NSFW

Two weeks later he meets her from the ship from Besaid- after all, he has her key. She greets him with a warm kiss on his cheek, half a hug, as she drags her suitcase down the ramp behind her. She is more tan than ever, freckles like stardust, red lipstick on anyhow, small white dress, exposed shoulders. Her hair in a casual low bun to accommodate her floppy sun hat, the sides of the brim drooping to frame large black sunglasses, like an intoxicated butterfly. He relieves her of her suitcase. He looks casual, white linen shirt, his own large glasses a strangely effective disguise on the packed docks, even though they are ridiculous over his eye patch. The dying dusky sun is sinking languidly below the horizon.

"Can I buy a drink?" she asks, "you know, for housesitting."

"I know just the place."

Speakeasy. The door is painted black, accessible via a small dingy back alleyway. From the front, the basement bar is invisible, nestled between an expensive boutique to its left and the betting shop to its right, both empty at this late hour. The door back here in the small alleyway looks like the unused entrance to a deserted terraced town house. Almost imperceptible to the casual observer is the smaller shutter used to appraise the potential new customer.

"Creepy." Rikku mutters.

"Just wait."

Gippal knocks and there is at least a three minute wait until the shutter slides open- one large Hypello eye peruses them. The assessor grants them entry, and they shuffle into the small entryway, Rikku sliding under the arm Gippal uses to keep the door open. They descend down dusty carpeted stairs. There is a humbly expensive touch to the interior décor here. Deep red drapes pepper the wallpapered walls. In one corner, a mahogany platform with a grand piano and standalone microphone forms the focus of the room. Ready for the weekly night of live music, sultry songstresses and wounded roguish guitarists are the usual act. Rounded tables and velvet cushioned chairs dot the space, mismatched. Fat, oozing temple-grade candles illuminate the space, tendrils of wax pooling onto the tables. The opposite side of the room houses the bar, which extends the length of the wall. A dizzying array of bottles- rum, gin, whiskey- some older than the pair of them combined- clutter the aged shelves. There is no bar menu: at first this had intimidated Gippal. The proprietor is an Hypello named Barkeep. Only tonight Gippal discovers, courtesy of Rikku, that Barkeep was the Celsius' bartender until his wife had become pregnant. Weeks of regular evenings spent tucked away here working over sheets of paper had turned into weekly unwind sessions. Barkeep's speciality is fixing a drink from the pitch of your voice; he could tell your very mood from how you respond to the his greeting. This is where he and Tidus had hashed out the finer details of the stadium, and in the lead up to Blitz season, became way to familiar with Barkeep's taste in whiskey.

Underground, oppressively dark, a hidden underbelly answering to the glamour the city wears, this is the most private place to have fun in Spira. Dusty, not dirty, comfortable, not creepy. It is undiscovered, especially by the paparazzi. A couple of widely reported minor scandals, or rather, the spin the media places on them had quickly alerted him to exercise caution while he lives in Luca. He values privacy. Leblanc and Nooj's history for example, and especially the entire handling of Tidus and Yuna's relationship in the public eye do not sit well with him.

Lowkey friendship with Tidus aside, this naturally is where he brings the various women he dates. Barkeep maintains casual amnesia about this, as there is a different girl every week. Gippal himself is slightly amnesic, because now Rikku is here, and it feels wrong somehow. But he promised to bring her here- next time- what seems like an age ago. There is a sparkle of green eye contact between them when she draws her sunglasses down, slotting them onto the neckline of her dress. Something about her is wary suddenly, adjusting to the dark.

"You know, you're acting so serious- are you about to tell me you're pregnant?" she purrs, and he is quite aware of her proximity.

This floors him. Neither of them dare mention in on the pleasant walk to the bar. Secretly, he wishes she hadn't. Nervous laughter. Some deluded part of him prays that isn't what she is getting at. Gippal grips her arms and steers her backwards on to the bar stool. A rare heirloom amongst the fine whiskey, the sticky bartop.

"What are you drinking?" he asks weakly.

"Surprise me."

"Mish Rikku?" Barkeep sidles up to them. Gippal relaxes, as Rikku is pleasantly titillated by his presence. Barkeep is smart, already mixing their drinks. Their friendly catch up grants Gippal a reprieve, and he watches as she takes the first sip, the softening of her brows- her pleasure- that whiskey can be mixed so well. Condensation slides down the side of her glass, icy cold. She stares back at him alertly- Barkeep walks away, other lone quiet patrons hailing him- and smiles.

"Rikku," he starts. Her smile drops at the serious look on his face, "about, uh, last time I saw- we saw each other,"

His words are dying with their own formality. She frowns at him.

"What about it?" she averts her eyes, slow, sullen stirs of the whiskey sour with her straw.

