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Imprudence relies on luck, prudence on method. This gives prudence less edge than it expects. - Mason Cooley


"Bullshit," Xigbar says, tossing two of his cards toward the Gambler who's dealing, fixing Luxord with his good eye. "Any of them?"

"Any of them," Luxord agrees, rearranging his hand. "One through Thirteen inclusive." His odds would be decent, at least; better then they are in the current game, in which his hand has little to recommend it.

Xigbar snorts as he picks up his replacement cards. "You trying to tell me you could get Vexen away from his lab for something as frivolous as that?"

Luxord smiles, raising his glass of brandy in a toast. "You didn't place any restrictions on when or where." The brandy is rich dark gold like Xigbar's eye, and slides warm down Luxord's throat. It's the finest he's found anywhere. "Vexen in his lab, on his lab table." He sets his glass down. "Care to place a wager on it?"

"Maybe not Vexen, but yeah, sure." Xigbar shuffles the cards in his hand, a stalling maneuver, part of a bluff. He picks up his glass, tilts it so the light spills through it. "You lose, I get your stash of this stuff."

Luxord makes a dismayed face, since it seems like an appropriate response. "You play for high stakes," he murmurs. It was tricky work, getting this brandy -- walking through dark corridors into the manor it came from, arriving in the brief window of time after the last person had left the cellar and before the fire started to consume the house and all its contents. He'd have even more trouble trying to repeat the stunt, while avoiding the paradox and headache of running into himself down there. "When I win, then, my mark and I get to take you together."

Xigbar laughs, and for a moment Luxord thinks he's just improved his odds considerably. Then Xigbar lays down a winning hand, and smiles broadly as he says, "Xaldin."

*

On the first day, he tries a classic gambit, inviting Xaldin up for a game of cards in his room. He doesn't expect it to work -- unlike some of the others, like Marluxia or Zexion, Xaldin seems to have little patience for the concept of power play -- but he figures he may as well exhaust the simple avenues before he moves on to anything elaborate.

Xaldin, predictably, only snorts. "Running out of sentient Nobodies to swindle, are you?"

"Looking for a worthy opponent," Luxord counters.

Xaldin bares his teeth in what passes for a smile, and walks away.



On the second day, Xaldin is off on assignment, visiting the enchanted prince of the next castle over from the one where Luxord found his brandy. Since the day is wasted anyway, Luxord spends it with Demyx and a pair of exceptionally agile Dancers.

In practical terms, he gains nothing. But he can't call the day a loss, either.

*

On the third day the Superior calls a meeting. Within a month they will be ready to dispatch several of their number to Castle Oblivion, for the very important work that will be required there. Those chosen will be expected to treat the assignment like the honor it is. Luxord smirks.

Which may be why Larxene corners him after the meeting. "Heard some interesting rumors about Oblivion?" she asks. Behind her, Xaldin disappears into darkness.

Luxord shrugs, and looks down at her. "Perhaps. Come up to my room and find out?" Larxene rolls her eyes, but she goes with him.

He needs two potions afterward, one when they're putting their robes back in order and a second after he admits that he has nothing useful to tell her after all, but he still counts the experience worthwhile.



On the fourth day, he actually catches up to Xaldin again. "How are things at the castle?"

"What do you care?" Xaldin asks.

"Ah, you're picking up your beastly prince's manners," Luxord says. "That won't do. Come up and have a drink with me."

Xaldin narrows his eyes, and Luxord privately admires how severe he looks. "I don't have time for your games, X."

"You'd be the first not to," Luxord says. "After all, I've time enough for both of us, if it comes to that."

"Then find a more productive use for it," Xaldin says, and summons himself an exit.

Luxord shares his brandy with Saïx instead, and then a few other things as well -- VII's strength hums under his skin with every tightly-controlled movement, and trying to predict when that control will shatter is thrilling. Afterward, as he's leaving, Luxord is fortunate enough to hear the clash of metal from the rooftop above.

Axel, he discovers, indulging Roxas's passion for violence. Luxord watches them for a few minutes, admiring the spark of striking blades, the grace of Roxas's movements, the whipcracking speed of Axel's reversals. Eventually, Axel notices him.

