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Chapter Text

The Night Sparrow

Are we destined for ruin?

Legend has it if you let the sparrow possess you a cursed fate will befall you

 and after twilight you’ll be plagued with blindness.

 I know this to be true and yet history repeats itself in an endless cycle,

 I am drawn to its mournful song like the first breath of air, giving life to my soul. 

I indulge in hedonistic pleasures so often that it disgusts me. 

I drink of poison and willingly follow the song of the siren. 

The surface dwindles as I fade deeper into a strange enchantment and I feel myself, weightless again, as if promised sweet release from my own mind if just for a night.

Blank pressed his thumb into the indent on the small of Zidane’s back, a wrinkle appearing between his brows. Despite himself, he admired the way shadows were casting dramatic contours on Zidane’s body, his cheeks glowing red against the white linen beneath him. The light played warmly, by the sweat of his skin, glistening and dewy as if speckled with sunlight. His hair, blonde and tousled, shrouded his eyes but his mouth which hung parted with his gasping appeared so soft and tempting.   

Blank’s chest suddenly felt almost painfully tight – a feeling entirely separate from any physical pleasure. He swallowed, swearing away the feeling, cursing it for existing even briefly. But as he did so, once more he found himself longing for something deeper than flesh, something forbidden… And fear accompanied that desire, overwhelming him so that he found his hands were now shaking.

“Why…did you stop?” Zidane huffed, tearing Blank from his thoughts with a jolt.

Blank swallowed with some effort. 

"It's nothing."

Nothing – that's all it had started as hadn't it? But that's how all addictions start – simple and impulsive yet intrusive but with no strings attached. 

It was mid-week, four months ago; the Prima Vista was bustling with music and the clanking of glass pitchers. 

"Another round, aye doll?" Baku jeered, slapping the backside of a young lady as she passed him. She glanced over her shoulder, wrinkling her nose but smirking.

The rouge on her cheeks was only bested by the red of her lipstick, both of which also dappled Baku's starched collar. 

Despite his age, he had a way of attracting an audience of colorful folks to these 'celebrations' of his. They were outcasts of course – the kind of people better society turned their noses up at – rather like the Tantalus themselves. 

By the amber glow of lantern light was Cinna, sitting with an accordion on his lap, singing shanties notably off-key with a red-faced and grinning Marcus. 

Ruby twirled her cigarette holder and adjusted her blouse; it was seemingly always dangerously close to exposing her ample bosom.

It was a particular golden-haired Tantalus member, however, that kept drawing Blank's attention. Zidane had this infectious stupid laugh that was just too difficult to ignore. Every time he entered a room he seemed to command it with his presence, naturally, whether by the way he bit his lower lip when he smirked or the peculiar simian tail which swished tauntingly behind him. 

He tossed his head back, lost for breath, as pink in the face as his peers. Blank could tell by the way he swayed from his perch, the drink in his hand sloshing threateningly in his pitcher, that Zidane had far exceeded his tolerance for rum.

One of the women near him leaned down, whispering something in his ear at which the monkey boy laughed and kissed her playfully on the neck.

Blank's lip twitched ever so slightly.

"Oi, Blanky boy!" Marcus called, distracting him. "Always looking so sour, aye? Have another glass! Loosen up!"

Blank exhaled through his nose, opening his mouth to reply but it was at that moment that a glass shattered to his left, liquid projecting across the weathered carpet on the floor.

The stool Zidane had been sitting on just moments before had come out from under him. He was slumped over on the floor, his head bobbing, the remains of his drinking pitcher at his right. He both laughed and groaned, cursing under his breath. 

Before anyone could react Blank had jumped to his feet.

“You’ve had enough,” he growled, taking Zidane by the arm and heaving him up. 

“I’m fine,” Zidane hiccupped. “Just slipped, ‘s all.”

“Don’t be an idiot. I’m not gonna watch you drink yourself into a coma.”

“Awh boys, partied out already?” Ruby called from across the room. “You’re gonna miss my show – I’ve got a new number I’ve been fixin’ to perform.”

Blank glanced over his shoulder, Zidane’s arm slung around him. Ruby nodded to the guitar beside her chair. 

“Aha, look at ‘em Ruby,” Marcus interjected. “Zidane’s barley on his feet. Let the poor lad get his rest – you know how he gets if he keeps pushing it.”

