Hey, lookit! I wrote another one!

Rating/Warning: M- language, sexual content, parentheses abuse
Dedication: Of blondevil, by(this is an asterisk) blondevil, for blondevil
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, I merely enjoy abusing them. I have a feeling they'll hunt me down and kill me after this one. Really. Nor, as noted by the "asterisk,"do I even own the idea for this one. Title is from Rapture-IIO, because I can't do anything without song lyrics somewhere.

(also an asterisk) In an editing rights, original idea, sort of way.

It was a bar owned by Xemnas, of course it was fucked up. But Zexion felt that in this instance he'd really taken "fucked up" to a whole new level. But still, he needed the money.

Rule One: If someone speaks to you, and you reply, you are obligated to go home with them. And have sex. (Dur.) Ignoring means 'no' and is not considered rude. A verbal 'no' implies you like it kinky.

Or so he told himself about once an hour while working his shift. Zexion wasn't quite sure where the fault lay. It wasn't the casual sex, Zexion was all for that, in theory. It wasn't the creepy-tyrant tone of the rules, that was just amusing. It definitely wasn't the million odd places you'd find said rules posted, the bottom of the peanut bowl, the bottom of the urinal, and on one memorable equation, down Saïx's neck. The five were pretty sure they'd found them all but you could never tell with Xemnas, it was probable he changed them every day, he was a tricky bastard like that.

The five were Xigbar, Xaldin, Vexen, Lexaeus, and Zexion; all appropriately named in numerical order starting with Xigbar at Number Two and Zexion as Number Six, because he'd been the last to join. (Xemnas was Number One, of course). Vexen had originally been Number Three, but he'd done something and been demoted. Not that the Numbers actually meant anything.

Saïx technically should have been Number Seven, since he was there all the time. But he was Xemnas' bitch, not his employee.

Of late, Zexion had been getting bored, and he was almost starting to feel... cut off from the world, which was funny because he didn't particularly like the world and while he didn't avoid it, per se, he did try not to get involved.

He didn't have the time for a relationship. Not that he actually wanted one. Relationships meant thought and effort applied purely to make someone else happy (which would theoretically make you happy in return, or something), but Zexion wasn't the type to go for that and really, really didn't have the time. And besides, while he wasn't, strictly speaking, anti-social, there were definite limits on how long he could stand most people's company.

His coworkers were decent enough. Vexen was intelligent, even if he was creepy beyond all reason. Lexaeus was intelligent, too, even if he was taciturn on a good day. (Which Zexion considered to be a good thing. He was not one for idle chatter.) Xigbar was entertaining in that he seemed to be on a permanent high, though he didn't quite grasp the concept of personal space, that was a problem. And Xaldin was... Xaldin.

It was best not to think about Saïx or Xemnas. It really was.

And well, working in a-working at Insert Catchy Name Here (One True Fetish) had essentially ruined the concept of the "one night stand," something about spending several hours a night playing witness to the stupidity of mankind was just... a turn-off. But still, considering the alternative...

"I can't believe I thought this was a good idea. Why am I here?"

"Well, you're either a sadistic spectator type, or you secretly are just a stupid ass who enjoys casual sex as much as the next stupid ass."

Zexion really hadn't been expecting an answer. He hadn't really been aware of speaking out loud, and even so, he was talking to himself. Which was a little odd (self-cest and whatnot) but... did this count? Please say it didn't count.

"Nice one, Six," Xaldin congratulated him in passing as he patted the top of his head in an affectionate manner that nearly resulted in a table-head collision of concussion-creating force. Xaldin didn't know his own strength, but he wouldn't hurt a fly, really. Eye roll.

External internal monologues could just go and die. Now Zexion was obligated to sleep with him, or it'd come out of his paycheck, because he was a worker, albeit an off-duty one, and someone had to set a good example for the stupid miscreants who begged illiteracy to escape sex.