"Something we can do for you?" Axel asks, skidding across the rooftop from the force of Roxas's attacks.

"I'd thought to ask your opinion on something," Luxord says. "Of course, if you're busy...."

Axel laughs shortly, as though he can barely spare the breath. "Never too busy to help a fellow Organization member," he says, throwing one of his chakrams at Roxas.

"If you needed to get III's attention," Luxord says, as Roxas bats the chakram away with the keyblade, "how would you do it?"

"Fight him," Roxas says, and springs.

Axel retrieves his second chakram just in time to catch the keyblade between them, and stares at Roxas over their locked weapons. "You know that for sure, do you?"

Roxas grins fiercely, and he looks so honestly happy in that moment that Luxord almost feels something in sympathy. "Yes," he breathes, his eyes bright with triumph.

That image, Luxord thinks, will keep him entertained for quite some time.

*

On the fifth day he finds himself in a port city, in a world plagued by pirates and curses and superstitions. He plays dice in a tavern with rogues and scoundrels, men who love the game as much as the gold -- and if he spins out the moment before the dice hit the table just a bit longer than he should, none of his gaming partners can hold that against him.

Officially, he's here on business, listening to rumors, gathering information about a chest of cursed gold and a ship full of men who are neither alive nor dead. Unofficially, he stays a little longer than he needs to, because he's been buying rum for a handsome, luckless pirate with kohl-lined eyes. The pirate is a terrible gambler, but an excellent cocksucker, and Luxord supposes that's fair consolation.



On the sixth day he takes Roxas's advice. He catches Xaldin in Twilight's View and seals the room, flicking his wrist to scatter cards and open a time-sink across the floor.

"Mutiny?" Xaldin growls, summoning his lances to retaliate, blue steel glittering as his spears dance in the air around him.

Luxord smiles. "Would I attack you openly, if I wanted to mount a successful mutiny?"

Xaldin makes a harsh little noise that might be laughter. "That's intended to be a compliment, is it?"

"How far will flattery get me?"

Their fighting styles could barely be more ill-matched, manipulation versus devastation, sleight versus brutality, but there's a sort of strange, savage grace to the confrontation anyway, the flash of cards and lances in the crisp, chill air. If either of them played by the other's rules it wouldn't last long, but like this, each of them trying to skew the battlefield itself in his own favor, they draw it out into something almost like a dance.

When the balance collapses at last it's Luxord with his back pressed to the wall and the bare edge of a lance against his throat, but he looks in Xaldin's eyes and he doesn't read his death there.

"This has all been another game to you, hasn't it?" Xaldin asks.

Luxord inclines his head slightly, ignoring the sting as Xaldin's blade bites into his throat. "Isn't it always?"

Xaldin shakes his head, almost smiling. "Unseal the room."

"Of course," Luxord murmurs, and the pressure of Xaldin's lance eases. "To the victor the spoils, after all." He releases the room, force shimmering through the air as the barriers dissolve, and Xaldin steps back.

"Not bad," Xaldin says, and his spears disappear behind him, folded into the nothing-space that lies alongside everything. "Keep working at it, you might be a worthy opponent someday."

From someone like Xaldin, that's high praise. Luxord smiles; they have more in common than Xaldin yet realizes.

And as Xaldin walks out, Lexaeus steps in through the same doorway. "You fight well," he says. "Have you had enough for the day?"

He should be pressing his advantage, following Xaldin, but the thrill of a new challenge is so hard to resist. Luxord fans out his cards. "I could be convinced to continue."

*

On the seventh day, he begins to worry. He'd miss that brandy, and more importantly, he'd miss the opportunity to see Xigbar make good on his wager.

But before Luxord has had a chance to decide on today's tactic, Xaldin comes to find /him/, stepping out of the black portal from Proof onto the glassy floor of Havoc's Divide. Luxord catches the coin he's been spinning, and bows slightly. "To what do I owe the honor?" he asks.

Xaldin glares at him. "I want an answer," he says. "You've been bothering me for days. What is it that you want?" His eyes narrow; he's still seeing treason and mutiny in every unexplained action.

"Ah." Luxord smiles, flips his coin over his fingers. The gold is bright, the color so warm in a room like this. "I'd wondered whether you noticed."

