A/N: Written for the cool little "Unique Pairings" challenge found at the livejournal community ffix slash, where the space between "ffix" and "slash" is replaced with an underscore. You will join because you like FFIX and you like slash.

Of course, this isn't the first Amarant/Gilgamesh I've written, but it's the first one that's actually complete and posted. The other one's taking longer than I expected.

I'm gonna write another one that has NOTHING TO DO WITH AMARANT FOR ONCE so look out.

You know those jokes that always start out with two people walking into a bar?

Amarant feels like he's in the middle of one of those right now.

Except he didn't walk in with anyone. He's actually in the middle of walking out with someone. So the joke, really, goes like this:

"A bounty hunter and a 'treasure hunter' walk into a bar, one after another. The 'treasure hunter' says to the bounty hunter, 'I'm going to punch you in the face.' The bounty hunter responds, 'Try it, I dare you.'"

It's not really funny to Amarant but everyone else found it hilarious that the incredibly drunk, four armed klutz of a thief actually did try to punch the Flaming Amarant. It had been "nothing personal," and Gilgamesh apparently "just needed the money," but Amarant didn't let that stop him from flooring the idiot in under two seconds, trying not to break any bones... but when you've only got two hands to hold down four arms, you have to make some sacrifices.

Besides, the fool had tried previously to kidnap Eiko, who he hates but still would rather not have to go rescuing again. Gilgamesh deserves a bruised wrist or three.

The bartender had then told him, "Take it outside, before I call in a guard," because he probably "just needed the money" too. So Amarant had stood and attempted to leave only to find that Gilgamesh really wasn't moving from the ground – he had a kind of dazed look that definitely spoke of too much drinking and not enough time to sit down and let himself relax. And he likes the bar – kind of – so he didn't want to just leave him there.

So he had hefted up the gangly piece of shit thief and dragged his ass out of the bar, intending to make a few indents in some faces of the other patrons when he got around to it.

Gilgamesh makes an annoyed noise and tries to punch Amarant, failing miserably. "Lemmie go."

"You fuckin' drunk," Amarant grumbles in response, "I'm dumpin' your ass at the nearest fucking alley."

"Ah, fuck," the other groans, "Anywhere's good. I needa kick yer ass."

"Uh huh," the bounty hunter rolls his eyes. "You're pathetic."

"...'m not."

Amarant isn't in the mood and so he finds a fairly-uninhabited alley and lets go of the other's shoulder, effectively loosening the thief and causing him to flop against the wall in a desperate attempt to stay balanced.

"Whoa, the world's spinnin'..."

The bounty hunter shakes his head and turns. "Find me again when you sober up, so I can beat your ass properly."

"Hey, man, I could so beat y' right now," Gilgamesh slurs.

Amarant hates backing down from challenges. It's just not in his nature. So he turns and crosses his arms, tilting his head back and giving the thief one of his self-perfected, vaguely-amused-and-yet-annoyed expressions. He has a ton of those kinds of expressions but this one... this one is special.

"Try it," he tells the other easily.

Gilgamesh takes a moment to get the bounty hunter to stop doubling and then lurches forward, left arms looking to hit anything at all, upper right arm in front of his face and lower right arm over his chest to block any retaliating fists.

It's not a bad form for someone so shitfaced, but Amarant simply takes both left hands in one and half-flips, half-turns the thief, forcing him easily to the ground and putting a knee against the small of his back, hands once again finding the bruised wrists and holding them firmly in place.

"I said," he growls, annoyed now because his own vision hasn't been so good tonight, "Come find me when you're sober."

"Y'never sober when y'live around here," Gilgamesh mumbles into the cobblestones and Amarant frowns. That's true. Most of the thieves worth anything – bounty wise – aren't in Treno very often. The ones like Gilgamesh here usually don't stay away for too long. The booze in Treno keeps people coming back for more.

After all, isn't that why he had come here this particular time?

"Fine. Don't find me at all." Amarant stands and steps away from the four-armed man, who rolls himself over, groaning and staring half-way at the bounty hunter. "You're pathetic."

"Y'say it like y'mean it." One hand comes up and sideswipes loose bangs. Dull, plain eyes find his and he sighs, "It's nothin' personal. Just the money, y'know."

"Yeah," Amarant grumbles. He shouldn't be staying here, talking to this lowlife. He's got better things to do. Like drink.