This did not please Zexion, because Zexion is a contrary, denial-ridden bitch, and refused to admit that this had been his purpose in coming here off-duty.

He hadn't particularly relished the idea of hosting, but it would have given him (more of) a choice as to partners and that way at least he wouldn't have had to wake up in time to go, or get no sleep at all and stagger home looking, and feeling, like a used prostitute. (Except now, of course, he had absolutely no choice whatsoever because he was a dumb-ass. Zexion was filled with self-loathing.)

Which isn't to say that Zexion had any experience in such matters. Oh no, those were all anecdotes from co-workers (mostly Vexen, man, that guy had some fucked up stories) and the poor sots who would go to a fucking sex bar just to get a drink, and then spend the whole evening ignoring anyone who propositioned them and bewailing their miserable lives to the "sympathetic" barkeep. Because if the customers wanted to talk, you damn well better listen, and be supportive, because Xemnas was an asshole and he just loved having excuses to dock everyone's pay, the cheap bastard.

The mystery-responder guy grinned at him in a cheeky-manner that suggested he'd planned this whole thing and Zexion had fallen perfectly into his trap.

"Well, then," he said with a suggestive twitch of his eyebrows that made Zexion long to hurl his stool through the window, but again, paycheck-docking.

"I-" Zexion, briefly, considers the notion of falling to his knees and begging for forgiveness. And suddenly he was filled with sympathy for all the people they'd tossed into Lexaeus' (actually, almost) tender care.

Rule Two: Failure to comply with the above means you will A) be banned from Insert Catchy Name Here(Sasunaru) for the rest of forever and we, the management, cannot be held responsible for what happens when we toss you out to Lexaeus or Xaldin, or, B) pay a fine of 1000, cash. (State Police accept this as legal, try to sue and we will annihilate you.)

"I guess we should be going then," Zexion muttered miserably to his beer mug as he found himself wishing it was something far stronger.

"You don't have to sound quite so end-of-the-worldy about it, you know."

Zexion looked at his companion for the night fully for the first time. Average height, average build, world's stupidest hair. Zexion wondered what would happen if he ran to Xemnas' office and begged for mercy, he'd undoubtedly get some sort of punishment, but he could probably talk his way out of the fine in exchange for... lap-dances or something. Yeah, Xemnas' would like that, or table-dances, or... hadn't he been talking about getting a pole at some point? Zexion could learn to pole dance, he was sure, and well, it couldn't be that bad.

Or maybe he could just clean, Xemnas hated giving people money, surely that extended to the cleaning service. And Zexion already knew how to clean; he kept his apartment clean to the point of neurosis and surgical sterility.

Pride stopped him. He would not run and beg and degrade himself to menial labor or exhibitionist dancing, he would not.

On the other hand, where was the pride in spending the night with an unattractive dumb-ass? (He had no reason to consider the other man a dumb-ass, but he was angry and bitter and couldn't quite (by a long shot) move himself to give a damn.)

And so it was that Zexion drained the last of whatever swill he'd ordered, employee discount only went so far, and waved the other man through the door in front of him. He clenched his teeth and pretended to serenely not notice the nods, thumbs-up and other signs of approval he was receiving from Vexen and Xigbar, who stood behind the bar. Not to mention the leers and knowing grins from the customers.

The subway ride to Zexion's apartment was torturous but blissfully short (one of the few logical reasons Zexion worked at Insert Catchy Name Here(Rapture)). Still, it was long enough for Zexion to become thoroughly uncomfortable with the way whatsisface's eyes felt like they were burning through his clothes.

Upon arrival Zexion tossed his jacket carelessly onto the kitchen table, loosened the collar of his shirt (today's last-minute-announcement-purely-to-torture-everyone theme had been Formal, which really meant they all looked like wannabe-classy cocktail waiters in rented suits) and all but dashed to the liquor cabinet.

Zexion was not a drinker. But at some point his co-workers had been to his apartment (he couldn't remember why, it must have been Xemnas' fault) and he'd been informed that for a bartender to not have alcohol was sacrilege. He'd given in purely to make them shut the fuck up.

