Who: Kefka Palazzo and Reeve Tuesti/
When: Little while after the jungle mission from Hell/
Where: Night club, then a lovely motel/
What: The pick-up/
Warning: Flirting, drinking, cross-dressing/
Status: In Progress/
Kefka: He'd solved everything. It was such a simple solution, really, just a momentary decision that would change his life for the better; he was smarter than any doctor. What did they know? They only thought they could fix him. But the petite blonde that was lost among the throng of bodies, strong arms around his waist, hot breath in his hair, desired, wanted, glorified, was certainly not broken. He was perfect. Three whole days without the pills had brought him the peace he so desired; he had restful, dreamless nights, no more shredded sheets in the mornings, and he finally had his appetite back--not just for food, either. He was alive again, and he could feel it in every inch of his body, a craving that just wouldn't quit.
Tonight, he'd forget dark skin and white hair, that smiling eye that loved it when he tossed his gender to the side and took up the guise of a female. He took so much after his mother... Clad in a white dress, the straps thin, the bodice laced up high to hide his lack of breasts, he looked rather convincing--but he was a regular here, and most knew better. Still, he was accepted into open arms, and there he danced, silent smile of liberation plastered to the light gloss of his lips.
Reeve: Most of the patrons of the club seemed to be enjoying themselves well enough -- but not Reeve. He'd chosen the club for several reasons. One: even on a weeknight like this, the bar had been universally abandoned for the call of the dance floor, and so he had the space and privacy he desperately craved. This was very useful or getting drunk and wallowing in his own misery.
Two: the lights were flashing, the music ear-drum shattering, and with everybody pressed together on the floor and emphatically not alone, Reeve, by himself, provided a very startling comparison. This, combined with melancholy thoughts of Vincent, allowed him to cultivate the proper air of loneliness and desolation to really add weight to his mission of emo-ness.
In short, Reeve was moping: he'd just chosen to do so in a very crowded and well-populated area. He'd made no attempts to change into club clothes, choosing instead to strip off his suit jacket and untucked his shirt. His hair was down and ungelled, though, because he'd had a quick shower after inspecting the reactor sight, and a few wispy tendrils curled around his face, making him look younger and softening his features. Overall, he fit in well enough if you didn't look too close - and if you ignored the fact that he was plastered to the bar, stubbornly wallowing in his own misery.
Kefka: The one who held him leaned down to whisper something into his ear, nose brushing the large golden hoops that dangled down next to the blonde's pale cheeks. Did Kefka want to go somewhere with him? He had a nice place, about fifteen minutes' drive from the club, wine, a big bed... It wasn't the most romantic proposal he'd ever heard, but he'd had worse; since it was a time for celebration, maybe he could cut the man some slack and let those fingers travel just a little farther under his skirt...
Kefka didn't believe in the Guardians, or a god of any sort. They were all silly fables, stupid tales that far outlasted their worth. He did, however, have an inkling that Fate existed. And when the crowd suddenly surged to the left of him, he let his head turn over one bony shoulder, curls of spun gold bouncing around his face with so simple a movement.
It just took a second, but Kefka saw him clearly as day, beneath a flash of strobelights that illuminated a familiar form that tried to hide quite a ways from reach.
"I will pass," he murmured, much to the distaste of his dancing partner. The crowd closed again, but his sights had been reset, and his curiosity was sparked. He was too short to find his way directly to the bar, but after maneuvering his way through the dance floor (quite a feat in spiked heels), he found himself closeby. After a few minutes' searching, he settled down next to the executive. "Mister Tuesti... What a pleasant surprise."
Reeve: Most of the bar had begun leaving Reeve alone when he'd first snapped at them, which was why the radius of seats around him remained clear. He was perfectly prepared to offer another such dismissal, but the words froze and died when he was addressed by name. No one here should know him. He'd gone to very great lengths to ensure that no one here should know him.
He turned cautiously, his eyes widening with notable surprise when he took in the General's attire - but he refrained from comment. The blonde was beautifully made up, but not so completely that he wasn't identifiable.
Well, at least they were in separate departments, so Kefka couldn't fire him. Except that Kefka was the one in the dress, so really, shouldn't that be reversed? Reeve was fairly sure that cross dressing fell under “conduct unbecoming of an officer”. Not that he minded. Nor, in all honesty, did he find it particularly unbecoming, at least on the delicate general. It was just that he was so used to cowering in the presence of all higher SOLDIER and TURK personnel. Those habits were pretty deeply ingrained, and not so easy to break.
