Well, I decided that I obviously didn't have enough random Organization XIII WiPs, apparently, or else NaNoWriMo overflow was getting to me, because my not-so-secret slash fangirl decided that it wanted to try writing smut-ish things. (Don't look for anything too graphic; I'm a smut virgin in all senses of the term, but there will be sexing.) And then my inner slash fangirl decided that she wanted to write completely unromantic Organization XIII smut-ish things. Sometimes I wonder about my inner slash fangirl.

Anyway, these stories are being produced with the foolproof idea-generator of a)a cup with fourteen pieces of paper in it (thirteen members plus Naminé), b)a dictionary for random wordification, and c)a random quotation generator. Fear it mightily.

Disclaimer: Unless otherwise noted, all characters herein belong to Disney and/or Squenix. The story is mine, and cannot be reproduced without my consent.

Warnings: Completely consensual guy-on-guy sex. Also lots of dialogue.

Xaldin and Zexion


Having once decided to achieve a certain task, achieve it at all costs of tedium and distaste. The gain in self-confidence of having accomplished a tiresome labor is immense.—Arnold Bennett

Xaldin tended to receive the time-consuming missions, the ones that required delicate handling to ensure they would not blow up in the face of the one sent to deal with them. He was best suited for them; he was patient enough not to rush into rush into a perilous situation, intelligent enough to adapt to changing circumstances quickly, and strong enough in battle to fight his way out if it came to that.

When Zexion took away missions, they were the ones that must not come to open fighting even an hour before he had completed them. He was the master manipulator, capable of sowing the seeds of darkness in the hearts of the powerful so that they would never know, even for a second, that they had been controlled all the way to their dooms.

Both of them tended to spend a long time on a single mission, devoting all their efforts to one goal. That perfect focus was what had made them great long before; now it was what made them dangerous. Xigbar and Axel both called them terriers, taking a problem in their grips and worrying away at it until it was solved. When Xigbar said it, it was a compliment.

Zexion was on a mission to a place called Nottingham, where he stood as an adviser behind the throne, whispering dark dreams of power into the heart of the king. Once that had been accomplished, darkness would pour into the land, dripping its poison drop by drop into every heart until there was nothing. Zexion always preferred the elegance of such missions, when he could subvert a single person who would, like the domino at the top of a long train, set off reactions in thousands more.

Xaldin was in a distant world, turning the hearts of local lords to anger and envy. When he was done, every fief in the world would be fighting against its neighbors without reason or end. They would belong to the Heartless. His method took longer than Zexion's, but he had the patience to see it through, and the effect would be the same in the end. Both worlds were dead already; they just didn't know it yet.

It was a source of some surprise to Xaldin when he returned to the empty room he had commandeered for his stay on this world to find Zexion there waiting for him.

"This is an unexpected pleasure," he said, as calmly as if he had been the one waiting.

Zexion shook his head. "You know better than that."

"Perhaps." Xaldin shrugged. The language of emotions still came easily to him, especially after so much time spent speaking to those who still felt them. "This is unexpected, then."

Now Zexion was the one to shrug. "I was bored," he answered the unasked question. "The inhabitants of that world are complete idiots, every one, especially that king. My mind rebelled at having to break everything down into words of one syllable for him much longer."

"I understand," said Xaldin, and he did. This was his sixth manor, his sixth repetition of what might as well have been a script, so little did it change. "They can't hurt me," he offered. "It's too safe."

"I know." Zexion tilted his head to one side, so that his bangs fell back and he looked up at Xaldin with both dark eyes. It was a question, and an invitation.

"All right," Xaldin said.

They kissed slowly, letting the force build itself up until it was almost enough to overpower them. Still, they didn't even breathe hard, so practiced was their self-control. Their next kiss was faster, harder. After that, they were both panting.

Zexion drew his gloves off. His sharp nails brushed across Xaldin's collarbones, and Xaldin gasped, caressing the back of Zexion's neck.

"I could kill you," Zexion whispered, his hands resting around Xaldin's throat.