"Do you want a drink?" he called out belatedly remembering his duty as Host as he poured himself a rather large of glass of vodka, his drink of choice when forced into it. Most of his alcohol buying consisted of stuffing his freezer with what was surely a decade's supply.

"Not really," the guy replied looking around the apartment with vague interest.

Zexion shrugged and downed the glass in one go, only to regret it as he coughed harshly from the bitter taste and low (very, very low) temperature.

The guy let out what might have been a slight snort of laughter but Zexion chose to ignore it and refill his glass. It was funny, this whole thing was seeming much better already.

By the second glass, which went down much easier, Zexion was sort of thinking that he really had been planning this all along. After all, he was a genius, his plans always worked. Always.

Or so he thought as he lead the way back to his bedroom, vodka bottle still in hand; the glass seemed sort of pointless. He stopped in the middle of the room, by the side of the bed, and swung the bottle up again, ignoring the way the frozen glass stuck awkwardly to his hand and burned his lips.

He eyed the guy, he really needed a better name than that, again and adjusted his initial assessment. The face wasn't all that wonderful, and the hair really was stupid, but the body wasn't too bad, actually rather nice, in a vaguely-muscled-band-geek sort of way. Zexion wondered if he played an instrument.

Anyway, the face was ignorable, that's why people turned the lights off.

And then Zexion realized he wasn't entirely sure of what to do next. Well, no, he knew, he just couldn't think of a way that wasn't awkward as fuck. He supposed this whole thing went much better if you were properly inebriated and, you know, actually attracted to the person. He mused if this was what it was like with a hooker...

Luckily, Blondie did seem to know, though Zexion would be damned if that hair was natural, in color or shape. He worked with Lexaeus, he knew the results of much styling when he saw it.

The guy, Blondie-Zexion corrected himself, stepped closer, a slight, devilish (though Zexion was loath to use the word) smirk on his face that Zexion found infinitely appealing.

He took the bottle from Zexion's near-numb fingers and took a small sip, though it was probably larger than he'd like from the expression on his face as he suppressed the urge to hack it back up.

Blondie ignored Zexion's slight laugh and tilted Zexion's head to the side instead. His fingertips were freezing, whether that was from the bottle or the January weather Zexion didn't know. The guy's mouth behind his ear and the hand working it's up his spine, over his shirt, felt ridiculously good, Zexion blamed it on the fact that his skin was already tingling from the alcohol.

"Do you kiss?" The whisper was a pleasantly contrasting warmth against his neck and Zexion was having difficulty keeping his breathing even, damned vodka.

"Not really."

"Too personal?" the voice, coming more from the region of the center of his throat now, chuckled slightly.

"Bad breath." Complete sentences were for stupid people. The answer was yes but it sounded stupid to admit.

"You or them?"

"Them. Though unless you're partial to vodka..." he trailed off and the blond guy actually did laugh a little this time, his free hand sliding under Zexion's shirt.

Zexion felt himself thawing, enough to let his fingers curl in the guy's hair and grip his shoulders.

"Should I go turn the lights off?" Blondie asked, tilting his face to look at him, Zexion vaguely wondered when his shirt had been unbuttoned, and who had done the unbuttoning.

"On," he breathed, not even conscious of having made the decision until the word left his mouth. Really, he was a genius, he decided as he pushed the blond back onto his mattress.

Rule Three: The one to speak first is The Host. The second, The Guest, will leave the Host's home before The Host wakes up. If you fail in this refer to Rule Two. Neither will attempt contact with the other outside the precinct of Insert Catchy Name Here(The Monkey House). You cannot call them, you cannot speak their name, should you even learn it, we suggest not. Again, refer to Rule Two for the consequences.

Zexion was feeling quite pleased with himself. His plan had gone beautifully, the birds weren't singing, his neighbor wasn't watching game shows at maximum volume and, best of all, he didn't have to go in to work today. Life could not get any better, he thought joyously as he rolled over happily, he didn't even have a hangover!