“General Palazzo,” he responded, keeping his voice low enough to be covered by the beat around them. “It certainly is a surprise.”
Kefka: Upon closer inspection, one could see that he'd gone to great lengths to mask any trace of masculinity. His eyes were outlined in thick, dark kohl, then outlined again with silver eye shadow that glittered every time the lights moved across it. Blonde lashes had been stained black for the evening, framing the blue irises that took in the sight of the other male with such amusement. For once, he looked soft, touchable, no longer locked on his own plane; every gesture was real and consciously intended. "Kefka," he corrected in a pleasant chirp, crossing one leg over the other in a very lady-like fashion, "Are you going to buy me a drink, Reeve?"
He was... actually rather handsome without that ridiculous tight ponytail he constantly wore. And without the jacket on his back and files in his hands, Reeve Tuesti looked very much like an approachable--although rather gloomy--single man.
One manicured finger, painted white for this occasion, lifted to idly curl around the wisps of auburn hair that fell around his grim face. As far as Kefka was concerned, since he was having the time of his life, so should everyone else. "You look absolutely terrible," came an inviting murmur, "Your expression, I mean. If you did not have such a frown on your face, I think you would look absolutely dashing. Most do not come to clubs to brood.."
Reeve: “I'm not most,” Reeve responded, reaching up and moving the general's hand away, gently. Kefka was certainly welcome to party as much as he wanted, but so far Reeve had only imbibed enough alcohol to make him stubborn and honest. He was, by his own reckoning, another drink or two away from losing his brooding atmosphere. It would probably be a good time to stop -- which was a problem, because he was very determined not to have to go home and face Vincent.
Who was, ohgod, living in his apartment.
Reeve expertly ignored Kefka's request for a drink, shrugging. “Most aren't here to brood, you said it yourself. You should go back to dancing. Enjoy yourself.” And leave me aloooone, he added silently. Honestly, Reeve had no problem with Kefka - and, in fact, if he was being entirely honest it was nice to have someone to talk to - but really, this was interrupting some perfectly good self-pitying!
Kefka: He didn't miss a beat. With unnatural calmness, the hand that was so gingerly pushed away now wrapped itself lightly around Reeve's wrist; as stubborn as the other might have been, the blonde across from him had an entire lifetime of always getting his way tucked beneath his belt. Drinks or not, he decided at that moment that he would be spending his evening with this man, and there wasn't a damned thing anyone could do about it. Of course, he'd never admit his mentality openly. Urging someone like Mr. Tuesti out of his little shell would take some work, but it was nothing that a few more drinks and a dance or two couldn't handle. At least, he hoped. He had just given a rather promising lay the cold shoulder, just for a chance to talk to this person.
"I will enjoy myself more if those around me are not caught beneath rain clouds." His head cocked to the side in a pixie-like manner, small mouth curling into another warm smile. Really, he was cute when he tried to angst all alone. "At least humor me; one dance is all I ask."
Reeve: Reeve considered it seriously for a minute, but the ever constant reminder that Vincent was still alive - back in town - staying in his apartment!! - changed his mind, and he shook his head. “I don't think I've had quite enough drinks for that,” he answered honestly, but there might have been a small hint of humor in it. Gently, he extracted his hand. “There are plenty of others enjoying themselves, General. I'm sure one down spirit won't dampen your mood too terribly.”
But Kefka was definitely in luck - Reeve, no matter how stubborn, was definitely still a pushover at heart. The blonde wouldn't have too much trouble coercing him out onto the dance floor - or wherever else he wanted to attempt coercion - especially not once Reeve had a few more drinks in him.
Kefka: Butt-head, he thought toward the other man as he turned and resettled on his stool. "Kefka," he corrected for the second time, moments before waving down the bartender and politely requesting two Double Jacks. One dainty hand reached out to snag his shot once it arrived, while the other pushed the second glass toward Reeve. "Then please, have enough drinks for it. My entire evening will be a waste if I do not have the pleasure of dancing with you just for one little, teeny, tiny, song."
Crystal-clear blue eyes sparkled as he offered a smirk, then threw back the blend of Yukon Jack and Jack Daniels. The stuff burned like all hell, hurt like a bitch, and even made his ears ring a little as dizziness rolled over him in a single burst, but once the initial shockwave wore off, he was twice as giddy as before. And twice as insistent. "Have at it, Mister Tuesti."
