"In the Bar That Never Was..." and the general plot/concept of "In the Bar That Never Was..." is copyright Orin Drake 2007. All characters and worlds contained within are from the Kingdom Hearts series, massively owned by Square-Enix and Disney. And I do mean massively.

Background: Gibbous from LiveJournal wanted a fic. The theme: The Bar That Never Was. Pairing: Luxord/Xaldin. How could I resist?

In the Bar That Never Was...
by Orin Drake

Patrol... was boring. Even Nobodies got bored. Which meant boredom was simply part of everything, much like Light and Darkness. But the idea of Boredom being as strong a power was a little bit... disconcerting.

Xemnas had started sending them out in pairs to alleviate some of that boredom. At times, that created more trouble than it prevented, but it was still the best way to get regular patrolling done without... too much distraction.

Of course, after three hours in the rain and weeks of no interesting activity at all, Xaldin and Luxord had silently agreed that they would really quite like a distraction. There were still unexplored areas of the World That Never Was due to its very nature; lost things turned up all the time. That, and it was rare that anyone took to wandering. There was all that serious business with hearts and such that kept them in or away.

So, when the two of them found a fully-stocked bar, they were a bit overjoyed. Somewhere out of the rain, with liquor. "Beautiful." Luxord commented, stepping up to the bar and looking at the wall behind the counter. "Do you think Xemnas knows about this place?"

"Judging from his inability to flex his spine, I doubt it." Xaldin quipped, shaking some of the rain from his hair. He selected a stool near the entrance, somewhat amused to see X having already stepped behind the bar to try and make sense of the labels.

"And what would you prefer?" Luxord inquired, playing the part of bartender.

The lancer pointed. In truth, he had no idea what he was pointing to...

The gambler gave the other man's choice a gauging look. "You don't want that."

III could argue, of course... but after hours of being rained on during patrol and the very idea of ignoring the rest of his duty for a moment of pure, enjoyable drunken idiocy even if it were only remembered... "Why not?"

"That appears to be paint thinner."

A blink. "Oh." To be honest, neither Xaldin nor Dilan had been much for alcohol. "I wouldn't have been able to tell the difference." He admitted, feeling his shoulders relax a bit from the blond's smirk.

"Who am I to tell a man what to drink?" Luxord shrugged, reaching for the bottle and placing it upon the counter. "But, should you like to retain your vision and likely the sensation in your extremities, might I suggest bourbon?"

The lancer gave a nod, watching the other man work smoothly as though he'd known the place all along. Xaldin pondered why it might be that he felt so at ease around the gambler, especially considering that they rarely spent time together. Perhaps it was that their accents had a similar twist, even though he knew their Somebodies to be from worlds away. Or it was simply Luxord's natural way of keeping company.

The blond filled two shot glasses with amber liquid, pushing one forward. "I assume you're not drinking for the taste. This would be the fastest way to your goal."

"And yours?"

"Nothing here tastes right." He dismissed, then grasped his own shot and threw it back quickly. Delicately placing the glass back on the counter, he seemed to have a bit of... trouble swallowing. "Although..." he coughed, "It's damn strong. I don't think that was bourbon."

Xaldin's teeth shone from beneath his lips in an expression of amusement, reaching for his drink. "And what was it?"

Luxord gave the bottle a long stare, trying to make out the writing. At last he shrugged and poured himself another helping. "Doesn't matter."

That seemed like an appropriate toast. The once-apprentice threw his head back and swallowed--a burning line of instant regret. He found the willpower not to cough, exactly, but... sounds were made. Painful sounds.

The blonde chuckled. "This is what the Organization ought to be about. None of that silly... Kingdom Hearts business."

It was a surprising statement. One that could not be let go, even as Xaldin signaled for another fill himself. "Don't you want your heart back?"

"Depending on who you ask... I never had one to begin with." Came the droll response, more liquid amber sloshing into the glass.