"I know that I have- you think I have- this reputation," he almost bottles it at her small smirk, "I don't want you to think it was just-"

She looks straight at him then. He feels fourteen. Falters.

"A quick fuck?" she provides.

"That." He stops.

Rikku's the most mature she's over looked, a singular brow quirks upwards. She places her glass on the bar with a shrill clang. Crosses her arms.

"Look," he continues, "I have a lot of respect for you-"

"Do you not normally have a lot of respect for your sexual conquests?"

"Just let me finish," he practically growls at her, "I'm trying to be serious here."

"Fine," she says stiffly, "Continue."

"I don't want to fuck up our friendship."

She taps her foot against the bar for what is perhaps the longest minute. A cool calculated pause and he can almost hear the cogs of her mind.

Exasperatedly, "Me either."

Silence again. She leans over.

"But I'm sure we'll be fine," she whispers, "it doesn't have to mean anything."

And of all the ways this conversation has gone in his mind, he hasn't planned for that.

"We're still friends, aren't we?" she shrugs, "and we had sex this one time."

"More than one time." he interrupts softly. She rolls her eyes at him.

Rikku takes her ridiculous hat off, as though her mind is finally catching up that she is inside. He's silent as she rearranges her hair, pulls her fingers through it. He takes a freezing sip, as she lightly kicks at his chair.

"Way I see it," she continues, in the abscence of his input. "We trust each other. We're friends. We had sex. It was fun. It might happen again. It might not."

"Okay," he says slowly.

"Don't overthink it." She says coolly, a loud gurgle emitting through her straw as she finishes her drink, then a smile.

"Barkeep!?" he calls. Fuck it, he thinks, and downs his drink.

Whether its her insistence that what happened isn't allowed to make things complicated, or the next three cocktails kicking in, the dust settles. They are back to the usual pattern. Cid's girl this, princess that. She's regaling him with tales of Vidina's toddler antics; Wakka failing miserably to teach him the basics of blitzball but he'd been far more interested in splashing by the shore. Long walks with Yuna and Lulu. Long days in the spa; mud baths and massages. The hours pass with easy conversation, permission again to tease her relentlessly.

The platonic back and forth of banter. The friendly touches, soft punches when he crosses the line of humour. How easy she is to wind up again, They catch themselves flirting and wind it back countless times. Again though add three more hours of drinks and the lines helplessly blur; some where inbetween friendly and flirtatious, platonic and passionate.

If he is really honest, he knows as soon as she kisses his cheek as she steps off the boat that they'd end up in her bed again. She knows as soon as he chides her, growls at her to let him finish, that she plans to kiss him. Later when his guard is down. She has to have the final say on the matter.

She confirms the pure inevitability of it, as he's walking her back home. They stop at her door and she places her hat on his head, pulls the wings of it in to her, clumsily, and therefore him too for a goodnight kiss. The sweet relief as he melts into her, pushes her up on her door. Fumbling with her key which he still has possession of to let them through the door. Strawberry daiquiri, her last drink of the night, is how she tastes in this moment, and he of cigarette ash.

Stumbling through the threshold together, the blasting chill of the air conditioning barely registers on their skin. All they are aware of is the heat of one another. This time they are both far drunker, sloppier, clumsier. Gippal trips trying to climb out of his trousers. They are giggling, rolling on her couch, precarious attempts at athletic positions. Giving up and making out. For an hour all they want is this constant contact.

Another drunken hour of them both smoking on her balcony. She's stolen his large white t shirt, fished tiny blue pyjama shorts out of her room. Knee high socks accidentally in the dark but she rocks them. He wears Rikku's bathrobe, at this point, practically his. She's brought some of her many blankets out with her. They start to smoke the rest of his pack. One sun lounger each, facing one another, talking shit. The creeping postcoital sobriety fading as they work through a bottle of red wine. They reach that precious level of post-seen-each-other-naked honesty.

"I'm so jealous that the magazines never catch you and your many conquests on camera," she whines.

"I'm just discreet."

"Wait a minute," she jolts up, scowling, "Do you take all your dates to that bar!"

"Um, most of them," he laughs at her outrage.

"Way to make a girl feel special," she groans.

"You should," he mutters, "don't normally… shop at the same store twice… if you get my meaning."

"Oh shiva, ew! You really haven't changed!"

"Like I say," carelessly, "we're all a little too young for the mushy shit."

"The sex?" she asks, innocently.

"You know what I'm talking about."

"I blame Rin," she offers. Rin is his maternal uncle. He had spent half of his childhood travelling back and forwards between Luca and Home with Rin, after his mother had died. Every Blitz season back at Home, and off season back to Luca to live with his father. Rin, his escort back and forth, who never settles down himself, and is now pushing forty.