Reeve: Reeve shook his head, toying with the glass in his hands. “Kefka,” he acknowledged at last. “Why are you so insistent?” He examined the liquid. It wasn’t his normal drink, but it would do the job a hell of a lot quicker than another scotch. He had to remind himself he didn’t want quick, that this was all about having an excuse not to go home.
Well, at least not to his home… Reeve was reserved, and a little naïve, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew when someone was trying to pick him up – he generally discouraged it – and Kefka seemed to be pretty determined about the whole matter. Which was interesting, since this wasn’t some random stranger in a bar, it was someone he knew. And who didn’t even like him! And who, his brain supplied helpfully, was currently wearing a dress. Reeve didn’t know why that mattered, but he was sure it was very, very
significant in some way.
Kefka: Kefka Palazzo was not only a friendly drunk, but a very honest drunk. This applied also to the time immediately before he fell into 'drunk' status, such as the present moment. He leaned against the bar with a queer sort of grace, now badgering the bartender for an Italian Sombrero. When the man set to mixing the drink up, he turned his attention back to Reeve, all smiles and a few short giggles. "Because you, sir, are a very cute, precious little man who needs to dance with me," he replied, swaying on the stool. With his new drink set in front of him and one small hand toying with the wisps of hair around the other's face again, he leaned to the side and added: "And you look like you need it, my friend. You look like you need it."
Reeve: Reeve looked down, uncertainly. Kefka was undoubtedly right, at least about the him needing alcohol part. He wasn't entirely convinced about the dancing, yet.
But this was wrong. He had to hold on to that. He couldn’t take advantage of Kefka – of General Palazzo – because the smallest man was quite obviously drunk. Never mind that he could probably still shred Reeve with his pinky finger, he was still drunk.
Whereas you, Reeve told himself, playing with the shot glass, are quite clearly stone-sober.
He twirled the shot of Double Jacks, watching the amber liquid swirl in the cup. He was really just stalling for time, now, and it was Kefka’s final statement that finally broke through to him.
What the hell. He took the shot quickly, covering a wince as it the fumes attempted to escape through his nasal passages, and turned to the smaller man with a look that clearly said, “There, happy?” The whisky settled in his stomach, a slow, comfortable burn that for some reason didn’t make him feel as sick as it rightfully should.
Kefka: Actually, as Kefka would undoubtedly protest to being called 'drunk’, he didn't even know when he'd had enough, so why would Reeve? What made him so smucking fart? The blonde tilted in his seat, all pale white limbs that flailed this way and that before he finally remembered his shot, and took care of it accordingly. The blonde was happier than he'd been since... since not drowning in that river and getting back to civilization for a nice, warm shower. He now had no medicines to counteract the effects of alcohol, so everything he drank had its intended effect; he was pleasant, he was friendly, and... he was just starting to notice that Reeve had a very pretty jaw line. Kefka seemed taken with it, watching as it tilted back so the executive could throw back the shot, then when it finally registered that the other had actually drank, Kefka gave him a hearty pat on the back.
"Good boy. Have another!" His voice had raised in pitch, to the point he actually sounded like a girl as he hollered for the bartender. "Ah, yes, my good man! Another drink for my friend here, and could you fetch another Italian Sombrero for me?"
Just another ditzy girl, ripe and ready to be plucked up by some stranger she didn't even know. "Reeve, lovely... you are not nearly intoxicated enough," he cooed, gently pushing at the other male's thigh, "How many more before you will dance with me?"
Reeve: Reeve caught the bartender's eye wryly, allowing him to scurry off and serve other patrons without ever being so foolish as to outright question Kefka’s level of sobriety. Though he did reach out to steady the blonde when a few of those overenthusiastic flails threatened to send him off the barstool.
All in all, it was actually… a little bit amusing, Reeve had to admit, the buzz from his earlier alcohol beginning to intensify. He hadn’t been drinking anything near as hard as the blonde until the Double Jacks, and he had a bit more body mass to him, so he was doing slightly better. At least, he was still ok-enough to tell himself that he wasn’t going to be much more coordinated than Kefka in another few moments.
“You really are totally determined about this, aren’t you?” he asked, steadying the General before pulling his hands away from Kefka’s arms. “I still want to know why.”
