Title: All In

Association: Beyblade

Pairing: Bryan/Tala, TalBry, YuBo, etc.

Short Summary: Nothing worth having comes without risks. It just took them longer than most to realize which ones were worth taking. YuBo, multi-chapter.

Full Summary: A simple game of poker between old friends invokes some long-suppressed and unexplored tendencies on the behalf of two highly competitive Russians. Now years later, after having lost the opportunity once before, will one of them finally be able to stake their claim on a bet?

AN: Hello again, dearies. Sorry about the absence; moving tends to be a real bitch sometimes. Hopefully this will make up for it.

First off, before I ever let my beta touch this document, it was already at 26 pages. I wrote the first chapter, a little over 13 pages, of this in two days, the rest of which was written in the week that followed. I have another chapter already prepared to post, but I've decided to hold off a bit and give people a few days to discover the story. As for a third chapter? I have plans for it, but I wasn't going to start it until I got revisions from my beta. Truth? I found more mistakes than she did, and she found less than TEN in the entire document.

That's fucking AMAZING.

Needless to say, I was on a roll with this. This is somewhat angsty and a little on the raunchy side, but it's legit. Oh, and there's footnotes that appear at the end of the chapter as well as a couple of links to sites I used as references. A lot of what came of this is derived from my own knowledge and experience, and may be slightly inaccurate (regarding the game they're playing, not the scenario). That's really the only warning. If you happen to know the game better than I do and see fallacies in my work, please point them out and I will promptly attempt to fix them. Actually, feel free to point out any mistakes you catch; I don't like looking like an amateur.

Sorry I'm rambling; I'll stfu now.

EDIT 4/5/11: NAMES ARE ORIGINALS NOW AND TEAMS ARE REFERRED TO BY THEIR ORIGINAL NAMES AS WELL. LINKS SHOULD BE FIXED AT BOTTOM AND MORE FOOTNOTES HAVE BEEN ADDED! PLEASE POINT OUT ANY ERRORS SO THEY CAN BE CORRECTED!

Disclaimer: I'd sumo-wrestle Takao Aoki just to own these two.

All In

Nothing quite says kill me now like a trip down memory lane.

Yuriy ran a trembling hand through his hair as he drove along the cobblestones, idly turning the corner onto the street he'd been gunning for. He'd been avoiding the place for months, doing his best to stay away for fear of never being able to leave, but longing had gotten the better of him yet again, sinking its teeth in too deeply to be shoved aside for another night. No matter how hard he tried, he knew he'd never stay away for too long, lest his fascination finally up and abandon the place as well.

The redhead stubbed out his last cigarette in the ashtray next to the steering wheel, pulling up and reversing his vehicle next to another car to back into a narrow gap. He parallel-parked it like a champ, his wheels a perfect eighteen inches from the curb as he put it in park and turned the ignition off. The warmth of the heater died instantly, the small comfort it brought dissolving just as soon as he looked out through the passenger window.

The side of Moscow he was currently on was by far one of the roughest neighborhoods to live in. He'd grown up here in his years before the abbey and coming back was never something he took pride in. Outside the window stood his target destination, a run-down apartment complex with a couple of brooding teenagers smoking out on the steps to the front entrance. One of them, a raven-haired male in all black glared heatedly at him while the other male, a blond in a red coat and blue cargo pants, ignored him completely, slipping a flask out of his thick jacket and drinking himself stupid without a care in the world. They couldn't have been any older than seventeen or so.

What Yuriy wouldn't give to be their age again.

He stepped out into the street with hesitation, trying not to look unnerved by the male staring at him from a distance. Shutting his car door without looking up, Yuriy jammed his frozen hands into his pockets and headed for the stairs with his head down. The gray skies overhead were growing progressively darker, the streetlamps just a few minutes away from flickering on and a cold lash of wind hit him in face, reminding him of the impending winter.

As he approached the steps, Yuriy could still feel the dark teen's eyes trained upon him, attempting to crush him with sheer willpower alone. Perhaps the young male had recognized that he was not of the area; an outsider now in the very part of town where he'd once grown. He got to the bottom of the stairs and looked up.

"What in the fuck are you staring at?" Yuriy spat viciously, rapidly piercing his frigid gaze into the dark-haired teen. "If you wanna keep that pretty-boy emo hair attached to that empty-ass head of yours, you'll turn around and get the fuck out of my way."

