Hitting the Point
by Whiscash
pairing: Cuphead/King Dice
warnings: canon-typical gambling, smoking, drinking etc
notes: golly, a wild sequel appeared! :o I wasn't originally planning on this, but I got inspired after talking about Dice Control with a few friends and remembering how much I love this ship~ thank you to everyone who wanted more! and also everyone who didn't but is here anyway for some reason!
as with Dice Control, Cuphead is in his early 20s here!
thanks so much for reading and feedback is always super swell :D
Believe it or not, Cuphead's learned a thing or two about gambling.
He's had to learn it the hard way, for sure, but it turns out playing with the highest stakes imaginable gives a fellow some perspective. Some things aren't worth risking for any amount of money, no matter how temptingly those coins glinted, teasing a life of luxury. Fancy togs and flashy cars and all the things you used to dream about, that seemed to come from another world entirely than your sleepy but safe corner of the isle – but none of it was worth losing yourself, getting more and more tangled in a web of wicked deeds until you were just another of the Devil's playthings. Cuphead saw that with his own eyes, some twenty times over, fighting folks who all started out the same way.
But that doesn't mean he'll always play it safe, either, because he's also learned that some things are worth the risk. Some chances you have to take, for the possibility of changing everything. If he and Mugman hadn't taken a chance the day the Devil demanded those contracts back, half of Inkwell would never have their freedom. They wouldn't be able to make the isles the place they are today, so much brighter, more hopeful than he's ever known them.
Not everything's peachy straight away – they still hurt a lot of people, bust up a lot of places in the process, and that doesn't feel too swell. They've still got a lot to make up for, and some folks are more forgiving than others. But they're getting there, Cuphead and Mugman and everyone else still remembering who they were, figuring out who they are now. Inkwell will never be the same, but maybe now, they can build something new. Somewhere better.
So maybe that's why it's not such a big deal for him to come back to the casino, no longer the sinister, forbidden place it once was. Now these games are just games, money is just money, and Cuphead's – okay, he's not always careful, but he never plays with more than his share of what they've earned. He's not gonna let anyone swindle him this time around.
Even when King Dice is still...well, King Dice.
They don't talk much, these days. Dice is just...there, never too far away no matter what else he's doing. Cuphead's not really sure what game they're playing at this point, but every knowing glance or twist of his lips just makes him more determined to rake in the chips, victory always that little bit sweeter when it's coming from Dice's table.
His luck just happens to run out a little early tonight, one disastrous blackjack round after another until it's almost closing time and customers start to drift away. Cuphead should probably get going too, but he's still got half a glass of whiskey to finish, the casino's nice and toasty and there's something weirdly hypnotic about the movement of Dice's gloves across the table, ruthlessly efficient as he clears away the cards and chips.
"I'm just sayin', statas – sotosh – statistically speaking," he says, rolling his last chip back and forth, "I almost definitely would've won the next game."
Dice hums in faux-sympathy, not looking up but also not yet kicking him out. "Boy, I had a coin for every time I heard that, I'd be runnin' this joint."
It takes Cuphead a moment. "You...you do run this place."
"Well done. Here's your prize." He slides a heap of assorted chips across the table; Cuphead wrinkles his nose, like they're the vegetables Elder Kettle never could persuade him to eat. "Put that big ol' head to use and sort 'em by value."
"I ain't doing your dirty work!" Cuphead flicks one of the chips back; it flies off the table and – to his simultaneous delight and horror – hits Dice's cheek, bouncing off of him with a ping. He catches it, and a shiver jolts through Cuphead as their eyes meet, feeling like a kid caught by the principal. "At least, not until you're paying me for it."
Dice narrows his eyes as they're locked in this staring contest – but then his mouth twitches, like he's holding back a laugh under the carefully trained poker face.
"After that, me not kickin' your sorry ass back to whatever hick isle you came from is plenty payment. Mighty generous, too, though I say it myself."