And was somewhat disgruntled when his hand met not soft, cottony sheets, but something about the texture and temperature of human skin. Eyes still shut, he poked at it. Well, it certainly felt like skin. If he didn't open his eyes, it wasn't true.

He pulled back his hand and waited, but the sound of someone, who wasn't him, breathing didn't stop. God. Fucking. Damnit. He opened one eye as slowly and reluctantly as possible. It was true. There was no other explanation for it, the damned bastard had broken the rules and stayed the night.

Glaring, he sat up and jabbed the guy, Don... Dan... something like that, the vague memory of asking his name before he fell asleep was, well, vague. "Wake up," he barked harshly, conveniently forgetting that he took at least a half hour to wake up most mornings. "Now, damn it! Some of us have things to do..." and bosses to beg for mercy.

Blondie made some funny, morning noise and rolled over burying his face in Zexion'spillow.

Zexion punched him "lightly" in the arm, "Wake the fuck up!"

"Five more minutes..."

"I can hurt you, get up. Now." Zexion stood and began searching for his clothes. Erm, why were his pants on the ceiling fan? Whatever, they could stay there for a bit.

"I really don't see what the problem is," Blondie muttered sitting up.

"The problem is this will probably get me fired."

"Um, how?"

"It's the-Did you not read the peanut bowl? I broke the damned rules!"

"Not really," he replied, scratching his stupid-haired head. "I'm the one who didn't leave by morning."

So, he did know the rules, that really only made it worse. So very much worse that Zexion grabbed the nearest object, Demyx's shoe, and threw it at the blond's head. "But I'm the employee, therefore he'll punish me!" Zexion was getting mildly hysterical. "With the fees, and the lap dances, and the-the-god knows what else!"

He remembered job hunting. The dozens of places he was fully qualified to work for but couldn't due to the odd hours he kept, partially out of habit, partially because of his classes. But mostly he remembered having no money and having to call up his parents and beg for tuition money. And the eternally overdue rent. And then Lexaeus had mentioned that there might be an opening at the bar where he worked. And Zexion was desperate, so he went.

"Lap dances?"

Zexion threw the second nearest object.

"Why in god's name are you reading Moby Dick? And how's your boss gonna find out anyhow?"

"He's Xemnas."

"'m not following."

"He's Xemnas." Zexion repeated with a "jazz hands!" like motion that would clearly make the whole thing so much more logical.

"Your jazz hands aren't helping."

Zexion resisted the urge to tear his hair out and faced the man in his bed instead. "Look, can you please just go now? I sort of need to have an emotional breakdown... or destroy my apartment and dress up in a vinyl cat-suit... it's all the same really."

That seemed to get the point through his head as he nodded in agreement and Zexion thought all was well until a slow and infuriating smile spread across his face.

"Thank-what the hell is so funny?"

The grin turned innocent in that way that really meant pure evil, "You look pretty naked."

Oh god, he was going to be fired and consequently homeless because of a total jack-ass, moron... thing. Zexion started to laugh helplessly as he decided standing was too much effort and fell back on his ass. Which hurt.

From the sounds of it, Blondie was getting out of bed. "Ehh, no, this one's empty... aha! Jackpot."

And suddenly there was someone else's hand in front of his face as Blondie, who'd been able to retrieve his pants because they weren't caught one the ceiling fan, proffered one of Zexion's many bottles of vodka.

Zexion pushed it away miserably, "I don't drink."

"Sure seemed to last night," Blondie muttered as he straightened and finished off the bottle himself, "Blech, no wonder you keep it in the freezer." He jumped and caught the edge of Zexion's pants and pulled them off the fan. He then eyed them disdainfully and tossed them on the bed, then pulled another pair off a convenient chair. "Here, or do you want underwear?" he glanced around hopefully as if expecting the underpants-fairy to come poofing into existence.