The black-haired male stood quickly, but not to make a hasty retreat. He stepped down to the stair just above Yuriy and glowered at him, the expression on his face positively livid. "Excuse me, what did you just say to me?"

Upon closer inspection, Yuriy could now see that the teen was only wearing a thick black sweater over his torso and baggy black pants with chains attached to the legs. He wore no gloves or outerwear of any sort. His eyes were soft brown, but heavy with eyeliner, which might've intimidated him slightly if it hadn't been for one little factor.

"Tell me your name, kid."

"Huh?" The emo-looking male stepped back a pace onto the next highest stair defensively.

"Your name. What is it?"

The younger Russian squinted, trying to decide whether or not to beat the older man's ass just for being out of his damn mind.

"Nikolai," he responded lowly. "What's it to ya?"

"Hmm, Nikolai...Nikolai who has jet-black hair and shit-brown eyes," Yuriy made a mental annotation of the boy's looks, watching with delight as confusion further contorted the younger male's face. "Perhaps I should introduce you to my friend Boris. Know him? He lives on the third floor; real friendly fucker, I swear. Eats kittens for breakfast."

Said shit-brown eyes went wide with fear.

"Oh! So you do know him! Charming, ain't he?"

Without ever taking his eyes off Yuriy, Nikolai reached over to hit the blond in the arm, who had been silently watching the two males argue. He staggered to his feet and jumped off the steps with Nikolai, disappearing in an instant as they raced down the street. Yuriy smirked with satisfaction.

'Ah, the perks of having a psychopath as your best friend. They actually exist!'

Yuriy's smug look followed him through the heavy wooden doors, the cold feel of the corridor not felt in the slightest as he made a left to the stairwell. He would've taken the elevator, but the damned thing scared the shit out of him with all the creaking noises it made upon ascending and descending. Old as it was, the cursed machine would probably snap a cable while he was in it one day and plummet him straight to the depths of Hell. He moaned as he stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up disdainfully. Three flights up and he'd be right where he needed to be. The wolf took the stairs two at a time, his long legs aiding him even as his breathing became labored. By the time he'd reached the top level of the complex, he was slightly gasping for air.

'Holy fuck, I'm out of shape. How the fuck can I be skinny and out of shape? Hmm, I should probably quit smoking at some point...'

Coming out of the stairwell, Yuriy made a right and wandered down to the end of the hallway. He stopped in front of room 319, the last apartment on the odd-numbered side of the floor. The wolf quickly caught his breath, swept a hand through his cherry-red hair again out of nervous habit, and gave himself a once-over. He was wearing a dark gray button-up with the first three buttons undone beneath an olive-green jacket, complimented well by his washed-out jeans with rips in the knees. They hung loosely on him and were tucked somewhat sloppily into black combat boots which were laced but untied, giving him a casual "fuck it" look.

'God damn, did I really dress myself this morning? I look like shit.'

Yuriy rapped his knuckles on the door.

"Hrgh? Who is it?" a voice called from inside.

Yuriy smiled at the deeply familiar accent, his disappointment in his clothing choices subdued by a sense of homeliness and relief.

"It's me, shithead. Is your fat ass asleep in there?"

"Mmbe...fuck, gimme a sec..."

Yuriy stood patiently outside the door, listening as he visualized what was probably happening on the other side. He imagined his old teammate sitting his lazy ass up on the couch, throwing some shitty threadbare blanket off of him to God-knows-where and cursing under his breath. Probably rubbing sleep from his eyes and checking around real quick to make sure the place looked half-ass livable.

A warm gust greeted him in the doorway.

Sure enough, there he was; leaning up against the door frame with a tired and/or bored expression on his face, his gray hair jostled about in the form of bed-head. He hadn't changed much, if at all, really. Other than the stress lines on his face appearing a little more prominent than last time he came over, Yuriy didn't notice much else different. He was wearing an old yellow t-shirt and mahogany trousers that were stuffed hastily into raggedy blue boots with fur at the top. It was almost as if he hadn't aged a day in five years.

'Nope, haven't changed a damn bit. If I didn't know any better, I'd say those clothes are the same ones you used to wear back when we bladed together.'

Boris stifled a yawn, popping his jaw a few times to wake himself up a bit. Yuriy took a second look while his friend was distracted. He was far from surprised.

'Yep, shoulda known better. You never change, Kuznetsov...'

"Well," the falcon drawled slowly, easing his way into the world of the living. "What's up? Haven't seen you around in a while."

