Nameless Master
folder
Final Fantasy VII › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
818
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Final Fantasy VII › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
818
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Final Fantasy VII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
A Gamble to Remember
*This story is in response to the hardcore Reno/Vincent
challenge issued on 05-26-05. After careful consideration,
I have decided that this too is part of the Renosaga project.
Although I tried to keep Vincent a very distant and intangible
character in this adventure, he still acts much out of character
if you ask me. (This is indeed quite a challenge!) However,
this is the finished product, and yes, it is a bit silly but given
the requirements, you guys were just asking for a comedy ^_^*
**see profile for disclamer**
Nameless Master
Part One: A Gamble to Remember
“You lost. Put it on.”
Reno stared in drunken shock at the passed
out figure on the floor. He had made an absurd bet that
this idiot could hold a lot of liquor—being well over 200lbs—but
had passed out after his 9th shot. He didn’t even know the
guy and he had bet on it. Now Rude was holding up a
tiny yellow miniskirt with a quirked eyebrow. “N’fuggin’ way…”
he slurred, trying to stand but finding that all feeling stopped
below the knees.
Rude picked his friend and co-worker up and propped him back
up. Twenty-two shots in an hour might have been a few too
many, even for Reno. He didn’t look very amused but even
completely smashed Reno could feel the insane laughter
dancing off of Rude’s sunglasses.
“You bet, Reno. You lost. Put it on,” Rude told him again.
“C’mon man… y’can’t b’serious!” Reno mumbled, wondering
why Rude would wear sunglasses in the dim bar of Honeybee
Inn in the first place.
He didn’t remember Rude dragging him to a room full of girls
with boas and high heels on, saying something along the lines
of, “Make him pretty.” He barely remembered them tearing
off his clothes and replacing them with something tight and
uncomfortable, smearing cold cream and perfumed powder
on his face and playing with his hair. He didn’t like it when they
pulled his hair, but whatever they were doing was a mystery to the
plastered Turk.
He barely recalled the shaving cream on his legs, but when they
waxed his armpits he was yanked out of his wasted daze with
a painful yelp. “What the hell is going on?!” he tried to say,
but communication was incredibly difficult when his tongue was
suddenly made out of lead.
“Five minutes, ladies!” someone called.
Giggles erupted around him. “Let’s send him out,” one of the
females (he hoped she was a she) sniggered.
“His friend didn’t say to go that far…”
“This I’ve gotta see though…”
He was pulled to his feet and dragged through a door or two.
He caught a foxy chick in a yellow skirt and a red sequin shirt
in the mirror. Wait a minute…
Suddenly Reno was shoved into a hot and sweaty spotlight and
he drunkenly staggered for something to lean on. Thin cold
metal. A pole.
Laughter struck him in waves and he abruptly realized exactly
where he was.
It was the stripper stage across from the bar.
“FUCK!” he shouted in frustration and panic. “FUCK YOU
ALL!” Reno fell backwards onto his ass and cheers and hoots
blossomed from the patrons. Oh god. A skirt, he was wearing
a fucking skirt, that fucking yellow skirt! He didn’t wear
underwear!! The whole bar was getting a show! Not to mention
the whole ordeal had left him strangely hard…
“That’s a hot he-she!” someone hooted, stuffing gil into
one of the ruby-red pumps one of the girls had crammed his
feet into. Reno kicked and stumbled blindly for the pole to
pull himself up. Blood rushed to his cheeks, neck and ears as
his heart pounded in hot humiliation.
Rude was covering his mouth up front, trying not to laugh—which
was the equivalent of the average man pissing himself in a
laughing fit. Another familiar face stalked the shadows of the
crowd, eyeing him hungrily, thought where he had seen the face
before eluded him.
Reno stumbled off stage, face burning. Hammered, yes, but
so very, very angry. Rude was going to suffer the wrath of the
hard-on practically popping out of this obscenely uncomfortable
miniskirt.