Ruby whined something incomprehensible as a retort, pouting her bottom lip. Blank felt Zidane slouching at his side and adjusted the arm that held him.

"Come on," Blank grumbled, leading him into the dark, quiet hallway. 

Before they even reached the bedrooms, Zidane gave a frantic lurch forward, throwing himself at an open window. He wretched and then, violently shivering, slid down the wall next to the window – his skin ashen and slick with sweat.

"Damn, you're a mess. Can't you hold your liquor by now?" Blank chastised him, grimacing as he strained to lift him up again. "Urgh, stand, dammit."

"Where… where are we going?" Zidane mumbled into his shoulder.

"Storage," Blank grunted. "You need an antidote. In this state, you'll trash the bedrooms if I take you back there."

The difficulty came when Blank had to lead Zidane down steps, the medicine and potions' supplies being kept in a basement storage room. He tripped over stairs, latching himself to the railing like his life depended on it. 

Eventually they made it to their destination – a dingy, cramped room at the end of a long, dilapidated hall. Blank turned the light key of an oil lamp on and the place seemed to spring to life, a solitary flame dimly animating patterns along the walls.

Shelves packed with odd bottles held an assortment of strange substances in an array of colors. Zidane sighed heavily, leaning against the only bare wall opposite the door. Blank pulled a scarf around his mouth, snatching an empty vial and throwing the cabinet beside him open, a pensive look on his face. 

Pouring a blue liquid in, then following with a green paste Blank twirled a glass stir before adding a drop of something yellow from a tincture. The concoction glowed a vibrant green bubbling to the lip of the vial before settling.

Blank tore the cloth from his face. "Here, drink this."

Zidane didn't answer. In fact, he showed no sign of having even heard him at all. Blank frowned, coming to Zidane's side, antidote in hand.

Zidane's eyes were closed. He had his forehead pressed against the wall, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He looked deathly pale again. 

Blank's mouth tightened. "You're not gonna be sick again, are you?" He nudged his shoulder. "I can't cure your drunkenness – that's your own stupid fault but taking this will help with the nausea at least." No response. "I'll be pissed if you puke all over my supplies you know." Blank added, his tone souring.

Zidane groaned, pushing himself off of the wall with a shaking arm. He reached towards Blank as if to grab the vial in his hand but missed, stumbling forward into him.

Blank let out an involuntary gasp as his foot caught on something and he collapsed against the shelving behind him.

Bottles fell to the floor, rolling and shattering around them. Blank growled, clutching his head. His hair was wet now and his head was spinning. He shoved his headband off. 

"Urgh, what the hell man?" Blank snarled. "Get off!"

Zidane didn't move – the whole of him flopped over Blank like a dead weight. 

Blank was starting to find breathing difficult and his leg was aching from the pressure on it. He swore loudly, wriggling an arm free from under Zidane. Zidane's head was slung over Blank's shoulder, his breath, which reeked of alcohol, was hot against Blank's collarbone.

Wedged painfully against the shelving, Blank pushed Zidane's shoulder, huffing, straining to free his other arm. Zidane then made a noise, low and rumbling in his throat. Blank froze, in disbelief at what he thought he had heard.

Warily, he shifted again, drawing the same sound from Zidane. 

Blank's ears burned, his suspicions confirmed – his hand had brushed against something beneath Zidane's beltline. Blank swallowed thickly, his pulse flooding his ears.

"Are you…hard?" He asked, bewildered at his own words.

Zidane did not answer, but his breathing deepened and he pushed himself more forcefully against Blank – against his hand – which was trapped between them.

Blank's mouth went dry. His mind raced with a flurry of questions, teetering between pushing Zidane off with as much force as he could muster and… and what?

Suddenly Zidane sank his teeth into the side of Blank's neck, earning from him a stifled yelp. Zidane moved his hips against Blank, moaning hungrily in his ear and despite himself the latter was finding his own pants growing tighter in response.

"Urgh, dammit," he shuttered, breathlessly. "Get…get…"

But he didn't really want him to get off and with a bout of guilt he knew this to be true. His skin felt like it was on fire, chills were bubbling pleasantly up his spine. He found himself hesitantly pushing his hips back against Zidane now, gasping at how glorious the feeling of it was.