"Yeah, been pretty busy lately," Yuriy rubbed the back of his neck, feeling awkward conversing out in the hallway. "Well, are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna lemme in, asshole?"

'If only you knew how many times I've been called that on a daily basis...'

"Oh, I dunno about all that," Boris teased. "I was sleepin' pretty good until you showed up."

Yuriy stomped his foot, pretending to be a spoiled child about it. "C'mon, cut me a break, will ya? I know you only have a couple of nights off during the week and I already drove all the way over here and—,"

The taller Russian flung the door open. "—oh, shut up; get your dumbass inside already."

Boris stepped aside to allow his friend in, feeling the warmth radiate from Yuriy's shivering body into the rest of the apartment. As aforementioned, it was on the more shoddy side of Moscow, an area where most of the buildings were either dilapidated or abandoned, but somehow Boris had managed to make the best of it. It had been a few months since he'd seen Yuriy, who had been busy with his job at a small orphanage on the opposite side of the city. The devoted redhead had made it his mission to educate the young boys and girls there to the best of his abilities, trying his damnest to give them a better life than he had, and the long work hours often interfered with staying in touch with his old teammates. Yuriy bit his lip thoughtfully as the door shut behind him.

"Hmm, it's clean for once I see."

"Only for you, Yuriy." Boris replied mockingly, kicking his boots back off beneath the light switch. As Yuriy observed his friend, he came to the realization that the only light in the room was coming from the television.

"It's rather dark in here. Why is that?" he inquired.

'Always on point. You never miss a beat, Yuriy, that hasn't changed.'

"Huh? Oh, lemme get that switch," Boris reached around behind Yuriy as he hung his coat up and flipped on a nearby lamp rather than the switch in front of him, illuminating the dreary living room with a soft glow. "Better? My last light bulb went to shit a couple of days ago and I've been too lazy to go buy a new one or switch it with the one from the lamp, so this is all I got. Sorry about that."

"It's fine," Yuriy moved away from the door and took a seat on the ratty blue couch in front of the TV, not hesitating for a second to kick off his boots and rest his sock feet on the coffee table. There was a romantic Russian sitcom playing at low volume on the television, indicating that Boris probably hadn't been watching it anyway. The former captain raised a sharp eyebrow. "You don't mind, do you?"

Boris chuckled softly, his deep accent apparent even in his laugh. "Of course not; why bother asking a question you know the answer to, Yuriy? My home is always open to you." The gray-haired man flopped down on the opposite end of the worn-out sofa, mimicking Yuriy's actions. "So how goes things? It's been what, four months maybe?"

Yuriy, who had been spacing out and taking in the dark, familiar feel of the apartment, turned his head to the side and met Boris' questioning look. "Things go well, I suppose. It's been crazy trying to work at the orphanage and take college courses at the same time, but it's well worth it."

Boris smiled caustically. "I'm sure it is. I've been by a few times and seen you at work; just passing through, you know. Those little shits love the hell out of you, no?"

Yuriy smiled as well, feeling the warm sense of security that came with being in Boris' presence and the satisfaction of his work being recognized. "Yeah, they love me alright. There's about thirty of them there right now, and at least six of those are just waiting to head to new foster homes. There's two that are actually about to be adopted."

"Is that so? Those kids are lucky they've got someone like you there taking care of them. Just think, Yuriy. You're probably the closest thing some of them have ever had to family before."

Yuriy shifted uncomfortably, not really knowing how to take that comment. He knew the feeling pretty well himself. "Well...If it helps, then that's all that matters, right?"

Boris noticed the sudden change in atmosphere around his captain and wormed his way into it. "Absolutely. No matter what happens from here, you can always take pride in the fact that you've done your best and that you've made a good role model for them." The taller of the two males laughed cynically, standing again as he did so. "If someone had asked me five years ago where I thought the great Yuriy Ivanov would be to this day, I would've told them prison, an insane asylum, or maybe even here in this shitty little apartment where I am. I never would've thought you'd be making something of yourself by working with kids just like we were. And if someone had told me you would be, I would've laughed so hard I'd of pissed myself in the process."

Yuriy chuckled to himself and watched with curiosity as Boris passed through the miniscule dining room into the kitchen, faintly hearing the clinking of glass as he moved about.

"What're you doing in there, Borya?" (1)

"Your mom," he shouted back, immediately followed by an amused snort.

Yuriy leered as he heard snickering from the kitchen. "Oh haha, very mature, Borya. Seriously, what are you doing?"

"Getting something to drink. You thirsty?"