"Yeah, yeah, change the record already." Cuphead lets out an exaggerated yawn, fanning himself. "Like we don't already know who'd win – unless you want a replay of last time…"
"You wanna try me, half-pint?" Dice raises his eyebrows – he's still tough to get a read on, incredulous, offended, amused or all three. "As I recall, last time there were two of ya."
"And you were what, five times bigger? And you didn't even really fight us. You just got your goons to do all the work."
"What do you think I keep 'em around for? I prefer not to get my hands dirty."
"Dirtier than working for the Devil?"
Dice opens his mouth to reply, then shakes his head, with a downright filthy chuckle. It does something funny to Cuphead's insides, but he thinks it's the closest he'll get to a 'you got me there'.
"Well, there's dirty," he says, rolling the word in his mouth like one of Bon Bon's candies, "and then there's dirty."
Cuphead's about to demand further explanation when they're interrupted by footsteps approaching the casino floor. Dice's permanently self-satisfied grin morphs in a flash into genuine panic, his hand shooting out to seize Cuphead's arm.
"Get down."
"Wha -?" His protest is cut off as Dice yanks him out of his chair and shoves him unceremoniously towards the back of the room.
"Go – get back there, under the table, just hide!"
The penny drops as the footsteps – slow but heavy, purposeful – draw closer, and Cuphead bolts, so hasty that he trips over his feet and lands on his hands and knees. Ignoring the sting, he scrambles behind the nearest table, making it by the tip of his straw.
"Dice," a familiar gruff voice greets, sending a chill down Cuphead's spine as he hugs his knees to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible. "You workin' overtime?"
"Y'know me, boss, still gunnin' for that promotion," comes the reply, smooth and slick as ever. "Something I can do for you?"
The Devil grunts, and Cuphead's heart hammers in his chest as he hears him walking around the casino. A swoosh of flames and the room grows hotter, filling with the overpowering scent of tobacco.
"Alright, gimme some numbers. Better be good ones."
"Sure thing, sir – the joint was really jumpin' tonight. Baccarat was busy, 'Letta had the boys blowing their wigs at roulette. We must've taken in…"
Dice continues his spiel about 'vigorish' this and 'hand pay' that – Cuphead doesn't bother trying to follow, just hoping it'll be enough to keep the Devil distracted. If he turns his head at the wrong moment…He'll be fine, he tells himself, he's taken down Satan before, he can do it again – except now there's two of them and he's all alone, and he really, really doesn't wanna find out the odds on getting out alive if he gets caught...
"Uh-huh – well, you keep layin' on the charm, I could use a chef. We've all tasted your bacon soup."
Cuphead clamps a hand over his mouth to stifle a snicker as Dice answers: "We both know you didn't hire me for my culinary skills, chief."
"Ain't that the truth." The Devil hisses out a raspy chuckle, sounding, thankfully, like he might be in a good mood. "Alright, do what you gotta – but make it snappy, will ya? I'll see you in my office later."
"Right behind ya, boss."
After a few agonising moments of silence, he hears the Devil walking away, footsteps fading out until Dice mutters: "Coast's clear, out."
"Did you just…" Cuphead gets to his feet, cautiously peeking out over the tabletop, "save me?"
"I saved me," Dice corrects him as he makes his way back to the blackjack tables. "You just got lucky."
"How lucky?" Cuphead slides back into his chair, resting his chin in his hands. "What do you think he'd do?"
Dice doesn't respond at first, but Cuphead's sure he shudders as he slumps back in his seat, almost hugging himself as his fingers drum restlessly against his folded arms. "Trust me, kid, ya don't wanna find out what unlucky looks like after hours."
"I don't trust you."
That earns him a smirk, the Dice he knows and loathes again. "Well, I'm glad you figured that out just in time."
"I figured out plenty." Cuphead leans further over the table, breaking into a wide, obnoxious grin buoyed by a potent cocktail of relief, adrenaline and whiskey. "And I think you...secretly like having me around."
"Sure I do. I like what you got in them shorts just fine."
Cuphead almost splutters, heat rushing to his cheeks like someone's just stuck him on the stove before Dice adds: "Keep throwin' that dough around, and we'll get along dandy."