Then five minutes later, quietly, "no wonder you're so good at.." And doesn't finish her sentence, blushes instead.

"What about you and your string of high profile affairs? What was his name? Maric?" he asks. He is not as oblivious as he lets on to Rikku's escapades. Most recently, Maroda, ex Youth League commander. In fact the shortest of her relationships to play out publicly. Barely three months- snapped together leaving a night club to high profile split. She's quiet for a long moment after correcting him. Maroda.

"It just puts so much more pressure on things, you know. Like you're literally on your second date and they're predicting when you're gonna be married, you know?"

"So, that's it? He didn't like the cameras?" He presses.

"Well, fine, I just wasn't really feeling it anymore. We went on a few dates, and it just fizzled out."

"Happens." He stubs his cigarette out on the makeshift ashtray she's made out of a tumbler with a small layer of water.

"I just," she starts, sips at the red wine, "gotta be more careful, keep it all private, you know?"

He nods at her, then.

"You haven't had any girlfriends then? This whole time."

"No."

"How come?"

"I barely have time to get all my work done as it is," he says, pathetically. She doesn't believe him but doesn't press it.

"You work too hard." She yawns, and is starting to nod off, curling into herself under the blanket. He sighs, wakes her up after another cigarette, trying to coax her to bed.

"Carry," she mumbles sleepily.

So he carries her to bed, tucking her under the covers because the air is on too high for her, as always. He collapses onto her sofa, asleep as soon as he has arranged himself into drunken comfort.

The next day is Rikku in yoga pants, sluggishly patrolling her houseplants, pushing her finger into the soil, watering less than half of them. Coffee while they both bitch about how awful they feel. His solitary long hot shower. Rikku, recovered, on her large balcony, body inverted, triangular to her yoga mat. Then sphinx life, heart centre to the sky. More coffee. His nap on her sundeck, lazy streetcat, despite it.

"How," he croaks when she wakes him at midday- sweaty because she's been running- the clunk of a heavy glass of water on the side table, "are you so functional?"

"Well the trick is," she teases, "Just decide to not be hungover."

"Funny." He throws the towel around his shoulders at her.

He dresses as she showers, cracking in to the suitcase of his stuff that he'd packed, ready for him to go as soon as he dropped her off at her door. At least, that was his intention yesterday. Best laid plans, and all that. He suspects her plans were more securely laid.

"I meant it, you know," Rikku, behind him, as he's preparing to leave, sweeping the living room for any of his stray belongings.

"What?"

"We better still be friends," she says shyly, "I like hanging out, you know?"

"Don't overthink it, princess," he pulls her in to a hug, kisses her affectionately on her forehead.


"Work is crazy busy."

The quality of the Commsphere display, the personal one installed in her kitchen, perched on the breakfast bar, to facilitate her morning catch ups, is crystal. She can see the steam curling skywards from his coffee, the lines on his face where he slept funny.

"Bevelle are just suddenly all up in our business. New stadium, new intercoms, and I'm trying to manage that from here, because the place still gives me the creeps."

"Aw, I'm sure Baralai would love to have you there. I can see the headlines now- Spira's two most eligible bachelors out on the town-"

"I swear that man is shackled to his desk. And moving everything over from Djose is requiring all sorts of babysitting input from me—"

She smirks as his rant continues. This feels familiar, as irritating and endless as the sand they could never wash off their bodies on Bikanel, but like home, somehow. He pauses to take a big glug of coffee.

"I'm being rude," he says, "what's up with you?"

"Leblanc is stressing about next season, which is about one thousands times more dramatic than it sounds," she starts, "Endless fittings, make up and hair tests. It's so draining. But I love it."

They both laugh. He starts flirting with her then, shamelessly trying to score a free lunch. She's too busy today. Tantalises him- next time- and it sits there. Loaded.

"I'm supposed to be off next Wednesday?" She states.

"That's nice." He says, tone bland, as though now he's disinterested.

She leaves it there, pretending she's late for a call to Yuna.


Rikku adopts a kitten. She has had the idea since Besaid where the russet coloured felines- permanent fixtures at the Crusader's Lodge- had taken a liking to her. She is not a cat person, but there is a sad silence to her apartment, these last two weeks. She catches herself talking to her houseplants way too often. She carries the kitten home, her usual disguise of large glasses, hat, and one of last season's summer dresses, hair braided into a low chignon, invisible under her droopy sunhat. She digs around in her purse for her key with one hand, the other gripping the carrier.

She collides with someone as she reaches her door, making the familiar steps on blind autopilot.

"Watch it!" Gippal steadies her with one hand, the other gripping his cigarette.

"Shit," she looks up from beneath her hat, startled. He's standing there in his work shirt, eternally loosened tie, "um…"

"It's your day off, right?"