Rude caught up with him backstage. Before he could say
anything at all Reno punched him in the nose and pushed him
to his knees. It was difficult when his victim had no hair, but Reno
managed to grab Rude’s head and present it to the boner that
he had revealed. “Rude yerfuckin’ PAYIN’ for thissone…!” he
slurred. “Suck it ya lil’ bitch!”
Reno wasn’t sure what Rude would do, but obeying the order
caught him off guard. He let out a drunken moan, though in
this state he couldn’t tell if Rude was skilled or not—just that
it felt awesome.
It was at that point in his stupor that Reno realized that they
were being watched and had been observed for some time now.
It was that strange face in the crowd that was familiar somehow.
The red eyes gave it away, but the name just wouldn’t come to
his mind—which had slowed to a crawl. Only the most basic
functions remained: eat, sleep, fuck. Think was not on that list.
Reno couldn’t come in the presence of the shadowy voyeur.
Maybe it was the alcohol or perhaps it was how uncomfortable
stuffed bras really were, but mostly it was those eyes drinking
in every drop of the spectacle without permission.
It wasn’t until the stranger approached and laid a heavy, clawed
and metallic hand on a startled Rude’s shoulder that Reno felt
the urge. If this guy so much as touched him he would go off
in a heartbeat.
“You’re not doing it right,” he told Rude softly. The voice was
cold but the words were hot in Reno’s ears. IT only took a few
moments of this familiar but foreign man to wrench a cry from
him and squeeze the release out of the erection that was buried
in his soft lips. Reno wasn’t going to question that some weirdo
just gave him an intense orgasm—this was Honeybee Inn, and
anything goes here.
Reno sank to his knees, puked at the stranger’s feet and
passed out cold, too drunk to do or say much else.
Vincent hefted the very foxily dressed Turk over his shoulder
and approached the manager’s desk. “Room please,” he
said simply.
“God drinks coffee g’dammit!!! … …An’ don’t you fergotit!”
Reno cried out stupidly from his leaden slumber.
“That is one butch chick,” the manager commented, exchanging
a key with a room number on it for the wad of gil.
“He’s a handful,” Vincent replied, carrying Reno up the steps.
*****************************************************
challenge issued on 05-26-05. After careful consideration,
I have decided that this too is part of the Renosaga project.
Although I tried to keep Vincent a very distant and intangible
character in this adventure, he still acts much out of character
if you ask me. (This is indeed quite a challenge!) However,
this is the finished product, and yes, it is a bit silly but given
the requirements, you guys were just asking for a comedy ^_^*
**see profile for disclamer**
Nameless Master
Part One: A Gamble to Remember
“You lost. Put it on.”
Reno stared in drunken shock at the passed
out figure on the floor. He had made an absurd bet that
this idiot could hold a lot of liquor—being well over 200lbs—but
had passed out after his 9th shot. He didn’t even know the
guy and he had bet on it. Now Rude was holding up a
tiny yellow miniskirt with a quirked eyebrow. “N’fuggin’ way…”
he slurred, trying to stand but finding that all feeling stopped
below the knees.
Rude picked his friend and co-worker up and propped him back
up. Twenty-two shots in an hour might have been a few too
many, even for Reno. He didn’t look very amused but even
completely smashed Reno could feel the insane laughter
dancing off of Rude’s sunglasses.
“You bet, Reno. You lost. Put it on,” Rude told him again.
“C’mon man… y’can’t b’serious!” Reno mumbled, wondering
why Rude would wear sunglasses in the dim bar of Honeybee
Inn in the first place.
He didn’t remember Rude dragging him to a room full of girls
with boas and high heels on, saying something along the lines
of, “Make him pretty.” He barely remembered them tearing
off his clothes and replacing them with something tight and
uncomfortable, smearing cold cream and perfumed powder
on his face and playing with his hair. He didn’t like it when they
pulled his hair, but whatever they were doing was a mystery to the
plastered Turk.
He barely recalled the shaving cream on his legs, but when they
waxed his armpits he was yanked out of his wasted daze with
a painful yelp. “What the hell is going on?!” he tried to say,
but communication was incredibly difficult when his tongue was
suddenly made out of lead.