One look at Gilgamesh and he decides maybe he shouldn't drink anymore tonight.

"Y'know, if y'really wanted to get me sober," the thief drawls, "Y'd get me somethin' to eat. 'M fuckin' starvin'."

"Do I look like a fucking chef?"

"Nah. Y'look like yer hungry too. Figured if we put my shit gil with your shit gil we'd get somethin' worth food. What'd y'say?"

Amarant knows exactly what the thief's trying to do. He knows Gilgamesh's type – if he were to agree, he would easily be eaten out of house and home. The other would probably rob him blind if he weren't so drunk, and would have put up a good fight too.

But still... The kid is real scrawny and doesn't look very healthy at all. And it's been a while since someone's been so eager to fight him...

"...Fine. But once you sober up, I'm kicking your ass."

"Yeah, yeah. Gimme a hand, I can't get up."

Amarant rolls his eyes but yeah, he doesn't have enough money for food so he might as well. The four-armed man manages to stay balanced on his own and stumbles along next to Amarant as if there's absolutely nothing wrong with the image of the two walking together at all.

The market is down a ladder and Amarant wonders if the thief will even be able to handle such an endeavor, but Gilgamesh laughs and jumps easily from rung to rung, swinging around and just being completely obnoxious. "Quit fucking around," Amarant growls, climbing down quickly after the thief.

"'m not fuckin' around!"

The market is almost empty and only a few stands still stay up at this time of night. They manage to get enough money together for a loaf of bread, some roast chocobo, and a bottle of weird Burmecian wine that doesn't really have enough alcohol to be wine at all.

Gilgamesh almost instantly sits on the edge of the platform over the water supply under Treno, legs hanging over the edge and upper arms breaking the bread in half, handing one side to Amarant. The bounty hunter is surprised to see that it's the larger side, but chocks it up to miscalculations of a drunken mind and bad bread-breaking skills. Not that you need skill to tear a loaf of hard Treno bread in half, but...

The bottle is opened and Amarant grabs some of the chocobo before letting the suddenly ravenous thief get to it. It's weird to see someone with four arms eat – he's got a piece of bread in one hand, a strip of chocobo meat in another, and the bottle is held firmly out to him so hey, why not.

Gilgamesh can't be more than nineteen years old, Amarant decides. It's not incredibly strange, because that's how old he was when he came to Treno too, but the thing is that he's sure it's not that hard to make a life out of thievery in the City That Almost Never Sleeps. Locks are always rusty because of the humidity, wood doors are soft, and the guards are easily lured into innocent games of Tetra Master that end with them unconscious and bleeding and a noble's prized statue of Queen Garnet missing.

So why's this kid so scrawny and underfed? He's attacking the bread like he's never eaten anything as delicious – and while there have been some pretty shitty foods out in the world, he doubts Treno bread could really ever be considered that good.

Gilgamesh is looking at the water below and kicking his heels against the wall, looking a lot younger than nineteen. Maybe he is. Amarant doesn't usually give much thought to age – it's just another way to say "hey, I'm still alive, that means I'm pretty tough so are you sure you want to try your luck?" But he's had a few drinks and he's eating so there's not a lot else to do.

"Don't look at me so seriously," Gilgamesh slurs, "What are y', queer?"

Amarant raises an eyebrow – that's the first time anyone's ever asked him that one. In his head he knows he should swear and snarl and kick the kid's ass, but the smart part of him reminds him that yes, Gilgamesh is just a kid. He doesn't understand the subtlety of life yet, the blacks and whites and grays. And besides, the answer should be completely obvious.

So instead he leers and says, "What, you scared?"

"Nah," the thief drawls, "I ain't scared. I got better things t'do than let y' ogle me all night."

"Yeah, I'll bet you do," Amarant responds, "I'm not ogling you, anyway. How old are you, punk?"

"Twenty-one, come summertime."

Smart kid – even if he's telling the truth he's still making himself out to be older than he is. "Pretty scrawny for a twenty year old," the bounty hunter says, taking a long drink and then putting the bottle down. "You sober yet?"

"Nah." Gilgamesh waves a hand, "Y'can't ever be sober 'round here."

Amarant stands up and runs his hand over his beard to get any random crumbs off of him. "So, you wasted my time and conned me out of my money, leaving me without a fight?"

The thief looks up at him and Amarant's not surprised that he's finally looking properly scared. The fact that Amarant – already a good few feet taller than Gilgamesh – is now standing over him with a no-fucking-around look on his face might actually sober him up a little.