"Sure."

"Wanna order in? Hang out?" he asks, casually, like it doesn't really matter, like he just happens to have passed by, "unless you're busy?"

Rikku is at a loss.

"I'm not."

"What's that?"

He notices, narrows his eye. She freezes as a quiet mewl emits from the carrier. Well, fuck. Counts to three.

"Is that a cat?!"

"Maybe," she ventures, but it's a lost cause. Where Rikku is unsure about cats, Gippal is fanatic. He is straight down on his knees, peering into the cage. This is one of the many ridiculous things about him- this blind spot for kittens.

"It's gorgeous," he mutters, poking his finger through the gaps in the grate, genuinely, contagiously smiling.

"Get up, you'll get all dusty." she says, and then unlocks her door, gesturing him in behind her.

The next hour, all thought of food is gone from Gippal's mind. He watches intently, leaning forward. Rikku perches on her knees and there is a small click as she releases the latch. A short-haired white kitten, baby blue eyes, tentatively creeps out. It stumbles slightly, a disgruntled meow. Slowly she sniffs around Rikku's knees then clambers up. Rikku picks the tiny creature up tenderly, levels their gaze.

"So cute," she murmurs, "What should I call her?"

He shrugs. She beckons him over with a tilt of her head. They are both cross legged then, small kitten darting between them skittishly, and learning their scent.

"Well this is good," she says, "that she likes you. I might promote you to catsitter."

"Anytime," he says. The kitten playfully nips at his hand, and he coos something nonsensical back.

"So what do you want for food?" she asks, making to get up from the floor.

"No," he stops her with a quick kiss on her cheek and a grin, "my treat. You two get to know each other."

He yells for her order a few minutes later, after activating her Commsphere. As they wait, he pours a glass of red wine for them both. He sips at his, and watches her play with the kitten. Five years ago, this would be some junked up machina she'd be tinkering with instead. Rikku is showing her new charge the litter tray, then the small bed she has bought, then stands to leave her animal child to explore. She pads silently behind Rikku as she flops on to her sofa.

"She loves you already."

He walks over with her wine glass, which she gratefully accepts, and he adopts the mirror of her slouch on the opposite arm of the couch.

"Lana." Rikku states.

"Cute name."

"We'll see."

Lana starts the slow ascent up Gippal's trouser leg, tiny needle like claws biting in to him.

"She's about as annoying as you already," he huffs, extricating Lana's claws from his flesh, then presses his nose lightly against her, "can't stay mad at her for long though."

"You're so weird." Rikku says softly.

The food arrives. Gippal dumps Lana on to her lap then. He serves up quickly. Rikku settles Lana on to her small bed. They tuck in to noodles, spring rolls, some delicious sweet and sour beef dish.

"Haven't seen you in the magazines this week?" Gippal asks. She swallows her bite of food.

"Working on a few things. Always a bit slow." She swallows her food, "Blitz season."

"No parties?"

She shakes her head, tossing the last of her wine back.

"You know Brother and Buddy's thing is this weekend, right?"

He nods and starts making excuses. She interrupts him-

"Okay, but you can't make me go to that alone! You know how crazy the pair of them get. Don't wanna be their third wheel all night."

"Can't you drag Calli along, or, I don't know, Leblanc?"

"Leblanc?! At a rave!" she protests, "and Calli is way too young!"

"Is a rave really your scene?" he asks, "you're all designer dresses and shiny hair now."

"Shiny hair?"

He shrugs at her.

"For old time's sake?" she pleads, wide eyed, slight pout forming, "Please?"

"Fine."

"Yay!" she says, "You need to blow off some steam, you know. You work too hard."

They catch up then. Rikku's month ahead is packed with shoots and interviews across the city, in between days of fiend hunting on Mi'hen, combat skills a little rusty from her luxury life in Luca. Gippal has to go back to Djose in a month, start wrapping up there. With the Luca headquarters almost finished, and plans for a small Bevelle office being laid, they were giving the temple up to New Yevon. All temples were to be maintained as significant pieces of history, a sentimental excuse to drum up tourist revenue.

"They're leaving Zanarkand alone though," he reassures her, catching the troubled frown on her face, "That was not a fun meeting. Yuna is fierce."

"Good."

"You never talk about it." he says.

"Huh?"

"The pilgrimage, killing Sin, assassinating Maesters. You got busy."

"I guess," she offers, "I'm sure everyone's bored of it all by now."

"I'm just dying to know how you made it through the thunder plains."

"They almost left me there." she whines, and this does get her talking. He learns that Auron was such a meanie; he counters that he's surprised he didn't kill her within an hour of meeting her.