"I know," replied Xaldin. "So could I."

"You don't know that I won't."

"I'm about ninety-percent sure that you won't bother."

"And the other ten percent?"

Xaldin just smiled. They both knew that it was the other ten percent that made it dangerous. That was why they were here, together: to flirt with danger, with something like excitement. That was why Xaldin nipped at the hollow of Zexion's throat, not quite breaking the skin but reminding the younger Nobody that he could. That was why Zexion breathed illusion as he unzipped Xaldin's coat, until his body seemed wrapped in fire. That was why he shut his eyes and didn't so much as breathe as he pushed in painfully slowly, leaving himself absolutely defenseless. That was why Xaldin ignored the open door behind them, when he could have closed it with a breath of wind. That was why, as they gasped and stroked and tumbled toward completion, they didn't even try to fight the yawning gulf of oblivion that opened before them.

After, they lay together, covered by Xaldin's coat, a study in contrasts, dark hair against pale skin against dark clothing, still sticky and lethargic.

"On this world, they hang men for this," Xaldin said, running his fingers through Zexion's flyaway hair.

Zexion quirked his lips, the closest thing he came to smiling anymore. "Then it's a good thing no one happened by this door, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is." A part of him disagreed, thought it would be wonderful to have an excuse to rip these foolish people limb from limb.

"I don't want to go back to Nottingham," Zexion said. "Having fur makes me itch. I never feel clean."

"Aren't you using illusion?" One of the reasons Zexion was usually chosen for missions that required a disguise to blend in with the inhabitants was that his power dispensed with the need for more conventional disguise spells.

"An illusion complete enough to fool all the people all of the time requires a general suggestion, from which not even I am immune. In terms of experience, it differs very little from a complete physical transformation."

"What are you?" Xaldin asked idly.

"A stoat. It seemed appropriate." Zexion tucked his head under Xaldin's chin, nuzzling absently against the soft skin of his throat.

Xaldin looked down at the man wrapped around him, the pale, slender body, capable of more destruction than men twice his size. He had to agree. "I should return to work," he said a few minutes later. "Unfortunately, these lords require persuasion to kill each other."

"As should I," Zexion said, stretching, a look of distaste on his face. "The fool is a singularly incompetent tyrant. He required me to suggest arresting those who spoke out against his rule."

"That is truly pitiful," Xaldin agreed. "Have you suggested a debtor's prison?"

"Hmm. No, not as yet. I should do that next." Zexion drew his clothes on slowly, his naked body easily visible from the doorway. Xaldin was almost disappointed when the hall remained as empty as before.

"Perhaps next time I will kill you," said Zexion, standing by the open portal that would take him back to his mission.

"Perhaps," said Xaldin. "And perhaps I will kill you. You never know." Zexion's only answer was a wave of one gloved hand as he stepped through to Nottingham.

Xaldin went back to work with a will, thinking only occasionally of the stoat slipping through Nottingham and leading it to the darkness. He might go there, if the mission palled again. He would like to see Zexion as a stoat.

Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't. It was the uncertainty that kept him going.

Heh. Would you believe these were originally going to be drabbles? No, me neither. I fail at PWP.

A few final notes: I sent Zexion to Robin Hood world because it was fun, and I love Robin Hood. I have no idea where Xaldin is, sadly.

This story takes place after Axel but before Demyx. There are eight members of the Organization.

Okay, a bit of false advertising, as the sexing was comparatively brief, but is it my fault those two are talky bastards? No, no it is not. Besides, half of my fun was thinking up reasons to get them to have sex in the first place. Probably when Mister Plastic Cup of Names throws up characters who don't know each other so well, there'll be less talking and more sex.

Yes, Zexion was on top. I defy the height rule! Not that it would really matter with these two (sex between equals for the win), but that's just how it turned out.

I suggest you look up stoats, and then you will understand why I made Zexion one for his Robin Hood disguise.

Feedback is adored, especially when it comes in the form of suggestions for how to make the smut more entertaining. Seriously, I'm lost here.