4 Minute Warning

Rude/Reno. NC-17. ~700 words. For Spring Kink.
This isn’t the sort of thing Rude does.

A few feet away, at the mouth of the alley, the rain pours down like someone took a sledgehammer to the sky. Streams of it wind their way down through the maze of fire escapes and balconies to run in rivers over the cracked asphalt. Water beads on Reno’s hair, drags it down and plasters thin strands of it to his face.

“You serious?” Reno says, and he knows Rude is before the words are even out of his mouth. His hands jump straight to his fly. “You got something on you?”

Rude moves in close, backs Reno up against the cold, damp brick. “Nope,” he says, fucking purrs in that made-for-it voice of his. The shiver rushing up Reno’s spine spills out in a moan.

This isn’t the sort of thing Rude does. He shrugs off a lot of Reno’s lip, the innuendos and blatant invitations. He doesn’t shove Reno’s pants down like that, or have a habit of handing out orders, like the one for Reno to hurry up and get a leg free that he just murmured in Reno’s ear.

Reno doesn’t even have to ask for something to suck on before Rude’s got a glove off and he’s got a mouth full of two. He gets a grip on Rude’s shoulder and lifts himself up, gets his legs wrapped good and tight around Rude’s hips as worn leather curves over the bare cheek of his ass. The salt tang vanishes from dark skin as he licks between callused fingers.

“Job get you in the mood or something?” Reno asks, but it’s not like he cares – talking is just something to do with his mouth until Rude’s close enough to kiss. And it might be a sloppy fuck in a dank alley, but Rude doesn’t do half-assed, either. His kisses are a little wet, deep but quick, almost like he’s matching the stroke of his slick fingers between the cheeks of Reno’s ass on purpose.

Rude pulls back, his black lenses steamed, streaked with water from Reno’s hair. His cock is thick and blunt at Reno’s hole, pressure that goes from a promise to hard, gritty reality with one push. Reno’s grip fumbles on a hissed curse, eaten away by the howl of the wind, and the shades fall free of Reno’s fingers and crack on the uneven pavement.

“Fuck,” Reno says, “fuck.” His head tips back, face bared to the cold rain. Rude doesn’t slow down, doesn’t give him a chance to get used to it before pulling away and filling him right back up again. Spit-slick fingers move back to his hole making the next hard shove wetter, easier, deep enough to ache.

There’ll be bruises later, thick bands on Reno’s hips from Rude’s fingers and a mottle of them on his back to match when Rude gets rougher, slamming him into the coarse brick. A slow, deep grind squeezes all the air from his lungs in a low, meaningless noise. Black shadows sway at the edge of his vision.

Voice a choked moan, Reno says, “Rude, fuck, slow down,” and slides a hand into Rude’s open jacket. Warmth seeps through the cotton clinging to his rain-wet skin. “Fuck, c’mon. Make it last, baby.”

Rude slows, pulls back just enough to glance at his face. Droplets of water glisten, a diamond glitter, on his skin in the headlights from a passing car. Reno forces muscle tight, forces Rude’s, “Reno,” to come out as a moan lost in the gunshot’s jagged echoes. A couple dozen feet away, somebody who got mixed up in their mark’s dirty business, cared a little too much about it, slumps to the ground.

Rude twists in the thundering silence of the rain to look at the seeping puddle of blood mixing with filthy, rust-stained runoff. He turns back when Reno digs the gun’s butt into the base of his skull.

“Not on the job now,” Reno says. “Still hot for it?”

Rude kisses him again, harder than before, hunger sharp as iron in his mouth.


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