"Depends. Whatcha got in there?"

"Not shit. Pretty much just beer and water. Oh, and I've got—," Boris pulled the milk jug out of the fridge, took a whiff of it, cringed, and replaced it back on the shelf. Ugh, fuck, what is that shit? "Ahaha, never mind, I don't think you'll want that."

Yuriy stood and headed into the dining room. "I'll take a beer, I guess."

Boris nodded, face-palmed for doing so knowing that Yuriy wouldn't have seen him nod, and pulled out two bottles, making his way to the dining room as well. "Whatcha doin' in here, Yuriy?"

"Got bored waiting on your happy ass, as usual." Icy blue eyes sparkled with mystical charm as Yuriy grinned and took the beer from Boris, looking toward the center of the room. "So this is your new dining table I take it?" he asked, gesturing to the cheap black card table.

"And what of it? Cost me a whole eight ruble; what more could you ask for?"

"Hmm, how about a deck of cards to go with it? You still play, right?"

Boris smirked, using his strong hands to twist the cap of his beer and taking a drink. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe I do."

Yuriy punched him hard in the arm. "Don't bullshit me, do you or don't you?"

"Of course, what kind of dumbass question is that? Can't really stop when I'm still makin' bank off all the new suckers that come down to the bar on the weekends. Fridays are paydays, if you catch my drift." Boris set his bottle down and grabbed two metal folding chairs from the far wall, opening them both and offering Yuriy a seat. He placed the second chair on the other side of the table and walked off into the living room to grab his deck, turning up the TV just slightly for background noise.

Boris couldn't exactly lie; it got pretty lonely in this part of town. Most of the people in his apartment complex were assholes like himself, so he did his best to stay away from a good number of them, not to mention that he was pretty certain one of them was trafficking drugs in an apartment down the hall from him. Sure, there were a couple of girls on the lower floors that he'd met up with from time to time, but for the most part it was a lackluster place to live. The side of town he lived on was best described as shady, and his entire apartment reeked of despair. He'd lived here for a good two years now, having only recently taken up a job as a bartender a few months ago. Unfortunately for him, it was at a dingy pub just a few blocks away, far too close to home to consider himself free. Miserable as it was, the entire situation had become laughable.

If you had asked him five years ago where he thought he'd be, stumbling home five nights a week wouldn't have been on the list of possible answers. He might've told you that he and the rest of the Neoborg team had decided to share a place and that despite their differences and hellish tempers, they were all doing just fine.

Truth was, they all really were doing just fine.

All but him.

The gray-haired male, soon to turn twenty-two in a few days, continued to reflect as he turned and headed back into the dining room. Facing Yuriy after not seeing him for a while was always an adjustment, one that he had yet to get used to. A part of him would always remain jealous at the fact that his captain was doing better off without the rest of them, without him namely. Hell, Yuriy finally had a job that had become his life, and he was trying to better himself despite all the foul misfortune that had plagued them in the past. How had he overcome it so easily? Boris often asked himself this question among many others. How had Yuriy moved on, and most importantly, why did he get left behind?

'Because you're stronger than that, Yuriy. In all the years I've known you, you've never been much for beating around the bush, and you sure as hell have never been the one to wallow in this shit. I don't think I've ever loathed anyone more than I loathe you.'

Boris closed his cold metal eyes briefly, trailing back into his train of thought.

'...On second thought, I don't think I've ever loved anyone more than you, either...'

Boris would never forget how they had met all those years ago, how it had been him to show Yuriy the way, and how without him the redhead might've never made it to see seven. Boris had always been a bastard, even in his early years, but the naïve male he would one day call his teammate, captain—and later on, friend—had done something that no other person had ever done. He had warmed him and made him care about the well-being of someone other than himself for a change. The Abbey hadn't exactly had a positive impact on either one of them, but as soon as the experiments and cruel training methods dissipated, so had the tension of their roles in Borkov's plans. They had gotten to live again, to know freedom and discover opportunity together as they moved away from their non-existent childhood years and into early adulthood.

They'd come so far since then. All of them had.

All except Boris.

The once feared blader had little to show for his life following his years in the beyblading league. After he hit sixteen and the mess with BEGA and Borkov had popped up, Boris had chosen to retreat away from the sport altogether, deciding it best to find a new calling in life while he was still young and had half a chance at making something of himself. The rest of Neoborg hadn't exactly been supportive of the decision, but when push came to shove, Yuriy had slung an arm over his shoulder and went to bat for him, telling the rest of their team that it was time to give up the ghost. They had disbanded and life had taken them many different places since.