And he winks, because he's an asshole and Cuphead really needs to get a hold of his...head because he can't be so easily flustered, damnit, if that's how it's gonna be he can play dirty too.
"Bet ya wouldn't tell the boss that."
Dice tenses a little at that, his eyes flicking reflexively back to the entrance. "Not sure if you noticed, but the big guy can get a little...emotional. I don't let personal grudges get in the way of good business."
Good business. It's probably not a compliment, but Dice still has a way of making it sound like one. It's definitely the closest he's gotten, at least when he isn't actively encouraging him to stick his soul on the line.
"You're more fun when you don't do what he tells you." Cuphead returns the wink, and throws in a finger-gun for good measure. "Maybe you should do that...not do that more often."
"Maybe. Or maybe you got no idea just how much fun I can be."
"Show me." The words tumble out of Cuphead's mouth before he can think about it; Dice arches a questioning eyebrow, but it's like he's sprung a leak. "When you get outta this place. Can you get outta this place? Was that in your deal? You gotta go somewhere – you must've come from somewhere…"
"Alright, we're done bumpin' gums here," Dice cuts him off, his expression hardening as he gets up from his seat. "I got things to do, and you might wanna cut out before he comes back."
He's right, Cuphead knows – he should've left long ago, but curiosity's already walloped his common sense. He tries to lean in closer, but the table's in the way, so he climbs onto it, which has the bonus of putting him almost at Dice's height level.
"You always go back to him, but why? You're smarter than he is. You could probably run this place without him – but I guess you made a deal to get here, huh? And you probably can't get out of it that easy, but maybe – if someone had your contract –"
"Not gonna repeat myself, cupface." Dice slams his hands down on the table, jaw clenched and his eyes flaring green – oh boy, he's really close, when'd that happen? "I don't know what you think this is, but we're not buddies, I'm nothing like any of them suckers you think you saved, and you ain't got a damn clue what you're spoutin' about. So get your clown nose outta my business and your dirty hocks offa my table."
He prods Cuphead's leg, right where his shorts end; it's like an electric jolt, almost making him stumble, but he stands his ground, looking King Dice square in his stupid, perfectly cubic, infuriatingly handsome face, and spits the words that have gotten him in so much trouble so many times before:
"Make me."
He's not exactly sure how it happens, who grabs who first – it's less a kiss than a collision, a messy, borderline painful clash of lips and teeth. Dice makes a surprised noise, muffled against his mouth, grabbing Cuphead's shoulders like he's going to push him away only to pull him closer, taking control so their lips move with, rather than against each other. The world spins from ow to oh this is nice to oh no this can't be happening, he's kissing King Dice and his pips are so smooth and his moustache tickles and he has to stop and he doesn't ever want to stop, he needs –
It's over; Dice lets him go, stepping back to break the kiss, and as Cuphead looks up he's like he's never seen him – eyes wide, cheeks flushed, bow tie askew and lips still slightly parted and shiny. Cuphead can do nothing but stare, trying to think of something, anything, to say before Dice takes a deep breath.
"Alright, enough," he says, the slightest hitch in his voice as he fixes his tie. "Get out."
"But – wait –"
"I said scram."
He doesn't raise his voice – the word is just cold, the heat of anger replaced by the chill of indifference as Dice turns away. It cuts like an icicle through Cuphead's chest, freezing as it sinks in that he might have just discovered a whole new way to mess everything up.
This time, Cuphead doesn't argue; he runs, out of the casino, across the isle, past buildings and cars and the occasional startled passer-by. He runs so he can't think about anything else, feet pounding the floor until he gets to his own front door – safe, familiar, home. It feels like he's just stumbled out of a dream, panting hard as he collapses against the door, sweat trickling down his face, into his eyes.
He has to compose himself, to gather his whiskey- muddled mess of a mind long enough to slip in quietly so he won't wake Mugman or Elder Kettle, just like any other night, except this is...
Cuphead still has no clue what game he's been playing, but he's pretty sure the rules just got thrown out.