"I can dress myself," Zexion snapped and snatched the pants out of his slack hand.

"Course you can, you're all growed up!"

Zexion glowered.

"Listen, I know you're kicking me out and all, but do you want me to make you breakfast or something before I go?"

Zexion stared.

"I feel sort of guilty about the whole job-losing thing..." he trailed off.

"There's nothing in the kitchen."

"...do you want me to buy you breakfast?"

Zexion considered it briefly; may as well take the bastard's money. He grabbed a shirt and pulled it on, noticing belatedly it wasn't his. All well, he wasn't giving it back. He consented to allowing Blondie to pull him to his feet and made a mental note to figure out his name without admitting he'd forgotten.

Rule Four: On-duty staff members are not bound by Rule One. Off-duty staff members know full well what will befall them if they break The Rules. Should you wish to engage in sexual congress with a member of the staff while they are on-duty, you must commence courtship in the normal manner. Good luck.

Zexion hated life. Again. Some more. A lot. One of those.

Mid way through the all-important process of sheet-changing and vodka-replacing (the stuff was growing on him, and they'd drunk a lot, stupid make-shift body shots) his cell phone had gone off. It was Xemnas, saying something about Vexen being unable to come in so Zexion would have to work tonight after all, and could he please come at opening.

Except when he'd gotten there Vexen had been standing behind the counter chatting with Xaldin, and Xemnas, whose Zexion-senses had clearly been tingling, appeared menacingly in the doorway to the back section and asked him for a quick word in his office.

Which could mean only one thing; he was, in a word, fucked.

Zexion considered running but Saïx had maneuvered in behind him so his escape was cut off. He walked calmly behind the bar and through the door, not responding to the consolatory pat on the back from Vexen or the sympathetic look on Xaldin's face as he passed through the stock room.

"So, would you like to tell me about this morning?"

He could plead innocence. But that was stupid because Xemnas clearly knew and he'd be flayed alive anyway.

"I really don't think it's my fault, sir. He knew the rules and chose to break them; I had no part in it."

"Yes, but you are the employee. And a good employee would have seen that the rules were upheld no matter what."

"I really don't think that's-" Xemnas looked at him. He shut up.

"So, what punishment would you consider appropriate, Zexion?" Zexion really, really hated the way he said his name. "I'm aware of your financial situation and your previous difficulties in finding a job. So tell me what you think I should do, I would so hate to be cruel."

Oh god, don't say lap dances, don't say lap dances, don't say-

"I've been considering adding a form of entertainment. What do you think of pole dancing, Zexion?"

I think I'm a terrible dancer and I dislike attention. "Well, when you consider that easily fifty percent of our customers are straight men, I think that it would cut our profits considerably."

"But our straight female customers would increase."

Zexion swallowed thickly, "Yes, but whatever slight increase there wouldn't be enough to turn a profit, or break even, for that matter."

"Especially when one considers that this little stunt of yours has already cost us customers."

"I don't see how, sir."

"Zexion, in all your months of working here, you have not once taken advantage of what we offer, beyond the occasional drink you allow someone to buy you. This confuses them. Hence, you interest them. And so they come to see if perhaps, you will finally bed someone. But now, you have lost your allure." Xemnas leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers.

It was official, Xemnas was delusional. But whatever, time to cater to the madman. "Is it not possible that now they will come in greater numbers as they now see that I am, er, attainable?" Zexion was very uncomfortable with the direction this conversation seemed to be heading.

Xemnas nodded thoughtfully, "That may well be true, but that is not nearly sufficient."

"Cleaning?" Zexion ventured.

"No, Lexaeus is in charge of cleaning detail for the next few months to pay for his own misdemeanor."

Beyond public humiliation and cleaning, Zexion had nothing.

Saïx entered and took the, Zexion noticed amusedly, slightly shorter chair behind Xemnas' desk. He was vaguely surprised Saïx didn't sit at his feet.