Sergei, who had already turned twenty by the time the team split, had made the decision to return to Japan and take a job offer from Chairman Daitenji training inexperienced bladers at a new complex being built in Bay City. Boris could only recall hearing from him a few times over the years, maybe every three months or so at the most. To be perfectly honest, the last thing he'd heard from his former teammate was that he had met a girl a few months back and that she was considering moving in with him once she finished college. Apparently she was a short, dark-skinned girl with eyes of amber and a heart of gold. Or some bullshit like that. He wasn't exactly sure whether or not he was sober when Sergei had called last. For all he knew, she was probably three hundred pounds and smelled like death. Same difference.

Ivan on the other hand had settled in Volgograd, a city much smaller than Moscow but still rather large with a population of just over a million. It was about 500-600 miles south of Moscow, the climate there much more amiable and much warmer than where his other two teammates still lived. He had apparently picked up work at a chemical plant, having taken off on his own after living with Boris for almost three years until he turned seventeen. Boris hadn't spoken to him in over six months, and for the life of him couldn't remember what the hell they had discussed last time he'd done so. It had been somewhat awkward for both of them since the shorter male had ventured off on his own. Boris could only hope he was still doing well.

Forcing himself back into reality, the falcon took his seat at the flimsy table and began shuffling the deck. He couldn't think of a thing to say, really. Thankfully he hadn't had to.

"So, have you heard from anyone lately? Sergei or Ivan, maybe?" Yuriy asked innocently, taking note of Boris' hollow gaze as he watched his own fingers work.

'Like a fucking mind reader, Ivanov, you inclusive bastard...'

"Not exactly," he muttered in reply. "Haven't heard from 'em in ages. You?"

"Well, that's odd. I actually just heard from both of them a few days ago. Called on the same day, which was pretty weird in itself," Yuriy paused, watching intently as Boris' forehead furrowed in what appeared to be frustration. He hadn't looked up since the second he sat down, and it had begun to worry the redhead. Nevertheless, he pressed forward. "Believe it or not, that dope Sergei is actually getting married to that girl of his. What's her name again? I always forget."

'Well, isn't that the understatement of the decade...the little things always did manage to elude you.'

"Matsu," Boris shot back, his response dull compared to his generally snarky and somewhat playful replies he often came prepared with. However, at this reply Yuriy still snickered, gaining a harsh look from the morose Russian across from him. "What? Did I say something amusing to you, captain?"

Yuriy snorted, finally opening his drink and kicking back in the uncomfortable metal chair as best he could. He took a long gulp of it before answering. "Heh, leave it to Sergei to fall in love with a chick whose name means 'pine tree'. Just remembered that I Googled it when he first told me about her a while back. Bet ya she's as entertaining as one, too."

Boris couldn't help but crack a smile at that one. Even on the gloomiest of days, Yuriy always knew just what to say to bring him out of his little hole in the ground. Granted, it was almost always at the expense of someone else, but the gesture was nonetheless appreciated.

"I suppose that's a strong possibility. Think we'll ever get to meet her? Come to think of it, where the fuck is my wedding invitation? Damn lovebirds too wrapped up in one another to send 'em?"

Yuriy tensed. He hadn't realized that Sergei hadn't sent Boris one. He'd received his weeks ago.

Too bad he wasn't any better at lying than a five-year-old.

"...Well, I don't actually know if he's plannin' on—,"

"—it's okay, shithead, not like I expected one anyway." Boris went back to shuffling the cards quietly, the only sounds to be heard coming from their endless collision with one another and the television from the other room. The slight tinge of hurt in those words lingered long afterward.

'Bitter fucker you are, Borya. Always could see right through me.'

Yuriy just didn't get it some days. He had made more of an effort to reach out to Boris than anyone had, and yet he always felt like his attempts were being diminished by one feat or another. There was always something that would come up and completely ruin the mood when he came over to Boris' place, and he hadn't a clue why. Couldn't that jarhead see that he was still trying, even when the others had long since given up?

Yuriy knew full-well why he had chosen to stay in Moscow when Ivan and Sergei had taken off. He could reword the situation a hundred ways, and in the end, it would always come down to Boris. Even though the two hadn't lived together in five years, the wolf remained protective of the falcon, often times forgetting that Boris was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Then again, he'd seen some things lately that had started to make him think otherwise.