"He is a softie deep down. Then Lulu taught me lightning magic," she continues, and then is waxing lyrical about how calm and collected Lulu is. She is still her role model; the sassy, maternal, fierce black mage, "She's just always so poised you know. Like nothing shocks her."

"I don't know," he says, "You seem to do a pretty good job of looking all sultry and serious when the cameras get you."

"Sultry!?" she pushes him lightly away from her on the sofa, "Ew, Gippal!"

"Bit late for ew, don't ya think?" he quips. He mimes something crude with one of the spring rolls. She places her carton of food down and shrieks at him. She wrestles it out of his hands. Playing dirty, she tickles him, swipes it from midair when he drops it.

"Don't molest the food!" she cries.

He chases her then, softly tackles her to the ground. Fair game, he pinches her side sharply which makes her jump away from his hands. He reclaims the prize.

"You are so annoying!" and she is straddling him, and manages to wrest it from his grip. She throws it across the room and regrets it as Lana pads after it instantly.

Gippal gives up, resting his hands on her thighs. Their eyes meet and she blushes as rapid awareness of the heat where they are touching dawns on her. Both more embarrassed with less alcohol in their system. Gippal tries to sit up and Rikku pitches her weight forward to roll away from him. His forehead collides her chin.

"Owie!" she moans. He huffs in pain and rolls them over, climbs down to settles his head heavily on her stomach. He collapses there with her as his pillow.

"Still as clumsy as ever," he prods her in the side.

"Get off! You're heavy,"

"Comfy here, thanks."

She exhales, resigned. Her fingers lace briefly into his hair; his curl into the fabric of her dress.

"What are we doing?" the heat of her touch recedes as she slides her hand away.

"Nothing," he murmurs innocently into her stomach, "your idea, remember."

"Yeah, but," she pauses, "I just thought it would be like one time, you know. Like I get it. We were drunk and flirting and I was feeling myself but…"

"Mmhmm," he tosses the noise out, pretending he isn't listening too closely.

"It keeps happening."

"Bit dramatic." he yawns, "It's happened, what, twice."

"You know what I mean."

"What can I say? I'm too irresistible for my own good," he counters.

"Gippal, honestly," then in Al Bhed a few seconds later, "seriously get off my bladder."

"Sexy," but he relents, and is up on all fours, looking down at her, and she tries to squirm away from his gaze, "I haven't got a fucking clue what we're doing, princ-"

"Don't," she growls, smushing her finger on to his lips to silence him.

"Rikku," he drawls then, and pulls them both, dizzyingly, up to sit and face each other, "I didn't come over to just... uh… we can just chill, like we used to-"

"Are Brother and Buddy due to turn up any minute?" she asks, fake excitement.

"Funny," He says, "no, we don't need to define this, if it's going to make it-"

He is gesturing between them.

"Complicated?" she offers, sounding the world slowly.

"Wouldn't want you getting any bad publicity, now."

She scoffs, eyes to the ceiling.

"We just have to be careful not to be seen," she agrees, the faintest flitter of flirtation.

"Our little secret?" he suggests, shuffling closer, "if that's how you like it?"

"That's easier," she says, "because the paparazzi will just ruin it."

"Easier," he breathes against her lips, and a thrill runs down her spine as he confesses, "You know we could have hung out like this when we were fifteen, if you'd just asked."

"Such a player," is the last thing she says before climbing on top of him. She kisses him with all the teenage infatuation she can muster in that moment, imagines they're making out on the hood of one of the many jerry-rigged hovers he'd hijacked over the years. She giggles when they break for air.

"What's so funny?" he is tickling her then, until she is a breathless, shrieking mess.

"Stop, stop!" The earlier unmet need to urinate pulling her back from silly into sober. She excuses herself. Has to splash her face and neck with cold water. Composure, now.

She melts when she walks back in. Gippal settled on her couch with Lana purring aggressively on his lap.

"I'm stuck."

"Oh dear," she mutters, "I've been a bad owner already, haven't I?"

Lana is forgiving, stretching and pressing her precious head into her outstretched hand.

"We had a cat in Luca," she stops stroking to look up, tentative. Gippal's childhood memories in Luca were not often stoked into conversational fire, even back then.

"Mmhmm."

"Black cat. Really old and grumpy. Think he had a soft spot for me, though. Used to tell me off when I'd get home after summer."

Lana meows.

"Yeah, that's right, sweetheart, he would have liked you too." He mutters. There's that rare smile, neither flirtatious nor cocky nor tipsy, just barely concealed affection.

"You are crazy, you know that." She teases, lightly.

"Don't you talk to your houseplants?"

"Shh," she whispers, "it helps them grow. What was his name?"

"Aha," Gippal smiles then, small sound of laughter, "Ma named him Cid."

"What! Why?"

