Disclaimer: Not a thing.

Author's Note: Written at about 1:39 AM for you guys. You better be freakin' elated. I'm so tired right now, I swear I could start talking to a flying banana and think it was normal. Oh, wait; that's what I normally do...

I wasn't sure what to put this under, so it's going under T, but I'm going to say this is high 'T'. So, no getting mad, okay?

Also: Reviews would be nice!

Warning: Knave of HeartsX Mad Hatter, StaynexTarrant, whatever you want to call it. Sort of graphic.


Dangerous Game

Wind Alias


A breathy whisper moaned hoarse vowels, chopping the hot silence between them as racks of forgotten clothing coughed bags of moth balls from above. Hot air swarmed around them, sticking to their skin, coaxing beads of pearlescent sweat down their backs and shoulders. The heat of the closet was beginning to rise with the moment of climax, and they could feel in the gradual tensing in the other's body that the rapidly approaching moment was greedily looked forward to and dreaded.

But he chose to close his eyes to the future and live in the present. Tossing his head back, he bit his lip, uttering a strangled moan from between his chapped lips. His hips swayed with the rocking motion, up and down, up and down, riding him and being ridden. He let himself be swept along with their misplaced frustration, hardly even bothering to open his eyes as he was shoved unceremoniously against the hard backing of what he assumed to be a closet.

Thin hands made their way across his chest, followed by a hot mouth, and he felt himself perking at the sensation. Porcelain fingers made tracks over lean muscle, entwining themselves behind his neck to stabilize him.

He was growing bored of the docile position. Letting his hands wander past the line of decency, he grinned in delight as an unusually feminine gasp escaped his partner's lips. He winked playfully even though it was against their usual tradition. No talking, no attempts of something more than…this.

But he was never one for rules. Leaning up, he straddled his partner, grinning savagely. The other man growled, whether in pleasure or anger he didn't know, and he leaned down and pressed his lips against him.

The chaste kiss didn't last long. He thrust his tongue into his mouth, exploring the sweltering familiar territory as he ran his pink extremity along the inside, tickling his partners tongue. He prolonged the kiss longer than necessary, until he saw the wrinkle of annoyance start to form along the other's nose. He gave a quick grin and leaned against the cool wall of the closet.

For perhaps the first time since they'd tumbled into the enclosure, he took a good look at his face. Pasty white makeup smudged his partner's skin around the lips and eyes, and he knew he must look a wreck now that his mask had been smeared. Lifting a single finger, slowly led it to the jagged beginning of a deep line on the other's face, just one of many. He traced it softly, glancing up to meet smoldering black eyes. He grinned again at this.

Suddenly he was crashing back down to the floor, pinned to the floor with burning eyes and a sweltering body that grinded incessantly against his own.

Just as suddenly as it had come, the heat disappeared, and he found himself leaning up, head aching slightly from the impact, staring across the cramped space in confusion.

"Tarrant," the other breathed. His worry laden voice replaced the aggressively passionate one from moments before.

"Stayne!" he whispered giddily, giggling like the mad man he was. "I'm so glad we've learned each others names. And here I was, afraid all this silence would make you forget what my name was…"

The knight glowered at him. He managed to look surprisingly frightened even though he was naked.

"Stop messing around," he snapped as he reached backwards. His fingers clinked against something hard; grasping it, he pulled his chain mail undershirt towards him, slipping it on neatly. Tarrant raised a fiery brow. He'd never managed to be able to get his clothes on like that. He always ended up getting lost in them, or putting his pants on as a shirt, or the like.

"I heard something." He continued, sending the fiery lunatic a knowing glance. Tarrant looked away, glancing at the cool material of the wall. He didn't like when Stayne was serious. It always managed to put him off.

"Yes, yes, I imagine you would hear something. After all, we were just in the wild, passionate throws of frustrated sex." Tarrant sighed as he began the search for his own clothing. At this point, he knew their time together was over. When Stayne got serious like this, it usually meant the fun had gone right out the window.

Stayne glowered at him as he crouched, pulling on the rest of his clothes angrily. Even at a crouch, he looked huge inside the cramped space.

"You know what I mean, Hatter," he said with venom. "We both know what would happen if she caught us." With his hand, he made a rather gruesome gesture.

"Yes," agreed Tarrant dryly, "It's such a thrill, isn't it?"

"Unfortunately," Stayne said with much acid, "I don't find getting my head cut off and stuffed into a throw pillow arousing." Placing one large palm to the door, he slid it open slowly, glancing out for the threat of watchcards. Seeing none, he pushed it open and took a step out.

Tarrant managed to pull half of his shirt on as he looked up at him. Originally, parting words had been outlawed, only a way for emotions to form, as Stayne had put it so long ago. But Stayne had long learned that rules to the Mad Hatter were simply another toy to play with, pushing and egging them on until there was nothing else for them to do but break.

So Stayne was unsurprised when the fiery haired man stood, unsteadily at first, then stepped towards him and touched his cheek.

"Until later, then?" he said softly, voice barely lilting at the end to make it a question. Stayne let it linger there a moment, then brushed it away and disappeared down the marble hall, feet clacking hollowly against the cold stone.

Tarrant sighed as he leaned against the closet door. Ah, well. He would try to reach out to the other man at every chance he got. Even if the knight's feelings were purely those of lust, he would never stop showing his warmer emotions to him.

Pushing against the door with a yawn, Tarrant began the usual process of finding a way out of whatever rendezvous point they came up with, which had this time been the closet in one of the numerous guest bedrooms. He found that the fireplace had a straight chute that led up, and, hopefully, out of the Red Queen's royal grounds. He pushed past the ashes and began the slow and steady climb up the chute.

But before he was completely gone from the room, he turned back, looking back down the hall Stayne had exited in.

He could wait for him, he decided. Wait for him to love him back. Because goodness only knew how much time there was in Underland.

With that, he continued up the chute, and disappeared from sight.