Like last week when he found his old teammate passed out in the alley behind the bar.

Oh yes, even Yuriy had gotten a taste of the real world that Boris had unknowingly stumbled into. He had been so frantic that night, damn near hyperventilating when he found his best friend lying on the ground without so much as a grunt from him signaling that he was alright. He'd been breathing slow and deep, but was otherwise dead to the rest of the world. Yuriy would be reluctant to ever admit it, but he checked up on Boris often, more often than was normal for just any run-of-the-mill friend. Boris had a nasty habit of going out and doing reckless shit and Yuriy had made it his responsibility to look after the younger male. The falcon was a fiend to contend with while sober, even more threatening with a few shots in his system, but nothing he could do under either circumstance had compared to the scared-shitless sensation the wolf experienced the last time he'd come over to Boris' place. Yuriy had just barely managed to drag his husky body through the door to his apartment and bandage his knuckles that had been split wide open, indicating a brutal knockout for some poor unfortunate asshole who had bothered to cross his path after work. Not that Boris was supposed to be getting hammered on the job anyway, but temptation is an ugly tyrant. Yuriy knew better than to expect Boris of all people to be on his best behavior.

He knew better than to expect a lot of things from Boris.

'Like how I always expected you to live with me. How...Why did it come to this, Borya? Why didn't you stay all those years ago? Because you're too fucking stubborn for your own good, Mr. I-Gotta-Make-It-On-My-Own, that's why. And being your friend meant having to back you up, even when I myself wasn't ready to see you leave. Didn't you know you didn't have a thing to prove?'

Yuriy washed away those thoughts with another swig of beer, looking up only slightly to discover that Boris was already on his second. How had he gotten up without Yuriy noticing?

'Always were a sly bastard, Kuznetsov. Not that I ever expected that to change about you...Or anything to change about you for that matter.'

Trying to get himself back on topic without rubbing salt in the obviously open wounds, Yuriy pressed forward. "Meh, I wouldn't worry about it anyway. I really wasn't planning on going. Besides, where the fuck would I get the money to fly all the way to Japan? Not exactly counting on Daitenji to cough up the dough needed for that little expenditure." (2)

"Mhm..." was all that came from Boris, who finally appeared to be finished with shuffling. How long had they been sitting there again? "So what game we playin'? Hold 'em sound good to you?"

Yuriy smiled slowly, trying not to let his old teammate see his true delight in the game of choice.

Yuriy was an absolute beast at hold 'em.

"I suppose." Light azul scanned over the red-backed playing cards as they were tossed across the table, just two of them landing in front of him face-down as Boris played dealer. The five community cards were behind where his hands flipped the corners of his own two cards to see what he was working with. Yuriy was running an unsuited ace-high with a seven kicker, and Boris ran a pair of jacks. Yuriy felt smug and narrowed his eyes challengingly at the dealer. "What would you like to wager with, Borya?"

Boris frowned. "Well, I've got rent coming up next week and I don't exactly have the extra cash to be flaunting...Maybe we could just play a friendly game with no money involved?"

Yuriy laughed, nearly sputtering the beer in his mouth all over the table and Boris' face. "That afraid to lose, are we? I suppose that's fair, but why let this be just a dull game? I've got a better idea, one that won't exactly hurt your wallet." The wolf grinned eagerly, his nervousness masked by a perfect air of confidence. "Might hurt your pride a bit, though."

"What are you talking about?" Boris asked irritably, his confusion and intuition preparing him for the worst.

After all, it wasn't exactly a good thing when Yuriy Ivanov was grinning at you.

"Well, I was thinking," Yuriy drawled, his cocky attitude easily detectable in his voice, "That maybe you and I could wager with something a little less costly. Say you win this round. Then you have the freedom to ask me anything you wanna ask. Kinda like...truth or dare, maybe?"

Boris raised a curiously high gray eyebrow, smirking back at the crimson-haired moron across from him. He couldn't really be considering this, could he? Oh, the things that could ensue...

"You're not serious right now, are you? Because when I wipe the floor with you, you're going to be doing everything from spilling the deepest darkest secrets from the depths of your pink Hello Kitty diary to downing that entire gallon of curdled milk sitting in my fridge."

Yuriy couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Think so? That's an interesting little thought; surprised you've already got this all planned out. I'll bet you've been saving that milk just for me, haven't you?" he asked, batting his eyes for a dramatic effect.

Boris laughed as well. "Well, I do like giving gifts to the less fortunate..."