"Ah." He supposed he could relate. While Dilan had always been full of life and laughter, he hadn't been the most... empathetic of people. Braig's little "chemical accent" and weeks in recovery only earned him a disconnected, "That sucks." (Though, secretly, Braig was glad for it. He couldn't quite take everyone else fawning over him after the first week or two.)

It was an odd thing, that length of silence between them as they took turns taking shots that somehow hurt less and less. Whether it be true drunkenness or only a strong memory brought fourth to make up for any real reaction, it was real enough. They were both much warmer, and much more... tolerant. Of Xemnas' plans, of drinking from the bottle, and of nearly leaning against one another. (Luxord must have walked around the counter at some point, in order to find a stool. The whole "standing" thing wasn't really working out for him.)

The silence was shattered by Xaldin's soft and ever so slightly slurred request. "One more."

"You sure you haven't had enough?" the gambler made for a perfect bartender even when he sounded just a touch hammered.

"One more." The lancer repeated, paying no mind to the question. He didn't really want to think about it. The first time his Other had gotten drunk had been when he lost his virginity. Through both events, Braig watched at a distance with a snicker. Of course, that last part was rectified after sobriety began to take hold...

"I'd be careful if I were you, III." The blond's too-smooth voice interrupted the memories.

It took Xaldin a few beats to recognize the words, and a few more to respond. "And why is that?"

"A lesser man might take advantage."

The lancer felt his muscles tense, instantly ready for a fight. Liquor or no, he knew where to hit to strike his opponent dead... but he hoped, considering the implications, he wouldn't have to. "You wouldn't attack me. You know better."

An amused sound on Luxord's part, gaining the other man's full attention. "No. Like this."

While Xaldin was not certain that Nobodies could feel shock, either a strong memory that had lost specifics or a burning instinct rung inside his mind. Eyes gone wide and limbs uncharacteristically slackened, he attempted to process unexpected lips covering his own. Then puzzle about why there was another set of lips over his. And then why he wasn't flinging the gambler into the nearest wall and proceeding to use him as a not-quite-living target.

In fact, when Luxord's tongue very softly ran across Xaldin's lips, the lancer made no protest of opening his mouth to welcome more contact. The warm wash of alcohol and real, solid touch was a drug unto its own, prompting the clutching of leather and soft sounds lost amongst the noise of clouded awareness. They both smelled of spices far more intoxicating, Luxord's more lively and exotic compared with Xaldin's light additional scent of wind and machine oil.

In need of a breath or perhaps simply a pause, the lancer finally developed the presence of mind to pull back. "Why..?"

"Just lucky, I suppose." Was the only answer offered, the blond half-standing just enough to pin the other man against the counter and move in for another clash of lips and tongue.

Xaldin welcomed the touch again, going so far as to nip lightly at the gambler's bottom lip--then realizing the position he was in. "I'm not going to--"

Luxord would have silenced him by that blatantly mischievous look alone. "Play you for it."

There was a long, tense, venom-laced pause as they stared one another down. And then Xaldin sighed, reaching for the zipper of his coat. He couldn't win against Luxord. No one could, if the gambler so chose to win. Even in his drunken state of mind, the lancer believed he may as well save himself a lot of time and effort and simply agree to be the one with his legs spread.

"Is it such a bad thing?" Luxord's smirk grew to Axel-esque proportions as he drew back, slowly unzipping his own uniform. "I ought to be offended."

The lancer rewarded him with a terse sound as he struggled out of the sleeves. "Where..?"

Not so surprisingly, Luxord tapped the bar's countertop. "Right here."

"You've done this before." Xaldin didn't find himself quite accusing, standing and leaning against the bar for balance as he removed his pants. When the gambler didn't answer and merely followed suit, he caught a bit of... metal. Quite a bit of metal. Luxord being pierced came as no surprise, but the studs lining his cock along both sides from base to just below the head were... intriguing. Piercings. Or perhaps a better description, implants. Oh. ...Ooooh. That was... quite different, then.

