When I said I was going to update this, I really just meant the once, but people (very few, but people none the less) (yes, I consider you all to be people) seem to enjoy it (for some sick reason), so I may as well keep posting. I mean, I still get occasional plot bunnies for this thing so there's really no reason not to. Although I'm pretty sure I swore off KH fanfics not too long ago.

The point of this all being: Yes, I will update. No, the chapters will not be particularly long or frequent. I probably won't even edit them that much. Frankly, the title says it all.

However, I actually enjoy writing this thing (again, for some sick reason), unlike some other stories I might mention -pointed glare- so I'm bitching mostly for the fun of it.

Anyway,

Chapter 3: Plot?

Roxas, being a rather intelligent individual, learned much more than Chemistry from his time with Axel. (You may take your minds out of the gutter now.) Mostly, he'd learned not to ask questions that, on second thought, he really didn't want, or need, to know the answer to. Like why sometimes his tutor was male and called Axel and sometimes female and called Lea. Initially, he'd entertained the notion that they might be twins who had gotten the exact same face tattoos just for kicks, which was almost possible, or would be, were it not for the exact same voice and mannerisms.

He'd eventually come to the conclusion that everyone had their quirks and Axel was a damn good Chemistry tutor, and very entertaining besides. And hot, very hot.

"I'm really not sure about this, Xigbar."

"C'mon, Nam, it'll be fun. Think of the paintbrushes, and the markers, copic markers, and sketchbooks and canvas and-"

"Alright, alright. I'll do it, just stop being so persuasive."

They were sitting in the Starbucks across the street from the Starbucks they were about to rob.

"Right, let's do it!" Xigbar clapped his hands together.

They stepped out of the building and into the alley between that and the McDonald's next door, where they donned hair nets and large sunglasses of the sort made popular by various alcoholic harlots, I mean starlets. That, combined with baggy pullovers and loose jeans, made them suitably nondescript, if very conspicuous.

Preparations complete, they left the alley, waited impatiently at the crosswalk and, finally, entered the other Starbucks.

Xigbar walked in first, Naminé close behind. He reached into his oversized man-purse and withdrew a large shotgun, that somehow fit into the bag, I won't explain how. Naminé took out a pistol.

Xigbar pumped the shotgun, making that really awesome chik-chik noise, "This is a- A pistol? Seriously?- Anyway, this, as you might have guessed, is a hold up."

There was silence. Finally, one of the customers, calmly sucking on a white mocha frappacino, said, "And?"

"And?! And?! I said this is a hold up!"

"Well?" said the first customer's female companion, who looked something like a Russian spy, "What do you want us to do about it?"

Naminé's eyebrows twitched.

"Yeah," said a fellow in the back as he scratched his head, "This whole "hold up" thing isn't really working for me. I think I'll see you guys later."

Xigbar spluttered angrily, "But-but I've got a shotgun!"

"Yes, but you hardly seem prepared to use it, do you? How do we know it even works?"

Xigbar's blonde companion strode forward and shoved the barrel of the pistol into the woman's mouth. She pulled back the hammer.

Zexion stretched languidly, liking the feeling of the sheets against his bare skin.

"That was good," he sighed contentedly.

"Isn't it always?"

"Hmm," he rolled over and sighed again, though for a very different reason this time. "Alright, time for you to go."

"It's barely midnight and your little boyfriend doesn't come back until tomorrow afternoon."

"Yes, but I have to clean, change the sheets and disinfect everything you touched."

"Now I know you love me." An eye roll.

"Yeah, well, get out."

"But I thought we had something special," his companion whined with a smirk.

"Out. Now."

The other man pouted, "Can I at least shower first?"

Zexion tried really hard not to roll his eyes and failed, "Fine."

The man slid out of bed and walked naked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. The sound of running water was soon audible. Zexion pulled on pants and got slowly off the bed, eyeing askance his current lover's pants, with the noticeable wallet-bulge. A wallet containing an FBI badge with the name Marluxia Ridiculously-Made-Up-Last-Name. Zexion smirked to himself as he grabbed the spray bottle of disinfectant from under the kitchen sink.

Should someone ask Demyx what was the best thing he'd ever had to work hard for he would say, quite simply, "Zexion Cardemonde."

He had his answer so neatly prepared because of a fortune cookie he'd gotten the day before he'd met Zexion. It had said, "Working hard to obtain something good is good."

Demyx was not, by and large, a superstitious person, but he had a thing about fortune cookies. And when he met Zexion the next day it all came together.

When he met him he had quickly realized two things.

First, Zexion was a good thing, a very good thing. He'd looked at Zexion and thought, "Hot." He'd talked to Zexion and thought, "Smart." He'd watched Zexion and thought, "I want him." And he did, wanted him in ways that were, and are, illegal in several states.

Also, Demyx noted, he would be very hard to get. He hardly looked at Demyx, seemed like he didn't know what the word "libido" meant, let alone having one, and had an aura that screamed, "I am so straight I put rulers to shame… or I would be if I had a libido."

