Petit Mort

AN: Just a little character sketch flash fiction.

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Petit Mort
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There were days, Reno believed, when you just had to kill something. Today was one of those days. And the something in question was likely to find himself on the wrong end of a gun if he didn’t shut the fuck up.

Reno rolled his eyes away from the tow headed boy at his elbow. The kid had scoped him out not long after Reno had slunk into the bar, hoping the dark lights would hide the blue of his suit. He should’ve known better. Regardless of the suit, he stood out like a sore damn thumb.

Reno yanked absently on a bright red strand of hair that had fallen into his eyes as the boy babbled on about all the exciting things that must happen on his job. Tearing his eyes away from the dregs of his beer he spotted the ashtray next to him, his almost burnt out cigarette lingering in it. He scissored it between his fingers, took a long, deep drag, lips barely caressing the end, and then jammed the fire out in the bottom of the ashtray. Only then did he note the silence next to him.

The boy’s eyes were watching him, closely.

Reno blew smoke out in a quick rush that sent the grey wave of it pooling around the glasses on the bar. “What?” he asked, voice slightly sharper than intended, roughened by alcohol, and smoke, and a long ass “shift” that had bitten his sleep time in half.

The boy jumped, slightly startled, and blinked, lashes falling demurely against his cheeks before saying, “I’ve never seen anyone take a cigarette like that before.” His eyes lingered on Reno’s mouth before flickering back up to hold his gaze. The boy’s tongue darted out and wet his lips.

Reno kept a half lidded side gaze on the boy as he threw back the last of his beer. Those grey eyes still wide, the wet lips half parted.

Well, maybe the kid wasn’t so bad…when he wasn’t talking. He signaled the bar tender for another round, gave the boy an easy lopsided grin.

~*~*~*~

Reno found a way to keep him from talking.

Outside, in the back of his car with its darkly tinted windows, the boy's blond head bobbing in full mouthed mockery of those ridiculous fucking dolls people liked to put on their dashboards, the only sounds filling the air those of soft moans and the wet workings of jaw and tongue.

Reno held the boy’s head lightly as he came, wanting the correct end to such an encounter, and he shuddered as the tongue laved up all he could give in that moment, swirling deliciously around him, rough and hot.

He had been right.

Some days you did need to kill something.

And little deaths could be just as nice as big ones.