Cuphead's never been the type to dwell on things.
This is how it's been as long as he can remember: he sprints from one adventure to the next, sometimes falls down, but he always gets back up. He moves on, because there's no point in worrying about what's already happened. He can't go back and...not do whatever last night was. It's not even really anything, compared to everything else he's gambled away. Maybe it didn't even happen – he was pretty tipsy, he could've dreamt the whole thing. Whatever, he's not gonna let it stew in his head. He has plenty to do, folks to help out, dumber decisions to make up for. He doesn't even need to go back to the casino. He sure as hell doesn't need to see King Dice again.
His gloves are full tidying Cagney's garden with Mugman, trying to yank up a weed that is apparently actually one of Cagney's nephews, and they have to spend the rest of the day trying to soothe a bunch of hysterical flowers. There's no time for his mind to wander to what Dice might be doing right now, setting up for the night.
It'd be a real bad time to remember the feeling of gloves cupping his handle when Sally puts them in charge of props and Mugman's got a clockwork mouse stuck in his head; even worse to think about how Dice shivered when he ran his hands over his pips, and wonder if he has them in other places too, what he looks like under that suit.
At least the carnival should provide a welcome distraction, chasing around overexcited trampolines and tripping over juggling balls in preparation for the big show. There's so much chaos he shouldn't even notice the way Djimmi looks at Beppi as he's babbling away about how many penguins you can fit on a Ferris wheel – Cuphead can't even tell if it's a joke or a serious suggestion – with the softest, fondest smile like he's the most magical thing he's ever seen.
Djimmi lays a hand on his shoulder as he finally pauses for breath, leaning down to murmur something Cuphead can't make out. Beppi giggles, practically glowing with adoration, and Cuphead has to look away, something weird turning in his stomach.
Must be that second corn dog he ate earlier – what else could it be? He's sure not the type of sap to wonder if anyone will ever look at him like that, when King Dice probably only looks at his wallet like that – not that Cuphead would even want him to, because that'd make him a whole other kind of sucker, wouldn't it?
"You're...staying home tonight?" Mugman asks him later, hesitant but hopeful. The thing is, Cuphead's pretty sure he knows where he's been going – his brother's not dumb, and there's not many joints in Inkwell that stay open so late. It's just something they don't talk about, because, well, what could he say? He knows Mugman worries – that's his thing, just like running headlong into trouble is Cuphead's – but the less he knows, the safer he is, and he deserves not to worry for once.
Cuphead shrugs and nods, and Mugman smiles, so bright and sincere it almost hurts. He deserves a better brother.
"Great. That's swell."
And it is swell, just the three of them. Elder Kettle makes pork chops and they talk and laugh and gather around the radio, singing and swaying along to the old jazzy tunes. It's like old times, simpler times, back when what little they had was enough. Before he got older and greedier and started craving bigger thrills, money and adventure and danger.
This is what they fought for, so they can all sleep soundly knowing Inkwell is safe and they did the right thing. It's the very least his family deserves, and the one thing Cuphead hasn't screwed up for them yet again.
It doesn't help him settle, lying in bed staring at the ceiling with the weight of a secret heavy on his chest. It doesn't stop him thinking about a wicked grin, treacherously talented hands that could transform or destroy lives with the flip of a card, the taste of tobacco and sin and everything he shouldn't want and could never have for a thousand different reasons, and a thousand times more intoxicating and addictive than all the gold in Inkwell.
His cheeks are already heating up, head threatening to bubble, and he turns over and buries his face in his pillow, muffling a long, frustrated groan.
Good gosh, Cuphead, no.
King Dice isn't here.
Cuphead tries, he really does – he makes it almost a month before all the what-ifs stirring around in his head get to be too much. He just has to know what's waiting for him, whether he'll simply be kicked out, or worse, or…something else, he hardly dares to imagine, but tonight it's no dice (damn, he's been hanging around Beppi too much).
"Boss' away on business," Mr Wheezy tells him while he's setting up for poker. "Just my luck – keeps us all lookin' out for you for weeks and now ya show your mug."