(This happens a lot, doesn’t it? Both of us lost a very important piece of this log at some point. Well, to sum up:
Kefka: Because I’m a ho!
Reeve: ..hm, okay.
Then they go dance. It is hot.)
Reeve: Where Kefka went wrong was assuming Reeve could have anyone he wanted. Well, he probably could, but since he had never believed himself attractive, that idea never occurred to him. Despite people frequently desiring him, Reeve had never cultivated the attitude that allowed him to interact with people without any emotional underpinning. Kefka could have had fifteen minutes in a dark corner with any of the men or women in this club, and he knew it -- but he'd chosen Reeve, knowing full well the executive wasn't like the rest of them. It wasn't like he was expecting them to wake up in the morning and swear undying love, but Reeve required slightly more of a connection than a hurried, clumsy fumbling in a crowded, noisy place.
Besides -- the more they danced the more it was clear to him that Kefka expected to be objectified -- wanted it, even, and that just struck him as truly wrong. No matter how good he looked in a dress, he was still a general in command of hundreds of ShinRa SOLDIERS. He was smart, athletic, physically and physiologically engineered to be superior, and deadly. He deserved more than this, yet he took it what he got as a matter of course. Reeve wanted to give him more, if only just this once.
That said, he was incredibly aware that yes, they were both men, and yes, they were both desperately horny. And Reeve wasn't generally inclined to take control, but Kefka seemed to be leaning that direction, so he didn't mind. But if that were the case, they were going to do this at the speed he set -- though even if Kefka chose to take control, he hoped they'd make it out of the club and to a proper bed, at least. He pressed a kiss against the blonde's neck, pressing back against him and rolling his hips in response to Kefka's grinding. "I'm not feeling terribly apologetic, in all truth."
Kefka: He never saw it as being objectified or being used... especially if he was doing the using right back. In a way, he was being loved and cared for, even if it was just a one-night stand. The hands that stroked along his body, the lips that kissed him, the bodies that violated his, all loved him for just a little while. They didn't know he was crazy. They didn't know he was fragile. They didn't know he was falling apart. They saw him exactly how he wanted to be seen: together, impeccably together. And they loved him for it.
Yet, here was this one, who wanted to hold him close and treat him like he was normal. The blonde closed his eyes at the touch of lips to the back of his neck, almost letting himself melt against the taller body--almost. The general couldn't have Reeve knowing what he was doing to him, how he was tingling like a little virginal girl just because those were arms around him that held him like...
Kefka let out a soft purr when his night of insistent demanding finally started to pay off, as he felt a willing response against his hypersensitive groin. Flashing a smirk, he pressed just a bit closer, his teeth fixing around the other's open collar. Eyes flashing, he gave a slight tug; this was territory he was familiar with. When this action exposed just a bit more of the other male's chest, he let his tongue drag across the heated flesh beneath, leaving a glistening streak of saliva. "Really... How much do you think I can get away with before you start feeling apologetic?" As he spoke, he worked a hand between them again, his little fingers curling inward to gently cup the other man's genitals.
Reeve: Poor Kefka. Maybe if more people treated him like he was normal, he'd be better... not that Reeve knew about any of his "issues," though he'd want to help if he did. Reeve believed, rather naively, that most problems really were 90% attitude. But either way, everyone deserved more love and affection than they got from a strong of one night stands.
On the other hand, no matter how good his intentions, certain actions were distracting him from them. Reeve let out another moan when Kefka's hand snuck between them and pushed shamelessly against the general's hand, rubbing against him to increase the friction.
"I don't think I will... not for a good long while, at least. maybe in the morning." He kissed a trail along the underside of the blonde's jaw, running his fingers up his arms and sliding them under the straps of his dress, stroking softly.
Kefka: In the case of the little general, his problems fell in that nice percentile which did not concern his attitude. At least, most of them didn't. Never mind that he had been spoiled since the day he first breathed life, or that he was the only one of his family to pursue pleasures of the flesh rather than procure the Palazzo legacy for future generations. It wasn't like he didn't enjoy his perceptions of relationships-he firmly believed that variety was the spice of life-but something had thrown a wrench into his complex ticking of warped gears that had done well enough by themselves. Something that made him want to be docile, settle down, and believe that maybe, just maybe, he was normal enough to have a someone.
Frankly, he didn't like this cosmic upsetting of his delicate balance.