Luxord chuckled lowly as he followed Xaldin's line of sight. "Always have an ace up your sleeve, III."

"Some ace." The lancer commented without any specific meaning, reaching to tug Luxord's pants the rest of the way off. He was feeling miraculously less intoxicated than he had just moments before... but he was trying not to dwell on that. Both freed of their clothing, he tried to ignore the passiveness with which he laid himself on the counter, as well.

The blond wasted no time in climbing over him. He'd never imagined III to have been so very... agreeable. And all it took was a flash of what he had to offer? Were he utterly suicidal, he'd have compared Xaldin to some of his favorite ladies of the night in that pirate's paradise he kept sneaking off to. Though that did remind him that he was not with them and would need something to ease his way... or so he thought, before strong legs wrapped around his waist. "Wouldn't you like some kind of..?"

"No." The lancer responded definitively, pulling Luxord down over him.

X grinned, a slow turn of his lips. "So you've experience at this, then?"

"No more talking." Xaldin growled, both hands clawing into Luxord's firm ass and pulling.

He supposed he could have slowed time down. Could have stopped it completely and made certain he had all the control... but the head of his cock already buried in a clenching, soft furnace rather destroyed any potential action on his part. He gave a quiet, appreciative gasp before bucking the rest of the way inside. It was an awful thing, what Xaldin did to his patience.

"Move." The lancer growled, pain flooding through his body in sharp currents. It wasn't to last, he knew. But if Luxord didn't fucking move soon...

The urgency of the demand prompted the speed of the gambler's response. One brilliant thing about coupling with another member of the Organization: he never had to be careful. The women he visited were still alive, still delicate and weak to pain. Another Nobody learned to endure, if not to enjoy the sensation. There was hardly a pause as he pulled out, then slammed himself back in; he could only imagine the searing sting from the sound torn from Xaldin's throat. There was a burning ache over his cock, as well, a chafing from lack of lubrication--but he'd learned to appreciate that a long time ago.

The lancer tightened his legs around Luxord's body, trying to get him to go faster. For a master of time, he certainly was taking up enough of it. Another plan, then.

Too engaged in the sensations to have noticed the shift (and even if he had, Xaldin was quick and strong and ultimately unstoppable when he had his mind to something) , Luxord found himself flipped and slammed back against the counter. He was about to protest--until that tight velvet heat rushed down upon him again. Head thrown back with an audible "thunk" and mouth opened in a silent cry, he found absolutely no protest at Xaldin's apparent fondness for riding him. It was almost to laugh, had he the breath: III was creatively telling him that he was going too slowly.

There was no offense to be taken, of course. Certainly not when those bourbon-smooth purring sounds were fucked right out of Luxord's body, countered by the lancer's growls and gulping breaths. There was no grasping on, no reaching out for some sort of balance or desire or reassurance--there was only rawness and ache and astoundingly carnal completion with a couple of tight, tired grunts and a moaned sigh. Which one of them that had come from, neither was certain.

Luxord was almost disappointed when Xaldin pulled back so soon after; not that he had strength in him to say so, let alone prevent it. So be it. He was the Gambler of Fate. He would get other opportunities.

When Xaldin slid off the bar and took up his seat again, pouring himself another shot, he gave the gambler's chuckle a mild glare. "Yes..?"

"Might I trouble you for some?" Luxord made absolutely no move to sit up, still feeling the aftershocks deeply.

Xaldin threw back the shot he'd poured--then stood over the blond, pressing their lips together and passing the liquor from mouth to mouth.

The gambler graciously accepted the burning liquid and the teasing tongue. "You've done this before, too."

Another shot was poured in silence.

I can't picture Luxord without a Jacob's Ladder. He just... seems like the type. All proper and smirking and British and... everything. ...Stop looking at me like that.