"I think it really annoyed him, and she used to love giving him a hard time for dating your mother. Surrogate sister-in-law."

"You have such an amazing memory," she mutters, "I can't even remember the sound of their voices."

She flicks the screen across from them on, tuning into Luca's main entertainment channel. A concert is streaming there, some unknown pop act. She feels him sink deeper into her sofa. Lana curling into herself, her tiny head slack and trusting on his thigh.

She clears up around them, playing with the lights until the ambience is just right. Topping up their discarded wine glasses, she leaves the bottle on the coffee table beside them.

"Comfy?"

"Perfect."

"Can't believe you've already stolen her."

"Pussy magnet," he says as a sleepy grin stretches across his face. She ignores him, swears under her breath and sinks next to him on the couch. She is channel surfing. Concerts, news, interviews, documentaries about everything from forgotten temples in the Calm Lands, to Yevon's lies exposed. Lana makes shaky progress from Gippal's lap onto hers. It is barely dusk outside.

"What do you wanna watch?"

But he is fast asleep. 8pm. Wednesday night. Arms that were crossed over his chest, slumping loosely to relax by his side.

"Hey, handsome," nothing is proven to rouse him as swiftly as a compliment. He doesn't move at first. Then he feels her hand and firm pressure on his chest, swats at it lazily, "bedtime."

He lets her lead him in to the her bedroom and offers a weak willed protest when she's placing her covers over him. She drops Lana on to the bed next to him.

"Just," she starts, pats his cheek with one finger, "get some rest will you? I'll wake you up later."

She settles back on to the couch, half watches a rerun of a pop concert, whilst flicking through a volume of fashion photography, jotting notes of page numbers in a small notebook. She drifts into sleep herself, eyes down with the sun.

Then it is 2am. The buzz of the Comm display is blue and bright, a placeholder instead of the usual re runs. She peels herself from the cushions, Lana purring on her chest. She scoops her up and wanders groggily into her room and slots herself beneath the covers, next to Gippal. He doesn't stir.

The next morning she is awoken by the clunk of a mug of coffee on her bedside table. He drops something wriggling, thrumming, on top of her. Big cat eyes and a barely perceptible mewl in her face when she cracks one eye open.

"Uhh," she moans. The rest of the bottle of red wine, which she consumed alone, had collected itself into a blinding headache. She feels unrested due to her accidental couch slumber.

"Got work," he says, "Sorry I wasn't such great company last night."

He's found a fresh shirt he'd left behind from the weeks prior.

"I regret all that wine."

"Just get up and decide not to be hungover."

She shoves a pillow at him in rage, Lana jumping after it. He leaves her to waste her morning away. She prays Leblanc doesn't notice the hungover dullness of her skin later on the midafternoon shoot.


Brother and Buddy's shindig. The alternative underbelly of Luca's nightlife. Barkeep's speakeasy bar is transformed. The space opens up. Brother mans the complex mess of audio equipment on the mini stage. Gone are the various tables and chairs, instead it is now muted dancefloor, still illuminated with that derelict candle glow. His set is slow, lazy, electronic, a sophisticated soundtrack bringing out the dirty dancing of the patrons.

Rikku waits for Gippal. She perches on the side table in the ridiculously small entrance hall. Translucent white mini dress that hugs her figure; thigh high black boots; utility straps that disappear like suspenders under her dress. Her hair is in high twin buns and there is glitter along the line of her parting. Strobe higlighter- midnight warpaint- glows in the dark on her cheeks. Fingerless gloves and an oversized bomber jacket. She leans back on one hand and is inspecting her nails, playfully dangling her legs back and forth.

She feels the vibration of the music from below.

Gippal has to look twice when he walks in. Her outfit a non virginal echo of how she used to dress. She grins at his dark shirt, not tie, the top few buttons he accidentally leaves undone.

"Nice shirt." She counters, "I think they've all taken something. It's feral down there."

She takes his hand and is walking backwards towards the door, leading them down the steps and into the crowd. Cute, crazy tilt of her head. The pattern of her make up hits differently in the soft sexy light of the basement. The first five minutes, slow progress to the bar. He strains to hear what she wants through the deep beat, the thrum of bass. She hooks one arm around his neck, lips pressing into his earlobe as she shouts her order in to his ear.

Vodka. Lime. Soda.

He holds two fingers up to her and she nods to confirm that- of course- she wants a double. The crowd in the venue is mainly Al Bhed- the style of music. They feel anonymous here, and they pass the hours, one electronic track after the other blurring into one. They dance close, safely here, another couple wrapped up in one another's sexual tension. Before long, they are soaked through with sweat from the heat, the humidity, the press of each other. She wonders vaguely if some of the heat between them is from being this flush to one another. The way he slides his thumb up the side of her abdomen, how it brushes at the underwire of her bra- the goosebumps that blossom there, reactive chill at his touch. He develops a non verbal command, as he used to when he led her round the dancefloor, she intuitively moves closer with the pressure of the hand on her side. The trail of his fingers down her arm to pull her back to the bar. The vodka goes down quickly due to the thirst the relentless dancing brings. Again and again to the bar, too loud to hear one another, the evening passing with a secret language of touches and movement.