"He...has?" Cuphead blinks, unable to help the little thrill that stirs in him. "Why?"
Wheezy shrugs, placing down the deck as more players crowd around the table. "Ain't my job to know that. You in or out?"
He's in, of course, but he has a hard time focusing on this or any other game now he knows that Dice has noticed he's been gone. Probably not good. Almost definitely not good, but he didn't tell Wheezy to throw him out either, and that's enough to keep him coming back, even if victory doesn't feel quite the same without a smug square face to rub it in.
But Dice rolls back in a couple nights later, chatting with Pirouletta in the lobby as Cuphead walks in. They both stop as he approaches, Pirouletta theatrically clasping her hands to her chest.
"Ah! Look who it is!" she exclaims, her painted lips curving into a smile as she nudges Dice. "One of our very favourite customers – we have missed your sweet face, have we not, sir?"
"Like a hole in the head." Dice flashes him a grand-piano grin, a shark sizing up his prey; Cuphead's stomach parries itself, but he smiles defiantly back, pleased despite himself.
"Missed ya too, Dicey."
"You'll be missin' a couple other parts if you call me that again," he replies, incongruously cheerful as Pirouletta stifles a giggle. "Hope you're here to make it up to us with some of that sweet moolah."
"If by that you mean clean you out again, then sure. But I also, uh..." Cuphead swallows, his mouth dry – he needs a drink, but then again, maybe not, "wanted to talk to you."
Pirouletta cocks her head; she probably just thinks he's got some debt to settle, which in a way he has. Dice hesitates for a fraction of a second before he chuckles, low and dark and full of the worst intentions.
"Don't they all?" he says, gesturing towards the casino floor. "Trouble is, time's money, we're on the clock, and none of us are gettin' paid to talk." In one smooth movement, he links one arm in Pirouletta's and slides the other around Cuphead's shoulders, escorting them both onto the floor. "'Letta, doll, go work your magic."
Pirouletta twirls off and he propels Cuphead forwards with either a forceful pat or a gentle shove, hand lingering on his back just a little bit longer than necessary as he murmurs: "You can come find me later."
And then he's gone again, disappearing into the heaving crowds, and Cuphead almost misses the days when Dice just wanted him shattered. That game was so much simpler.
Either way, he's pretty positive it's no coincidence he finds Dice leaning against the bar in that same spot he was in the night Cuphead last tried to pull his head off. Martina approaches to take their orders, but he waves her away without a glance; he's done this before, who knows how many times, whether for business or pleasure.
"Well, hi-de-ho, best customer," he drawls, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. "I was startin' to think you'd split for good."
"I was starting to think you cared," Cuphead shoots back. It's weirdly comfortable, like sliding back into a familiar routine. "Just busy – me and Mugs are a pretty big deal now, y'know. Sometimes we ride elephants. You oughta come see the show sometime."
"You bona-fide clown-cups now? If I wanna see fools running around, I don't gotta go very far."
"Right, I forgot. The boss probably won't let you out to play, huh?"
Dice scoffs, but his moustache twitches like it can't hide his irritation. "I ain't his lapdog. I just got a lot better things to do than mingle with the screaming brats and carnies I…could probably do without bumping into again."
"No way – is Mister Tough Guy scared of these clowns?" Cuphead can barely contain his glee, grinning like a loony as he pictures Dice on the receiving end of a well-deserved pie bomb. He absolutely does not think about licking it off as he pats his purple-clad thigh condescendingly. "Don't worry, I'll tell 'em you're with me and Beppi won't mess with ya."
"Nah, Beppi couldn't pop a balloon. If you're talkin' about our sweetest Baroness, now..." Dice pulls a not-so-sweet face, but he's starting to snicker too. "Buncha circus freaks and a pint-sized bodyguard. And here I thought we were already in hell."