“Five minutes, ladies!” someone called.
Giggles erupted around him. “Let’s send him out,” one of the
females (he hoped she was a she) sniggered.
“His friend didn’t say to go that far…”
“This I’ve gotta see though…”
He was pulled to his feet and dragged through a door or two.
He caught a foxy chick in a yellow skirt and a red sequin shirt
in the mirror. Wait a minute…
Suddenly Reno was shoved into a hot and sweaty spotlight and
he drunkenly staggered for something to lean on. Thin cold
metal. A pole.
Laughter struck him in waves and he abruptly realized exactly
where he was.
It was the stripper stage across from the bar.
“FUCK!” he shouted in frustration and panic. “FUCK YOU
ALL!” Reno fell backwards onto his ass and cheers and hoots
blossomed from the patrons. Oh god. A skirt, he was wearing
a fucking skirt, that fucking yellow skirt! He didn’t wear
underwear!! The whole bar was getting a show! Not to mention
the whole ordeal had left him strangely hard…
“That’s a hot he-she!” someone hooted, stuffing gil into
one of the ruby-red pumps one of the girls had crammed his
feet into. Reno kicked and stumbled blindly for the pole to
pull himself up. Blood rushed to his cheeks, neck and ears as
his heart pounded in hot humiliation.
Rude was covering his mouth up front, trying not to laugh—which
was the equivalent of the average man pissing himself in a
laughing fit. Another familiar face stalked the shadows of the
crowd, eyeing him hungrily, thought where he had seen the face
before eluded him.
Reno stumbled off stage, face burning. Hammered, yes, but
so very, very angry. Rude was going to suffer the wrath of the
hard-on practically popping out of this obscenely uncomfortable
miniskirt.
Rude caught up with him backstage. Before he could say
anything at all Reno punched him in the nose and pushed him
to his knees. It was difficult when his victim had no hair, but Reno
managed to grab Rude’s head and present it to the boner that
he had revealed. “Rude yerfuckin’ PAYIN’ for thissone…!” he
slurred. “Suck it ya lil’ bitch!”
Reno wasn’t sure what Rude would do, but obeying the order
caught him off guard. He let out a drunken moan, though in
this state he couldn’t tell if Rude was skilled or not—just that
it felt awesome.
It was at that point in his stupor that Reno realized that they
were being watched and had been observed for some time now.
It was that strange face in the crowd that was familiar somehow.
The red eyes gave it away, but the name just wouldn’t come to
his mind—which had slowed to a crawl. Only the most basic
functions remained: eat, sleep, fuck. Think was not on that list.
Reno couldn’t come in the presence of the shadowy voyeur.
Maybe it was the alcohol or perhaps it was how uncomfortable
stuffed bras really were, but mostly it was those eyes drinking
in every drop of the spectacle without permission.
It wasn’t until the stranger approached and laid a heavy, clawed
and metallic hand on a startled Rude’s shoulder that Reno felt
the urge. If this guy so much as touched him he would go off
in a heartbeat.
“You’re not doing it right,” he told Rude softly. The voice was
cold but the words were hot in Reno’s ears. IT only took a few
moments of this familiar but foreign man to wrench a cry from
him and squeeze the release out of the erection that was buried
in his soft lips. Reno wasn’t going to question that some weirdo
just gave him an intense orgasm—this was Honeybee Inn, and
anything goes here.
Reno sank to his knees, puked at the stranger’s feet and
passed out cold, too drunk to do or say much else.
Vincent hefted the very foxily dressed Turk over his shoulder
and approached the manager’s desk. “Room please,” he
said simply.
“God drinks coffee g’dammit!!! … …An’ don’t you fergotit!”
Reno cried out stupidly from his leaden slumber.
“That is one butch chick,” the manager commented, exchanging
a key with a room number on it for the wad of gil.
“He’s a handful,” Vincent replied, carrying Reno up the steps.
*****************************************************