"Did you know that you are considered by some to be the prettiest of the bartenders?" Xemnas asked out of the blue. Zexion felt sort of flattered, until Xemnas continued. "This is, of course, ridiculous."

"Is it?" he asked weakly, still wondering what he should do. He really didn't want to suggest it; he didn't have enough time as it was.

"Of course. Saïx is the prettiest." Neither Saïx's expression or posture changed, but he managed to look quite smug just the same. Xemnas scratched behind his ear affectionately.

"He isn't a bartender."

Xemnas turned his (rather creepy) orange eyes on him, "Saïx is the prettiest."

"Of course, sir." ...do you want me to make you breakfast or something? "Food! I could make some. Think about it, there are plenty of other bars that offer food other than peanuts, why should we lose business to them?"

"Yes, but that kills the point of your new attainability in the public's eye, if you are forever out of eyesight cooking. Also, refitting the kitchen to usability would be more costly than I really care to think about... so, about that pole dancing."

"Extra hours. I'll work seven days a week. Full shifts. No pay beyond the regular amount." Zexion cut in hastily, and dejectedly. Sure, he'd lose sleep and completely sacrifice what was left of his free time, but... pole dancing. It was worth it. "For a month."

"Three."

"One and a half."

"Three."

"Two?"

"Three."

"Two and a quarter?" Zexion almost wanted to cry.

"Two and a half."

Zexion sighed; there really was no way to win. "Fine."

"Saïx, what do you think?"

For no reason Zexion could guess, the man then stood, crossed the room to stand before the window and stared out, presumably at the moon, for several long moments. Zexion felt sweat bead on his forehead.

"Yes, this is a good plan."

Xemnas nodded his assent, and just like that, it was over.

Zexion, confused as to what had just happened, stood and was halfway out the door when Xemnas stopped him, "Ah, yes, and one more thing. To fully extort your attainability, you should be more, ah, accommodating to the customers."

"I'm not a prostitute," Zexion snapped angrily.

"Of course not," Xemnas' tone implied he might be better off if he were, "but a bit of flirting wouldn't hurt. Also... your clothing..."

"What about it?" Zexion managed to keep the whimper out of his voice.

"It could show more skin."

Zexion shut his eyes and nodded, "Of course, sir."

Rule Five: If you come with someone, you are allowed to speak with them without the obligatory sex.

It had been about a week since that night with whatsisface (Demyx, Zexion finally remembered). He had, for the most part, cast the incident out of his mind, labeling it irrelevant and over, and would have been far more successful were it not for the way his co-workers were insistent in ruining his life. And that fact that he was now at Insert Catchy Name Here (Sexy no Jutsu!) seven nights a week for eight hours apiece, that sort of thing was hard to ignore. Especially, when he was only being paid for five days with varying hours.

Regardless, he himself did not give the matter much thought, beyond the small feeling of triumph when the name had popped into his head the other day as he did the dishes (there were far too many varieties of drink-containers to his mind) in the bar's grimy kitchen. The only parts of which that were actually functional were the sink and the refrigerator.

Despite this, he really didn't need Vexen's bony finger jabbing him in the spine when Demyx walked in the door accompanied by a tall, (naturally) blond man with a number of piercings.

So Zexion glared at Vexen momentarily before returning to mixing Red-Headed Sluts for a group of girls who thought themselves incredibly witty, the large part of them being both slutty and red-haired.

And then Zexion continued to ignore the world, largely Blondie (he'd been demoted from name-having status) and the customers who hit on him. He didn't take it personally, most of them were drunk enough to hit on anything that moved, which they did.

But still, it's not like Irish Car Bombs were so incredibly fascinating to make (nor, in Zexion's opinion, to drink), so it really couldn't be considered his fault that he was vaguely aware of the (fake) blond. It gave him something to do while nodding at the banal whinings of his angstier customers and trying to pretend he wasn't freezing his ass off in his scrap of a top.