His nose-pip crinkles as he laughs, gravelly and infectious and – sweet teacups, he's actually thinking this – cute. Cuphead doesn't stand a chance, even now he thinks Dice is offering him an out here. He could just keep his mouth shut and nothing has to change, they can just carry on being...not-buddies, or whatever they were. It's a generous offer, and he should probably take it. What's he even come here to tell him: your face still makes me really mad, but now I also wanna kiss it a lot?
"Thought you might not want me around anymore," he blurts out. "After – y'know –"
"I know," Dice intercepts, quiet but swift as he brushes Cuphead's hand off his thigh – whoops, he didn't even realise it was still there. "Look, this place's built on mistakes. What's a couple more in the mix?"
"So now I'm a mistake?" It stings a little, but it's no less than he expected, probably the best he could hope for. "Thought I was just good business."
"Didn't say they were my mistakes." Dice lets that sink in a moment before he continues. "You made more than enough for the both of us. For the whole goddamn isle."
Cuphead hates when he's right. He also hates that gleam in his eye – amusement, challenge, that indefinable, irresistible sparkle of something that makes it so hard – impossible, really – to ever settle for the sensible offer.
"Well, what if…" Cuphead twiddles his fingers, uncomfortably aware of his palms sweating under his gloves, but he holds Dice's unrelenting gaze, "I wanna...make some more mistakes?"
He's prepared for the kiss off, but not, it turns out, for what the smirk that unfolds across Dice's face does to him, wide, wicked and inviting.
"Then I'd say you're in the right place," he says, crossing one leg over the other so their knees just brush, and even that briefest of contact is almost enough to get his head boiling, "and that it sounds like you're lookin' to get us both in big trouble."
Dice glances around, taking stock of their surroundings; it doesn't seem like anyone's paying any attention to them, all engrossed in their games. When his eyes reconnect with Cuphead's, he flicks them meaningfully towards a door at the back of the room, almost hidden except for a small gold sign that reads 'management only'.
It looks exactly like the kind of place Cuphead shouldn't be following him, and he's out of his seat in seconds, with as much stealth as he can manage – which probably isn't much since he feels like he might as well have a neon sign above his head, but he's way past caring as the door clicks, sealing them off from the buzz of the casino.
He finds himself standing in a narrow, dimly-lit corridor, leading to where he assumes is Dice's office. It's a little hard to tell, though, because the man himself is blocking his view and they are very much alone, wonderfully, terrifyingly. If this whole thing is part of some elaborate, twisted revenge plot, it hits him, he's just handed him the perfect opportunity to carry it out.
Before he can question him, Dice snaps his fingers and the floor between them dissolves into a portal, swirling with murky, sinister-looking magic. Cuphead's eyes bug, hardly able to tear his gaze from it; he may have seen Dice pop out of these before, but this one's much bigger, and inches away from his feet.
Dice shrugs at his questioning glance, like it's the most normal thing in the world. "Well, if you wanna talk, we're not doing it here. This'll take us somewhere a little...safer."
Safe is so completely the opposite of everything about this situation that Cuphead almost snorts until Dice holds out his hand across the portal – weirdly formal, like he's gonna ask him to waltz or something.
He blinks at it until Dice sighs heavily. "Ya gotta hold onto me, genius, unless you wanna take your chances in the void. Pretty sure that's how it works." He crooks a finger against his chin, as if thinking. "Don't think I ever tried this with a plus-one before."
"Really? I'm the first?"
Dice rolls his eyes, but there's a twinkle that looks suspiciously like fondness, illuminating the dusting of pink across the smooth white of his cheeks. "Who else'd be fool enough to trust me?"
Cuphead does laugh then, shaky and a little squeaky as giddiness and apprehension swirl inside him like the edges of the portal. No idea where he'll come out, if he'll come out, what'll happen on the other side. About as far from a safe bet as it gets.
He reaches out and takes King Dice's hand. It's twice the size of his, his grip solid yet unexpectedly gentle as their gloves interlace.
"Who said I trust you?"
Dice's grin widens, emerald glinting in his eyes, and it's not the play Cuphead ever imagined he'd be making here.
But there's always those chances he just has to take.