Then one particularly long wait for the bar, Rikku throws her arms around his neck, and drawls.

"Fuck this. Let's go."

She vaults on to his back and they fight their way back out to the cold fresh air. She giggles and shrieks as Gippal stumbles and drops her.

"Help me up!" she yells, as Gippal is reaching straight for a cigarette.

"Hey," she pulls him down on top of her when he finally offers his hand.

"Get a room."

Buddy laughs. They haven't seen him in the dark as he slouches, cradling a cigarette against the breeze, on the outside wall. They dart up then, dusting themselves off. Rikku bobs her weight awkwardly between each foot, and Gippal is scratching the back of his head, avoiding Buddy's eyes.

"Yeesh, I was joking, guys."

Rikku giggles, a little forced. She bounds up to Buddy, congratulates him on the party.

"Brother's sure enjoying himself," she quips, referring to the various attractive, modelesque women he had periodically invited onto his platform. Buddy looks past her then, makes eye contact with Gippal, who shrugs.

"He gets a lot more female attention now that he's a word famous DJ," Buddy says, artificial lightness to his tone. He flicks his cigarette to the floor, stamping it out.

"We, ugh," Gippal starts, "We're gonna go somewhere quieter for a drink if you wanna join."

Rikku blinks at him, vaguely aware of some unspoken conversation they seem to be having. He follows them gratefully.

"But, hey! What about Brother?"

"I'm sure he can survive without me for a few hours."

The air is warm, crisp. A major Blitz game is on this evening; Luca's press machine is suitably distracted. Rikku realises that perhaps this is why Gippal invited Buddy along. The side of town they wander to caters to the workmen, builders, tehcnicians, essential to the construction of the Machine faction headquarters, the stadium, the multitude of apartment buildings that are springing up around the city. The bars are simpler, less expensive, security more lax. There is no dress code, no exclusivity. Bars welcome anyone's custom, regardless of how well dressed. The first establishment they stumble into has a warm orange glow, no obnoxious music. The clientele are largely uninterested in their presence, attention focussed on the screens playing the game. Gippal buys a round of beer- a large glass of house wine for Rikku- while Buddy works out the pool table. Winner stays on. Rikku breaks as Gippal wanders back with the tray of drinks.

Buddy's turn. He pots the first ball, then the second. He misses the third shot. Casually he leans back, using the small cube of chalk to freshen the end of the cue.

"I saw you guys making out at the stadium."

Rikku immediately chokes on the wine she has just sipped from, a more savage burn down the back of her throat than the initial taste.

"Rikku's fault."

She glares at him. Unbelievable. Shifting blame like they'd been caught stealing from the central pantry at Home. She recovers somewhat and shoots a murderous glare at him.

"Don't tell anyone, especially Brother. Or Pops!" she shudders, dramatically missing her shot and cursing, "Shit."

"I'm sure no one would be surprised that you guys are dati-"

"We're not dating!" They both chime together. Buddy laughs, pots another two balls. He thrashes her then- next round on her. She joins them with a new tray of beer and her staple of cheap wine.

"Some trash talk that was." Rikku growls as she walks back over, pouting at the much closer match between Gippal and Buddy.

"Knew it would work." Buddy quips, "But, seriously, a party with your entire living family in attendance is probably not the most discreet place."

"We just got carried away, right?" Rikku looks to Gippal for reassurance.

"I'm concentrating." Gippal mutters, his competitive streak emerging.

"Were you not enjoying the party earlier?" Rikku turns her attention to Buddy then- this was supposed to be their party after all.

"Brother needs to," he says tentatively, "blow of some steam with the fairer sex once in a while. So I'm just gonna leave him to it. I'll be there in the morning."

"Player." Gippal says, in Al Bhed. He pots the black, "Cid's girl, you're up."

She sucks at pool. She hates losing. Buddy retreats to the bar to get their order in.

They pass the rest of the night with slow, casual games of pool. Rikku loses every single time. The drunkenness stretches on but settles into long nonsensical conversation and bouts of irrepressible laughter at previous misdeeds. The exchange of anecdotes and forgotten secrets continues in to the early hours of the morning. They escort Buddy back to the Celsius. She and Gippal end up back at hers, armoured against her air conditioning under the many blankets piled on to her bed. Lana purrs loudly next to her ear, and she fitfully tosses and turns, woken frequently by Gippal's drunken snoring next to her.