"Nah, I didn't cheat y' outta anything," Gilgamesh frowns, trying to look casual and a little taken aback at the idea but failing pretty miserably. "Y'wanted t' eat too."

Amarant feels kind of benevolent tonight so he simply shrugs and says, "Whatever. Come find me when you stop slurring," and turns, heading through the empty market and up the ladder. He frowns because now he's short a hundred gil and that was going to be his money for a room at the inn.

Oh well. He's sure that there's gotta be a bar with some hapless, cheap wench with a bed.

He feels his money out and swears under his breath. Make that a free wench.

Footsteps, and then, "I was thinkin'..."

"What did I tell you, kid?" Amarant tosses over his shoulder.

"Nothin' important. I was thinkin', if we put our crappy pool together again, we could probably get a room at the inn."

"What are you, queer?"

He doesn't really mean to throw it back at the kid but hey, all's fair, right?

"I'm tired. Been all over, travellin' back from Daguerreo an' seein' Alexandria. Not like neither of us has a place to stay, right?"

The slur's wearing off and Amarant has to admit that no, he doesn't exactly have a place to stay. And he isn't really regretting putting money with Gilgamesh to get food – that had been something he had been needing. So maybe putting money together again to actually get a nice bed instead of the shitty straw ones most people have isn't such a bad idea.

After all, he's done worse.

"...How much do you have?" Amarant asks, and the four-armed thief grins now, digging out spare gil from their previous exploits and counting it slowly, doubling back a few times and nearly losing count more often than should be good.

"Mm, yeah, thirty gil even. I paid most for food," he adds at Amarant's annoyed look.

"Fine. I got enough to cover it, then. Let's go."

Gilgamesh looks too happy over the idea of getting a nice bed and Amarant wonders what the hell Daguerreo lets you sleep on nowadays. When he had been there it hadn't been bad, but apparently times have changed.

The innkeeper barely even glances at them – even though he's got a wanted poster of Amarant hanging just on the other side of the stairs – and tosses them the first key he grabs. That's never a good sign because they didn't specify single or double and automatically, most reach for the singles.

But a second glance shows Amarant that no, he didn't randomly grab a key – there was only that one left. With a shrug, he follows the weaving, listing Gilgamesh to the room in the back corner, watching the other try three times to get the key into the keyhole and finally manage it on the fourth.

"Fuckin' things..."

He pushes the door open and stumbles in – Amarant follows and even in the pitch black of the room, he can see just fine. There's only one bed – damn it all – but it's one of the bigger singles he's seen so it shouldn't be too bad. Gilgamesh is already fumbling with his boots, arm-guards and shirt, looking tiredly pleased and flopping back onto the bed contentedly. "Thank Gaia," he mumbles weakly, eyes closing almost instantly.

Amarant rolls his own eyes and takes his time undoing his bootlaces, chucking them into the corner and then tossing his shirt in somewhere near the same vicinity. His belts join the invisible pile soon after. He groans when his back hits the bed and sighs easily, grabbing for one of the blankets and trying to tug it out from under the thief. "Move your ass," he growls.

The four-armed man grumbles and shifts, tugging at the blankets and getting them out of his way before settling back down, content with not using the blanket but still looking too thin for Amarant's tastes. Actually, without his shirt on, he looks young. His skin isn't hard like a real thief's and maybe the other is telling the truth when he says he's a treasure hunter. Then again, maybe the other just doesn't understand how thievery works.

"I can feel you starin', Flaming Amarant," Gilgamesh sighs against the pillows. "Thought you weren't queer."

Amarant wants to beat the crap out of him again but responds with, "Never said anything."

The four-armed man shifts his head and looks at Amarant, who's really not in the mood for a staring contest, so he looks to the ceiling instead.

"You aren't, though."

"There's no such thing," Amarant responds easily.

"As what?"

"Queer. Or straight, for that matter."

Gilgamesh now raises his head, looking at the other contemplatively. "What in the hell are you talkin' about? Of course there's such a thing. You're just pissed that you're queer, so you try to make out to be less than a bad thing-"

Amarant rolls his eyes and slaps Gilgamesh upside the head – a remarkable feat for someone to do while laying down. "I'm not queer. You know you annoy the shit out of me? There ain't no such thing, alright? Now go to sleep, you're fucking annoying."