Zexion had done his very half-hearted and reluctant best to fix the "problem" of his clothing not showing enough skin. And evidently, Xemnas had not been pleased by his efforts, as displayed when he found various articles of clothing on his square of table in the backroom. He'd tried to ignore them but was called into Xemnas' office later to explain why. Zexion had gotten the point. (And most-definitely refused to ask how Xemnas knew his measurements.) All of this was thought to be incredibly amusing by his co-workers. They could all go and die. Painfully.

"Hey, can I have another?"

Zexion blinked and turned to get a look at the guy's glass, then began mixing the appropriate amount of-Blondie was coming toward the bar. Zexion supposed it was his turn, his companion had gotten the last round. He'd added twice the normal amount of rum. Fuck.

"Sorry about that," he muttered as he downed that one, then got (another) clean glass and started again. He started to feel slightly warmer, alcohol was lovely.

"So, what time do you get off?" the guy's overture was drunken and lacked in anything remotely like subtlety or appeal. Zexion had initially thought the kid to be a minor, but his ID checked out so he would have to think harder to come up with an excuse to get Lexaeus to kick him out. Although, Lexaeus liked him, so he might just do it as a personal favor. Blondie was looking at him. He didn't return the favor.

"Too late, I'm sure. Children should be in bed." Zexion felt now would be a wonderful time to go check on Vexen on the other side of the bar, god knows he had trouble with... breathing... yeah, breathing. That crazy Vexen and his breathing troubles.

Right, time to go do that then, but Blondie's choked off laughter stopped him. Zexion glanced at him and felt his lip twitch in response. Blondie's smirk grew wider.

"Is something amusing?" the guy's speech was starting to slur.

Bl-Demyx glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, then back to Zexion. "Can you tell him he fails at picking up men, for me? I would, but," he gave him another scathing sidelong glance, "well, then I'd have to sleep with him."

"You think you can do better?" he spluttered indignantly, his face turning red(der).

Demyx didn't even look at him, "Please tell him that I already have."

Zexion looked at the guy, Jack... Mike, some generic male name, then shrugged and grinned in a "whoops" sort of way. He was... actually enjoying this. He didn't even bother to correct Demyx on the matter of who had picked up who.

Jack-Mike opened his mouth to stutter out another angry retort when Demyx cut him off. "Furthermore, could you tell him that had I not already succeeded where he so epically failed, I would go about it somewhat like this." Here, he seized Zexion's hand and held it, staring into his eyes like he was about to break out a sonnet or a deep confession of love. Instead, he said, "Darling, would you like to come back to my apartment with me for a night of hot, steamy, headboard-banging sex that would render all my neighbors insanely jealous and unable to sleep?"

Zexion was pretty sure that if he didn't start laughing right at that instant he would turn a red that would put tomatoes to shame. So, naturally, he faked a swoon and said, "Oh, but of course!" He even batted his eyelashes a time or two, just for the hell of it. The rum was going to his head.

Jack-Mike gave up and left the bar to go find someone more willing and less mocking, not forgetting to leave the money for his last drink.

Zexion grinned and wrench his hand out of Demyx's (the bastard had a tight grip), "Thanks for that."

"Zexion, why are you irritating the customers?" A cool voice inquired over his shoulder. Damn Xemnas and his silent walking. (Of course, it had nothing to do with the general sensory overload of the place.)

"Gee, sir, I dunno. Why are the customers presumptuous jackasses?" Zexion snapped.

"If you recall, Zexion, part of our agreement was that would be more accommodating to the customers? Which entails you not pissing them off."

"He didn't leave, did he? He can't be that mad if he's still-"

"Wait, you're a prostitute now?" Demyx interrupted sounding far too... chipper for Zexion's tastes.

"No!" Xemnas and Zexion snapped in unison (they would look back at this moment and cringe in horror).

"Regardless, happy customers are-wait, is this him?"