This time she wakes to the smell of sizzling meat as her eyes protest violently to the sunlight streaming through her windows. She is in last night's dress but her hair is sticky and tangled, the glamour of the glitter now a creeping regret as she thinks of trying to brush it out. First stop she makes is to her dressing table, and starts to wipe old make up away. She begins the horrific task of brushing her hair out. Hungover despair. Gippal laughs at her when he walks in, sees her with her head limply in her arms. He places coffee and a plate of bacon and bread on the table.

"I'm unsent." She moans.

"You look it."

"Don't be mean," she whines, "I'm dying here."

She sips the coffee, and finds despite the state she's in wolfs the food down. Gippal retreats in to the bathroom and she hears the hiss of shower spray. She slips in to her bathrobe, glad to be rid of last night's clothes and underwear. She plans to chill on the couch until Gippal is done with his shower but the open door of the bathroom, the cloud of steam lying beyond, calls to her. A brazen invitation. Her bathroom is large. A clawfoot bath stands in front of a floor length frosted window. Twin sinks sit in front of a large mirror. On the marble counter is a pyramid of rolled soft grey towels. Gippal is obscured through the steam rising around him in the spacious shower. He doesn't hear her enter, deafened by the roar of the waterfall.

"Do you mind if," she pauses, "I clean my teeth?"

"Sure." His reply is muffled by the rising steam, the misted glass. She finishes cleaning her teeth and washes her face with something expensive, some gift from Leblanc, or maybe she'd stolen it from a shoot, she can't recall.

"Pass me a towel."

She grapples one of the towels over the top of the glass divide. The shower stream ceases and silence curls around them like the steam. He slides the shower door open.

"Shower's free."

He stands behind her and she turns to him, reaching out to wipe a stray droplet from his collarbone, unconsciously. Soft, slick skin under her fingertips and a smile inches over his face. She feels cold in the close humidity, feels the chill of her fresh breath against her lips as she exhales. The hesitation before she withdraws her hand from his chest is his cue. He kisses her, pressing her body into the counter, gripping her waist sturdily. His other hand tangles in to the mane of her hair. He lifts her up and she draws him to her. Loosely tied, her gown falls open. His towel falls down in the commotion. Secured there on the counter, she feels his thumb caressing the side of her breast. Ferociously, she locks her lips to his, pushes her weight on to him, and a rush of heat floods her as his hands grip her thighs.

"Gonna need another shower if you keep behaving this dirty."

"Yes, right now," she murmurs. Whilst still aloft, she pushes her torso away from him so she can extricate the robe from between them. She slides it down her shoulders, allowing it to drop to the floor. All the while he maneuvers them back to the shower. Without placing her down, he continues to kiss her as she blindly gropes for the valve, pulls it frantically on. He places her down and she presses him in to the tiles as the cloud of steam billows around them.

"Fuck," he says, because she is on her knees in one swift movement, "Rikku."

She slides one hand around his cock, then teases him with kisses on his upper thigh, the crest of his hip. Her other hand crawls upwards and finds his. She interlocks their fingers, and guides his hand to rest on her head. Then, he is swearing deliriously, as she does magic things to him with her tongue. The warm insistent sensation of her mouth around him. He doubts this is his reality, as the fog of the shower presses around them, and he loses track of time. He looks down and one moment of clear eye contact later, reality and climax crash into him. He spills into her mouth, which she wipes when she is suddenly standing up in front of him again.

"Now get out so I can shower." She pats him on the cheek.

"Just," he says weakly, "Give me a minute."

After her shower, she emerges into the living area. Her usual weekend attire of yoga gear. She starts her yoga flows in the afternoon sun on her balcony. Gippal works his way through one of her books in the bathrobe he reclaims after their shower. He predictably falls asleep, book lapsed closed and Lana burrowed next to him.

Rikku prods him awake later in the afternoon.

"I need to tell you something." He says, when he has blinked himself sufficiently awake.

"Sounds serious."

"I used your toothbrush."

"Ew, gross."

They are back to arguing, but she is losing and crawls up on to his lap. Shuts him up in the new and most effective way she knows how.

"I have nothing planned for the next three days, princess." He says. He feels his arousal rising because every time she goes to touch him, seduce him, it always so dizzyingly well timed. He just about forgets all the lines they've crossed and she'll pull him back- her tongue in his mouth, her crotch pressing over his, a sneaky whisper into his cheek. He has blinked and over the course of this last month since they kissed, she has developed this command over him.

"Well, then," Rikku purrs, pausing to kiss him deeply, "let's go get some of your things and come back here."

"What would we do back here for three whole days?" he asks, innocently enough.

"Bad things." She promises.