rude. "Uh..sorry. Ain't been real hungry lately. Guess it's catchin' up ta me." He only barely muses over the fact that his appetite is suddenly back now that he's out of his dingy apartment and celebrating his birthday with someone he honestly enjoys spending time with before the food in front of him gains his full attention.

Reno digs in with a voracity that would make the most hardened of tonberries cringe. He savors every bit of the tang, sucking the sauce off of his fingers with relish before moving to the next piece on the skewer and devouring it the same way.

His head begins it's slow decent into cottony fuzziness as the scotch from lunch welcomes the shots he's just had and they work together to pull the last of the tension out of his shoulders. They haven't made him less suddenly gay, but they have made the idea a lot more acceptable and he stops worrying over it for now.


"...I can handle it better than you'd think," he counters, though he didn't really mean to sound that defensive. He supposes it has to do with the thoughts he isn't used to entertaining. He finds them much easier to entertain with the help of alcohol, as he has a few times before, but it seems slightly more wrong now that the object of his contemplation is sitting before him.

He tucks neatly into his meal, savoring as always the bland and leathery meat that seems to absorb the flavor from the very air around it. He merely grunts when Reno apologizes, indicating that he isn't the least bit upset by hearing the opinion of his partner's stomach. when you're hungry, you're hungry. In actuality, he found the noise to be... sort of endearing. It reminds him a little of that puppy he fed in the alley.

He really shouldn't think of Reno that way; it only makes hi want to ruffle the impossible hair again. And....... he shouldn't think of Reno THAT way either, as it merely confuses him and renders him physically uncomfortable. He concentrates instead on his food, though soon he gives up on paying attention to it in favor of watching Reno turn his eating habits into some sort of facial burlesque episode, the way he's always done when bringing abominable foods to work in take-away boxes.

Rude reasons with himself as he watches, growing somewhat warm under his own shirt, that at least Reno doesn't turn into a complete slob when he eats. Even if he doesn't use napkins, at least he makes sure to remain lean afterward. After all, nature's napkin is... the tongue. In a fit of nervous shakes, Rude's shot glass upends itself o the table in the wake of a jittering steak knife.