"Him who?" Zexion asked. "Oh, right. That him, he is indeed, that him." Zexion wiped the bar down angrily more because it gave him something to do than the presence of the condensation rings on the wood.

"In that case, I should dearly like to thank you, young man."

"Um, why?" Demyx looked puzzled and his gaze kept flicking to Zexion who resolutely wiped at the now spotless counter.

"Well, thanks to you and your stupidity I know now have Zexion fifty-six hours a week, and I'm only paying him for thirty-six of them. Also, he has to wear outfits like this, isn't it lovely?"

The counter was fascinating, Zexion had never seen such a fascinating counter. Really, he meant that.

"More whorish than lovely, if you ask me," Demyx muttered to himself.

"I know, that's what I meant!" Xemnas wandered off laughing merrily.

Zexion looked up, Demyx was staring at him like a child stares at a cobra about to kill it; terrified and enchanted. "This is one of his good days," Zexion promised him quietly.

"You've got to be-" Demyx peered after the disappeared manager who was still laughing merrily with Saïx, "Never mind, I believe you."

"I am so prettier than him." Zexion muttered to himself after glancing over his shoulder, to follow the direction of Demyx's gaze. Luckily no one heard him or else he'd have to kill them for hearing him voluntarily refer to himself as "pretty."

"Where were we?" Demyx looked a bit like he wouldn't be able to remember his own name, if he was asked.

Jackass customers, the real answer sat on the tip of his tongue, but somehow when he said it, it sounded more like, "You. Me. Sex."

"We were?" there was a glint of cautious delight in Demyx's eyes.

"No," Zexion shook his head and the glint died. "But we should have been."

"So, if I asked if I could kiss you, would you hurt me?"

"Yes. A lot. On the other hand, were you to be a man and just do it, the chances of that are much smaller."

"So they're good then?" he perked up.

"Relativ-"

"Oh my fucking god, can I just get a damned drink?!" a female voice snapped.

Zexion glanced at her for all of half a second, "No. Hey! Superior! As a thank you to this guy, how would you feel about letting me leave early so I can go home with him and commit various inappropriate-for-children acts?"

Xemnas stared at him as if he were a wayward child that Xemnas, his doting father, had finally given up on, "Be gone with you then. Just remember to be better about following our agreement tomorrow."

Zexion nodded and got the hell out of there as fast as was humanly possible (not forgetting to swipe a few condoms from the condom bowl, conveniently next to the peanut bowl), a mildly shell-shocked Demyx in tow. Sadly, a few seconds later he found himself slipping in through the back to get his coat, it was cold.

"My description was so much better."

Zexion was mostly focused on not zipping his jacket, no matter how cold it got. "Of what?"

Demyx scoffed, "Oh, come on. "Inappropriate for children" versus... whatever I said, I can't remember right now, but I'm sure it was much better than that."

"Er, sorry. I'll try to do a better job next time."

"Good, see that you do."

Zexion shoved his fists deep into his coat pockets and repeated to himself that he was not cold.

"How come you never call him his name to his face?"

Zexion's head whipped around, "What? Who?"

"Your boss, Xem-whatever."

"He's Xemnas."

This conversation seemed vaguely familiar. "Oh, right." Demyx scratched the back of his head, "I'd forgotten about that... or something."

They'd reached the end of the block. "Where are we going?"

Demyx shrugs again, "I dunno. I was following you."

Zexion swore.

"Right. Well, this way," with a slight tug on the sleeve of his jacket Demyx was leading him off to... somewhere; which turned out to be no more mysterious than a subway station, but whatever.

A/N: Yeah, I don't really know either. Only one or two more chapters, because while this story is the energizer bunny (except evil and on Viagra) it is not, in any way, shape or form, immortal. I'll conquer it eventually. I've broken it up because it's too long as is.

I hate to have to say it, but reviewing is very much a good thing. And you really should (unless you're sitting there asking yourself why you wasted X minutes of your life reading this), especially if you alert/fave it. It's pretty rude not to.