Rating: M (R)
Other characters/pairings: Tifa, Rude/Tifa, mentions of Reno
Table/Theme Name & Number: Table: VI, Theme: 2- Strangers
Warnings: Sexual content
Summary: They played a game of pretend.
When Reno would ask him why he always frequented the young fighter’s bar, he would merely sigh and tell his partner that most of the time it was quiet enough to think unlike the bars that Reno liked to frequent that were always so busy it made being able to hear your own thoughts damn near impossible.
His partner never believed him.
Rude never cared.
He would sit in the back of the bar, his glass in front of him, barely touching it and watching the people come in and out. Rude, ever the observer, could pick up things that most people missed, like the way the men would watch the girl’s chest as she leaned over to place their drinks on the table, read the words on their lips as they made some perverse comment about what they would like to do with her if they were given the opportunity. None of these words were ever pure, and from behind those dark glasses he would give them looks as if to say that their comments were completely uncalled for, but he never spoke a word to these horny patrons who would tell their friends how hard they would give it to the barmaid if they got the chance to be alone with her.
He would stay until the early hours of morning, watch her usher the last of the drunken patrons out of the bar, then he would silently, without being asked or prompted, help her clean off the tables, bringing the empty glasses over to her, watching her smile at him as she took the glasses from his hands, pale fingers brushing against the rough texture of his dark gloves. He would quietly turn the chairs over, placing them on the tables after she cleaned them off, helped her put away the clean glasses away, watched her as she checked over to bar to make sure she had cleaned up all that needed to be cleaned up.
He would pull her to him, press his lips against hers possessively, imagining throttling each and every one of those men who talked about touching her, kissing her, fucking her. He would listen to the whimper that crawled up her throat as he pulled her flush against him and tugged gently on her lower lip, savoring the sounds she made.
Then he would have her in some dark corner of the bar, fingers firmly gripping her hips, thrusting inside of her, whispering that he cared for her, would protect her from all those people who would hurt her if they got the chance, but not really knowing if she could ever hear him over the sounds of her own moans and the panting coming from them both.
He would sit in the bar the next day and she would smile at him the same way she did all of her other customers and he would great her causally.
They were only strangers after all.
Strangers who were good at keeping secrets.