Still, Demyx appreciated a good challenge and so, with the unknowing encouragement of a fortune cookie, Demyx resolved to make Zexion Cardemonde his.

If Zexion was going to be honest, he would admit that he hated these things, Demyx's shows. He hated them. The smell of so many people in so small a place, and the music was always too loud. Maybe he was just getting old. He hadn't used to mind things like this.

But it was Demyx, and he did a lot of things for Demyx that he wouldn't do for anyone else, like, cheating aside, commit to a real and true relationship. Commitment was not his thing, at all. He was quite sure he was a creature who worked best alone.

"Having fun?" a voice purred in his ear.

He didn't have to look, "Get away from me, Marluxia."

"Well that's no way to great a friend."

"That's because we're not friends."

Marluxia leaned in closer, "I suppose lovers would be more appropriate."

"What do you want, Marluxia?"

He leaned in closer still, "Just you."

Zexion snorted, somehow he doubted that. "Leave, before I make you."

"And how do you plan to do that, Zexy-boy?"

He was right, damn him to all the nine hells. Zexion could hardly shoot him in public, although the option was tempting and the gun in the back of his belt seemed especially noticeable.

He kept his eyes locked on Demyx. Marluxia followed his gaze, "That him? Huh, didn't think he'd be so… wholesome, stupid hair aside. I thought you liked your men more, well, manly.

"The flaw in your logic is that I don't like you."

"Then why do you let me do all those nasty things to you?"

Keep your eyes on the stage, just ignore him.

Marluxia sighed wearily, "Alright, I can tell when I'm not wanted."

Zexion suppressed a bitter and sarcastic retort, keeping to his goal of just ignoring the pink-haired pest. Said pest stood and kissed Zexion fondly on the cheek. His face burned, damn him, damn him to hell.

At least Demyx hadn't seen. He was too busy basking in the crowd's worship to watch his boyfriend seated at one of the back tables where he'd be out of the way and away from the crowd. If he didn't know full well of Marluxia's occupation, Zexion would probably request for Lexaeus to do a discreet little job for him. Bodyguards were so useful. And speak of the devil,

"Do you want me to break his neck?"

Zexion sighed fondly at the thought, "No, not today at least, that would cause problems, far too many problems."

"The man's a fucking iceberg!" Demyx yelled as he slammed the door behind him. "No!" Demyx corrected himself, "Iceberg's are big, he's an ice cube! No! A snowflake!"

Axel glanced up from where he was playing solitaire at the kitchen table. "Who's a snowflake?"

"Zexion fucking Cardemonde, that's who!" Demyx yelled with a childish little foot-stomp.

"He didn't call?"

"What calling? He won't even talk to me, let alone this calling business."

Axel frowned and blinked several times, meaning he was thinking, "You've expressed your interest?"

"In as many ways as I know how! And then some!"

"How did you express your interest in ways you don't know?"

"I guessed, I made it up, I-I- What the hell is wrong with me?!"

"What's wrong with you? "What's wrong with him?" is a far better question. He-"

"What? My boyish charms are so wonderful I can seduce anyone? Clearly the fault is with me and my lack of seduction abilities." Demyx dropped into a chair and put his feet up onto the table, screwing up Axel's card game.

"Nooo, I'd say it's him. He's deviating from his pattern."

"Pattern?"

"Yeah, little Zexy-boy is chock full of issues, unhealthy childhood, most like. Anyway, normally when someone expresses interest he buys them a drink or two, goes back to their place, screws them senseless and then never ever talks to them again."

"He does?"

Axel nodded sagely, he had, after all, known Zexion since kindergarten. They'd never liked each other, but they'd remained in each other's lives none the less. "Like I said, issues."

Demyx sat up excitedly. He banged a hand on the table, "He loves me!"

Axel stared at him, "I- Er- What?"

Demyx stood up and began to pace, "Clearly, the fact that he's "deviating from his pattern" means that he loves me! It's like fate or something! Haha, love conquers all!"

Axel began picking up his scattered playing cards, "That, or he just doesn't think you're worth screwing."

Demyx stared at him with an expression like unto a kicked puppy.

"I mean it's just an option. I, personally, think that you are correct, love conquering all and all that." He kept his eyes carefully fixed on the cards in his hands.

Demyx was too busy doing a victory dance of sorts to notice, or care.

Xigbar's blonde companion strode forward and shoved the barrel of the pistol into the woman's mouth. She pulled back the hammer.

"He said that this is a fucking hold up! We've got guns, we're psychotic-"

"Well, she's psychotic," Xigbar muttered to himself. No one heard.

"-and we're damn well willing to shoot some people!" She extracted the gun from the woman's mouth and pointed it at the emo boy with badly dyed hair and a nose stud behind the register. "Now give us your damned money… and a rice krispie treat."

"Ooh, make that two!" Xigbar cut in.

Despite my anti-editing comment, I would be very appreciative, were anyone to point out any hideously egregious errors to me.

... I like rice krispie treats.

I would be very, very happy were you to review.