"You started it," the thief grumbles, turning his head away again. Amarant sighs and then shifts onto his side, closing his eyes and straining to think of something worth dreaming about.

He tries to think of all sorts of things, but his mind ends up wandering back to Gilgamesh. It must be the drinks he had earlier but the other seems to have wormed his way into the bounty hunter's mind and is now refusing to give it up.

Not that he has to work hard at his mind, because now there's a pair of hands – one on either shoulder – and why do people put so much stock in kisses?

Amarant makes no move when Gilgamesh pushes against him and half-licks, half-bites crook of his neck, lower set of arms wandering along his sides and counting dozens of scars along the way. His upper set don't do much more than hold his shoulders while he shifts to half-lick-half-bite along the bounty hunter's shoulder.

There's a muffled noise and the thief pulls back suddenly, as if burned. "Got that out of your system?" Amarant asks, hoping that the answer is yes.

"No," Gilgamesh responds in annoyance.

The older male sighs and rolls over, catching shiny eyes in the dark and then asks, "Do beds automatically make you want to bed someone? Is that how it works for thieves?"

Again, the thief says, "No." His eyes say yes, though, so it's not so hard for Amarant to shrug.

"Fine. Get your rocks off."

Gilgamesh, giving Amarant a slightly confused look, shifts and lifts a leg so that he's straddling the bounty hunter, all four hands resting on his chest and eyes looking around, trying to figure out what, exactly, to do next.

"For fuck's sake," Amarant mutters, "You have four arms. I'm sure you can figure out something."

The thief frowns and then shakes his head. "You're for real, huh?"

"The difference between me and you," the bounty hunter responds, "Is that I don't have any reservations about anything anymore. You grow out of them."

Gilgamesh nods like he understands and bites his lip unconsciously, before shaking his head again and feeling along worn out scar-tissue. "You've got a lot of scars."

"I get into a lot of fights."

"Still. This was magic-related," he points out a thin, web-shaped scar, "Looks like Cura. Travel with mages, Flaming Amarant?" Still his hands are going lower and Amarant nods in response to the question, even as another observation spills out, "Goblin knife, too? You've been all over, looks like it."

The thief has been shifting downwards the entire time, now straddling Amarant's knees and hands finding the ragged hem of the hunter's pants, always-moving mouth nearly against blue skin, "This one's pretty vicious. What is it, a sword? No... no, this is a dagger." Barely a whisper, barely audible, but Amarant knows exactly what the other is talking about.

"Quit analyzing my scars," he growls and feels breath against the ragged skin.

"Alright."

It's very calm and very quiet and Amarant's never met a kid who could be either of those for very long. But the thief's lower set of hands is dragging fingernails along his hips, pulling his pants off so easily, the upper set feeling out muscles in his shoulders, in his arms, mouth open and just barely touching skin, eyes barely looking up but focusing mostly on the thin line of red hair once hidden by cloth but now right there in the open, like most of Amarant is at the moment.

The kid suddenly gets this look in his eye – it's a brief thing, not even longer than a second – and Amarant swears under his breath, shaking his head and grabbing at one of the thief's shoulders and dragging him up, giving him a slight push so he's far enough away from the hunter.

"Don't try out new things if you don't know whether or not you want to do it at all," he grumbles, shifting so that he can kick the pants off, pulling the blanket over him and rolling onto his side. "God, you'd think you'd never seen a fucking man before."

Gilgamesh makes a noise and then mumbles, "Sorry." All Amarant feels is the shifting from under the other side of the blanket and then there's a hot back pressed against his own. "But I guess you're right," he adds.

"About what?" Amarant snaps dully, trying to sleep now that the fucking kid's gone and made him completely alert of everything.

"About there bein' no such thing as queer or straight. Let me drink more next time and we can figure it out."

"Do you think there's gonna be a next time?" the bounty hunter asks.

"You can't be sober in Treno," Gilgamesh replies, "And there isn't much else to do when your drunk, then pick fights because you need the money. I'm sure I'm gonna do it again."

Amarant grumbles under his breath and then sighs, "Just don't fucking get stage fright next time, you little drunk."

He feels Gilgamesh's muscles tense as he nods, and then hears him mumble, "Still gonna need the money."

But by the time the thief says that, Amarant's dropping back into the white-noise of sleep.

Blame Amarant for the crappy ending. He wouldn't let this go the way we all wanted it to go.