"Of course I noticed," Xaldin says. "Now explain yourself."

Luxord flicks the coin into the air. Kings he'll invent something, he decides; castles he'll tell the truth. The coin spins, chance flickering in light -- Luxord catches it, slaps it down against the back of his hand. The twisting spires of their castle glint up at him. He shrugs. "I'd like to get you in bed."

Xaldin laughs, harsh and sharp. "What, did someone dare you?"

"Of course not." Luxord palms the coin, makes it disappear back into his robe. "I made a bet."

"Hah. You would." Xaldin's still standing there, which is better than Luxord would have expected from a ploy this artless. He glares, looking for plots, looking for the sinister designs that he would have had in mind, had this been his bet. "With who?"

"Xigbar," Luxord says, watching Xaldin's eyes. The truth seems to be working, better than he might have expected.

Xaldin snorts. "He would, the son of a bitch. Never did have the sense to figure out when to stay out of other people's business."

Luxord smiles. "All the more reason for you to help me out," he says. "If I win, his ass is forfeit to both of us."

"Hm. And if he wins?"

"If he won," Luxord says, "he would get my best brandy." He pauses contemplatively. "I don't think he's made any plans to share his prize with you."

"And you think," Xaldin says slowly, "that because you're willing to share something of dubious value with me, that I should hand you this victory?" He smiles, and Luxord thinks it might be the first time, outside of the brutal storms that bear down on the dark city occasionally, that he's seen Xaldin pleased by something. "I thought you were a better judge of character than that."

Luxord doesn't let his smile waver, doesn't drop his gaze. "What's it going to take to tempt you, then?"

Xaldin shakes his head. "We do the tempting, X. We aren't tempted ourselves, unless we forget what we are."

"And yet here you are," Luxord murmurs, taking advantage of the opportunity to close the distance between them. If Xaldin really weren't interested, this conversation would already be over. "Willing to hear me out, at the very least. You believe I can make this," and he smiles, "worth your time."

"Maybe," Xaldin says, not backing away, "I just wanted you to satisfy my curiosity."

Something shifts in the air between them, a scent, a charge, and the thrill of it runs down Luxord's spine straight to his cock. Victory. "And is it," he asks slowly, "satisfied?"

There's no romance, no kindness, in the way Xaldin kisses. It's an attack, an act of aggression, sharp and remorseless as his lances. It's perfect. Luxord fists both hands in Xaldin's robe as Xaldin shoves him backward, pushes him into the wall with enough force to drive the breath from his lungs.

Luxord kisses back, giving as good as he gets, moaning in answer to Xaldin's growls. He's going to have bruises, where Xaldin's fingers dig into his arms, and if he'd gone into this expecting anything but violence, he might be looking for an exit by now. But he knew what Xaldin was likely to offer him, so instead he's reaching down, tugging up the zipper on Xaldin's robe, reaching underneath --

And Xaldin pushes into his hand, cock already hard. "How long have you been looking for an excuse for this?" His hands are rough, tugging at Luxord's zippers, dragging his coat down off his shoulders.

"Looking for flattery?" Luxord asks. He grabs the potion from the left pocket of his robe before Xaldin can actually finish stripping it off him. "Long enough not to mind your impatience."

Xaldin's answering growl sounds amused. "You waste so much time on meaningless things," he says, and the top button on Luxord's trousers pops as he tugs them open.

"I do quite a lot of things with time," Luxord says, twisting in Xaldin's grip as his trousers are pushed down, "but wasting it is not one of them."

"Still playing games," Xaldin says, and spins him around, shoves him up against the wall. The stone is cool against his bared skin, and his discarded clothes pool at his feet.

"When I stop playing games," Luxord says, reaching back to press the potion bottle into Xaldin's hand, "I'll be dead."

Xaldin takes the bottle, his other hand at the nape of Luxord's neck, holding him against the wall. "What's this for?" he asks, in a tone that implies he knows perfectly well. He bites down on Luxord's shoulder. "Not worth winning your bet if you have to suffer a little for it?"

Luxord makes himself smile. "Not worth cooperating unless somebody suffers?"