Yuriy sneered across the table at his companion. "Challenge accepted, zhopa. But what are we going to bet with in the meantime? There has to be something in this craphole of yours that we can wager." (3)

Boris glared, the slight tug at the side of his mouth the only indicator that he wasn't about to beat Yuriy to a pulp. "Watch it, Red; this is my craphole we're talkin' about. Gimme just a minute, I'll find somethin'." The falcon rose to search his apartment for something, anything that could serve as ruble for their little game. He came back to the room empty-handed. "I couldn't find shit."

"Well, I did," Yuriy pulled out a jumbo-sized bag of M&Ms from behind his back, smiling as Boris' cold gray eyes widened. "Well? Will these work?"

"Goddammit, Yuriy, that's like the only thing I have to eat in this place! Ugh..." The falcon ran his fingers quickly through his jacked-up hair. "Fine, we'll use them. I guess 'chocolate' isn't exactly synonymous with 'dinner' anyway."

Yuriy's eyes brightened like those of a small child. The greedy wolf had already stolen himself a handful and eaten them before Boris returned to the room, but it hadn't stopped him from grabbing out a much larger handful and placing the wobbling candies next to his beer. He handed the bag to Boris who did the same.

"Alright, let's do this. Since you suggested the type of play, I'm calling the style; we're playing no-limit hold 'em without antes," Boris gave the wolf a look of skepticism and Yuriy laughed. "And before you ask, no, I didn't peek at your hand while you were gone."

"Never would've asked if you had," Boris replied nonchalantly, peering up at the clock behind his opponent. "We'll start with the blinds at 2-4, and they'll increase by one every ten minutes. Sound fair to you?"

Yuriy brushed his nails off with his shirt, admiring them afterward with a cocky glance over the bridge of his nose. He flashed the falcon a feral grin. "Sounds fine, Pigeon, let's get started." (4)

Boris sneered and flipped the first three community cards without hesitation.

"The flop" landed a seven of clubs, a two of clubs, and a nine of spades. Yuriy pondered for just a second before making his move. A pair of sevens wasn't much for the redhead to go off, but seeing as his ace was also a club, he decided to check with grim hope of picking up a modest flush later in the round. Boris attempted to read his former captain to no avail, settling for a check as well. Then the turn came, an unexpected jack of clubs, and it took every ounce of Boris' self-control to keep from grinning. A high set certainly wasn't the worst hand to start off the game with, so he decided to raise after Yuriy opened the round, playing into the small blind with his first bet and tossing a couple of brown M&Ms into the pot. Boris watched with amusement as Yuriy's eyes narrowed.

"Brown? Really, Borya?"

Boris sniggered. "Well, I figured since you're gonna be eatin' shit by the time this game is finished, you might as well get used to it."

Yuriy's face knotted with distaste, obviously not amused at Boris' antics. "We'll see about that." The redhead eagerly awaited the revealing of the final card.

The river card was an ace of spades. Yuriy kept his best poker-face up in spite of his disgust. Two pair wasn't a great hand to be carrying, but it looked pretty good considering the somewhat poor turnout of the community cards. Even still, not being dealer that round put him at the disadvantage of going first for every stage of the hand following the flop. He allowed his cool blue eyes to scan Boris' features, taking in as much as he could about the hand the falcon was holding. He was already certain that Boris couldn't possibly be holding a flush or a straight, but there was always the fear that he may also have an ace with a better kicker, or possibly two higher ranking pairs than his own. Yuriy scrutinized his opponent once more. He discerned nothing, however, as Boris too had mastered the perfect poker-face. His cold metallic eyes shimmered at Yuriy darkly, made more intense by the slight flicker of the bare light bulb hanging over the table. That sudden flash in the stormy gray irises had taken Yuriy aback momentarily, causing him to doubt his own hand. It was all he needed to see to know it was best to fold. He turned his cards face-up and tossed them to Boris.

"Hn, giving up so easily, Ivanov? Surely I'm not that much of a dead giveaway," Boris flipped his cards as well, proving that Yuriy had been right to play it safe. "You must have an amazing intuition."

A coy smile and a soft reply came from the captain. "I'm not an amateur at this, Borya. You don't think I would've agreed to play if I were a novice, do you?"

Boris laughed heartily, scooting the deck toward Yuriy and the earnings from the previous hand toward his pile. "No, I'd certainly hope you were smarter than that, seeing as I spent the better part of my life following you around like a lapdog. So since I won, I guess that means I get to ask you a question or force you to do something degrading and unspeakable, right?"