His beard tickled..! The blonde let out a surprised gasp as that coarse hair brushed over the smooth underside of his own throat, followed by a soft laugh as it elicited a tingling sensation throughout his body. "Care to play with me for a little, then?" he asked between soft chuckles, craning his neck around to chastely kiss his cheek.
This Reeve Tuesti was as adorable as they came, even after shedding his modesty for the evening. His thumb pressed flat against the other male's groin, tracing the member beneath his slacks with practiced precision; though he smirked as though this was all a part of some master plan, he was falling quickly for those fleeting touches, unable to ignore them for very much longer.
Reeve: Reeve laughed softly, flicking his tongue out to trace the hollow of his throat. "I could be wrong," he murmured, nuzzling in, "But I thought that was what we were doing." He slid his hands down Kefka's hips, feeling the fabric bunch under his palms and running his fingers over the general's ass lightly. He certainly wouldn't be protesting if Kefka decided to move them somewhere more private, though, because that was rapidly becoming a better and better idea. The beat of the music changed and he pressed closer to Kefka, aligning their groins and rubbing against him softly. He still had some modesty, at least, though that was disappearing rather quickly, too.
Kefka: His skin prickled beneath the soft lave of the other's tongue, and with a faint, almost timid smile, he inched close, turning his head to rest on the executive's chest. It was that moment of childish want and reassurance, before he fully gave himself over to the another, a fleeting second that passed when he felt his body react to the warmth that pressed against his own. His deceitful voice coiled into an audible moan at this sudden introduction of friction, to which he had no choice but to respond to with a subtle grinding of his own. "We are playing, but I want to do something different now," he corrected as he forced himself to draw back. Reeve didn't need to know how easily he'd managed to excite the half-drunken blonde, especially when said blonde was the one feigning control. "Come on... I know someplace we can go for a few hours." Plump mouth smiling, he stood on tiptoe to plant a teasing kiss to the other's lips, then dropped to the soles of his feet, hand snagging Reeve's. "Unless... you want to try and get into one of the back rooms.."
Reeve: Reeve didn't miss the moment of comfort, and hugged Kefka quickly before letting him free when he pulled away. He also caught the moan which followed, and the movement of Kefka's hips against his, and he echoed the blonde's moan with a quiet one of his own. He was quite pleased with the vocalization, regardless of what Kefka thought of it.
He shivered, pulling away when Kefka did. "That sounds like a wonderful idea," he agreed, squeezing the blonde's hand gently. "Lead on." The thought of a back room didn't appeal to him -- it seemed cheap, and almost as public as the dance floor, in its own way. He trusted Kefka that the place he had in mind was a little better, though maybe that was a mistake. Either way, he was perfectly content to follow the blonde's lead. He returned the kiss very lightly, twining their fingers together. "Where are we headed?" he asked, as they made their way into the breezy night.
Kefka: His steps were a little awkward, the strength of the alcohol still pulsing strongly in his system. Regardless, he still managed to find his way outside and toward the street, where a few vehicles rolled by every so often, leaving the both of them behind in smoky exhaust. Their destination was a nice distance away, one they could most definitely reach on foot, but with the heels he was wearing, the slight chill of the wind, and the Double Jacks rocking in his brain, it would be better for the both of them to find a cab. "It is a rather well-kept facility," he replied, absently standing on tiptoe as he flagged a taxi down, "They will not bother us until well into the afternoon."
Flashing a tempting smile, he climbed into the backseat, rattling off the address as he settled down on the opposite side. He arranged his skirt carefully once the passengers had been seated and the door closed, his body swaying with the inertia of the departing vehicle. "Do not worry about a thing; I will take care of the expenses."
Reeve: "That sounds promising," Reeve agreed, wrapping a hand around Kefka's upper arm gently -- half to steady him and half just because he didn't want to lose contact. He nuzzled the top of the other man's head gently, inhaling the scent of his hair with a low purr while Kefka secured the taxi.
"That isn't necessary," Reeve demurred, sliding in next to him and firmly avoiding the temptation to steal a look or feel of Kefka's thigh where his skirt had ridden up. He slid an arm around him again, though, to hold him steady as the car bumped down the road. "I'm perfectly capable of paying my own way."
Kefka: "But I insist," he replied softly, laying his head against the inside of one shoulder, then scooting close so their legs touched together at the knee. "You have been such lovely company this evening, it is the very least I could do..."