"Don't tell me you didn't consider the possibility, when you were calculating your odds." There's a shifting sound, cloth parting, and then Xaldin's cock pressed against his ass, still dry. Luxord hisses in a sharp breath, and tries not to let himself tense -- and instead of pushing, Xaldin relaxes against him. "Not going to beg for mercy?"

"Is that what it takes?" Luxord asks. "No, please, don't hurt me?" He can't quite keep the lightness from his tone; he makes a poor excuse for a damsel in distress, and he suspects Xaldin knows it.

Xaldin laughs harshly. "Killjoy," he says, and Luxord would say something along the lines of /I thought you liked that sort of thing/, except that he can feel the cool slick of the potion drizzling down the crack of his ass, the thick head of Xaldin's cock.

Luxord takes a deep breath. "Please," he murmurs. He braces himself, both hands against the wall, and when Xaldin pushes, he rocks back to meet the thrust. It stings for a moment, but the pain fades almost immediately, thanks to the potion, and the thrill of victory more than makes up for it.

The fact that it feels good, Xaldin's cock thick and hot inside him, is just a bonus. Luxord rocks his hips, pushing back onto Xaldin's cock, moaning as it slides in deep.

Xaldin growls, thrusting hard, not giving him any time to get used to the fullness. It's hard and fast and remorseless, just like Luxord expected -- the only thing he hadn't counted on was the silence, the way Xaldin abandons his barbed words in favor of harsh, short breaths, hot against the back of Luxord's neck. Too fast, Luxord decides, far too fast for him to really savor this, and who knows if he'll get another chance?

It takes effort to concentrate on using his power when he has a distraction this immediate to pay attention to -- but all that sustains any of them is /will/, so Luxord closes his eyes and focuses his energy, drawing out the fine chains of cause and effect, lengthening them....

"What are you doing?" Xaldin demands, his rhythm faltering.

"Taking my time," Luxord answers, bracing his weight on one forearm so he can reach down to wrap his other hand around his cock. "And yours, too."

Xaldin drives in harder. "Greedy bastard," he snarls.

Luxord gives him a harsh little laugh. "Like you wouldn't take any advantage you could." It's better like this, now that he can savor the sensation at the tempo he prefers, now that he's forcing some of what he wants on Xaldin. The leather of his glove is smooth against his cock, and Xaldin's cock thrusts deep inside him, rough slow strokes that draw hungry little growls from his throat.

"Shameless," Xaldin pants, "you're, ah -- going to come like this, aren't you, X? No dignity, just -- ah, shoved up against the wall and -- rutting like an animal." Of course, Luxord thinks, of course that's what it takes to get Xaldin interested -- and who's he to argue, when he's already getting what he wants? So he just nods, gritting his teeth, stroking harder, because if Xaldin finishes first this'll be over, and that'd be a waste, when it feels so good, when he's almost there, when he could just -- he lets go his control of time, lets Xaldin move faster, tensing for it -- and he hisses out a low curse as the climax wracks him, as he spills into his own hand.

The noise Xaldin makes is barely human, snarling and almost angry, and for a few moments Luxord thinks he's going to hold on, going to draw this out -- but it's not much longer, only a few more ragged strokes before he's biting down hard on Luxord's shoulder and his cock's pulsing and then the air around them goes completely still.

"Satisfied?" Xaldin asks, and Luxord can hear the smirk in his voice.

"Not bad, for a command performance," Luxord says. He rolls his shoulders, feeling the sting of the bite, the deep ache that's going to leave a bruise. It's a decent souvenir. "I hope I didn't waste your time too badly."

Xaldin grunts. "You're looking in the wrong place for flattery, X." He pulls out, and steps back. The air feels chill against Luxord's skin in his absence. "This farce is over now?"

Luxord smiles, reaching down to pull up his trousers, and turns around. "It can be, I suppose, if you're that eager to put the whole experience behind you." That wouldn't be the most interesting outcome, though, and Luxord would bet he's figured out how to goad Xaldin in the right direction by now. He raises an eyebrow. "Does that mean you aren't interested in collecting your half of the prize? Because I would be happy to take care of it for you, if you think it would be too much trouble."

"Still so cocky," Xaldin says, but the tone is more admiring than purely annoyed. His lip curls, like a dog snarling. "Let me know when you're ready to collect, and I'll be there."