Yuriy's smile soured quickly, almost regretting having said that they should add some entertainment to their little game. "Yes, I suppose that's right. Well?"

"Okay then, truth or dare?"

Boris' sadistic tone curled from his brusque lips like cigar smoke, constricting his former teammate with an ominous, invisible weight. Yuriy felt himself being trapped by the foreshadowing nature with which the falcon spoke. He had often felt this way before, but there was something lingering in Boris' words that had him truly terrified for once. Something in his demeanor had led Yuriy to find the threat hidden amongst that cruel smile mocking him from across the table. It left the wolf with only one feasible option: the bitch's way out. (5)

"Truth," he replied promptly, not wanting Boris to have any more time to formulate sick, twisted ideas for when he finally chose the dare option. Boris' smile turned into a smug curvature that only made Yuriy regret opening his mouth even further. This was sure to be unpleasant no matter what option he had settled upon.

"Hmm, takin' the easy way out, huh? Fair enough," Boris tilted back in the folding chair, leaning the back support against the plywood wall behind him as he took a long swallow of beer, appearing to be deep in thought yet already decisive on Yuriy's punishment. "Okay then, we'll start this out easy. Answer me this: I have no fucking clue how I got home last Thursday night. When I woke up, I was lying on my couch, my hands were bandaged up, and I had a blanket thrown over top of me. My car made it here as well. Care to explain how I made it back here?"

So Boris knew.

'You would have to ask that question, wouldn't you? Why am I not surprised? Guess you're either just that predictable or you're just too blunt and direct to expect anything else from...'

Yuriy gathered up the card pile in front of him and rearranged it so that it formed a deck once more, cutting it once before shuffling it loudly. The incessant sound of the cards making contact with one another as Yuriy created bridge after bridge with them overpowered the soft Russian voices from the television in the distance. The wolf replied with dry enthusiasm, eyes trained on his work the same way Boris' had been earlier.

"I found you out back of the bar at about two in the morning. You hadn't answered your cell when I called, so I came to this side of town and tracked you down. Decided it was best to just drive you home in your car and walk back to get mine. End of story. Anything else?"

Boris' face didn't show it, but he was a bit surprised at the clipped tone his captain had used to recall the tale. He knew exactly what had happened, but having Yuriy confirm it in such choppy sentences told him that the redhead had been far from pleased to be dragging his ass home at 2AM. He didn't expect the wolf to be happy necessarily, but his bitter voice made it clear that the fiasco had been more of a nuisance to him than anything.

'Fuck, can't I ever do anything right for you, Yuriy?' Boris thought sardonically. 'Well, at least that's out of the way now...'

The falcon grunted in response, finishing off his second bottle and getting up quickly to get a third.

Maybe this little idea of Yuriy's wasn't such a great one after all.

Boris took his seat once more, uncapping the bottle as soon as he got comfortable again and taking a thick swallow of beer, observing with sharp eyes as Yuriy passed out the cards for the next hand.

This was going to be one hell of a long night.

Chapter One Footnotes:

1. Borya-pet version of Boris

2. Daitenji-Mr. Dickinson's original last name

3. Zhopa-English way of writing the Russian word for asshole, at least to my knowledge.

4. Pigeon-Obviously Yuriy's little nickname for Boris. Thought it was cute since his bit-beast is a bird. :)

5. The bitch's way out-a long-standing expression used by my beta and I when we would play Super Smash Bros Melee and one of us would commit suicide off the edge of the stage at high damage to keep our opponent from gaining a point for killing us. If you've never played the game, you just might fail at life. Get some.

Links:

1. Okay, I can't seem to get this one to show up. Google "rank of hands" and select the second link, just below the wikipedia one. This will show you the rank of hands. Using the two pocket cards, the player must make the best possible hand using three of the five community cards. This site will show you them from best to worst.

2. .org/wiki/Betting_in_poker-(add http:/ and all that to get to it, or search for "betting in poker" and get on wikipedia if this doesn't work for some reason...) This site will teach you a little about the betting concept of the game. My details may be a tad off, but accurate for the most part (I believe).

AN: Well guys, what do you think? Chapter two will be posted in a few days. :) Hope to hear some feedback from you YuBo lovers! Oh, and just so you all know, it took me FOREVER to go back and change all the names. I did a hella amount of research on the game of Texas Hold 'em to write this too. How's that for dedication? Let's see some reviews, folks!

-PD