He started to move his hand, still wedged between them, fingers wrapping, his flush spreading down to his neck at the knowledge of what he was doing. 

By now Zidane was panting heavily, thrusting so that even the shelves behind Blank were creaking with the motion. Without realizing it, Blank found himself returning the sound, his teeth clenched and eyes squeezed shut. His stomach constricted, his own body now dampened with sweat. 

"Fuck," he groaned, his voice surprisingly heady. Something had to give – he needed release. 

"Ahhh!" 

Zidane suddenly dug his chin into the bend of Blank's neck and shoulder. His body shuttered fiercely as a long moan turned into deep sighs which fell into steady breathing.

Blank sat stunned, with a now unconscious blonde thief still on top of him. For how long he stayed like that he didn't know – minutes felt like hours. 

He became aware of two things: 

That Zidane had just orgasmed and that he had used his hand through clothing to do it.

Eventually, he managed to roll Zidane off and staggered to his feet, feeling cold chills prickling at his arms. Wordlessly, he stared down at his companion, crumpled on the floor – his hair a haphazard mess – his clothing disheveled. 

Blank pressed the back of his own knuckles to his mouth. He glanced at the door and then back at the floor. 

"I can't move him. What should I say? What should I do? Should I even bother trying to wake him again?" His stomach turned at the thought. His mouth was bone dry.

Trying to compose himself as best he could he settled on grabbing a white sheet from the stage supplies storage a room over. He tucked the linen around Zidane, who might have been dead for how much he moved in response to it. 

"Idiot," Blank hissed, his throat tight. 

Not wanting to be there when Zidane woke up, Blank made for the bedrooms.

He doubted he slept that night, weaving in and out of consciousness while his gut did somersaults. By morning, he might have hoped – wished – for last night to have been a strange dream but by the way everyone moped about, hung over from last night's activities, there was no denying it. 

"Maybe he'll forget about it. He was pretty plastered," Blank told himself. 

Only it wasn't Zidane who was eating at his mind as he threw himself from the bed half past ten, relenting from a night of torturous insomnia. 

There was also the undeniable fact that he, Blank, had been nearly sober last night and still allowed what happened to happen – in fact, worse still, he had wanted it – craved it. But he was completely resolute, without question, that when he inevitably saw Zidane later he would pretend like nothing had happened. 

"Yes, that's the way it has to be." He nodded inwardly, taking a deep breath before striding into the kitchen – the smell of Cinna's coffee already thick in the air.

Chapter Text

"Zidane! Where were you last night? You look like shit man." Cinna commented.

At the mention of Zidane's name Blank jumped so forcefully that he nearly scolded himself with the coffee he was pouring. His heart lurched in his chest.

Zidane yawned loudly. "Don't remember much. For some reason I woke up in a storage room." He laughed lightly. "Guess I went a little overboard with the rum again, huh?" The rasp in his voice seemed to be accentuated by his lack of sleep.

"Weren't you supposed to be seeing to him Blank?" Marcus called from across the room. "What happened? Got annoyed and dumped him off somewhere?" He gave a hearty laugh, clearly amused at his own assumption. 

Only just realizing he had been holding his breath Blank gave an irritable growl, busying himself with a loaf of bread and jam as he answered. "I meant to give him an antidote, but he passed out before even taking it. I wasn't about to drag his drunk ass to bed so I left him there. He's lucky I was thoughtful enough to give him something to sleep under." 

So it was partially true. 

"Ahhh, well there you go Zidane, you dug that hole for yourself," Marcus replied. "I would say you could learn from this but hah! When do any of us ever learn from a little night of drinking and fooling around? It's in our blood."

"You could do with a bath though," Ruby added, striding into the room, her silvery hair piled in a loose knot atop her head. Blank glanced up at the sound of her arrival. 

He noticed that the satin of her robe, periwinkle in color, swished around her curvaceous figure as she neared him and by the dimpling of her breasts, left little to the imagination for what it concealed.

She leaned over him, straining for the coffee pot that sat on the burner to his right. Still carefully avoiding anyone's gaze Blank set his attention outside a nearby window, watching as the clouds swirled over the horizon.

Half-heartedly he imagined where they might be headed. Last night they had been docked at the pier just outside Lindblum and he had no memory of Baku announcing a new 'job.' These assignments were typically questionable tasks set upon them by paying nobles. The hefty fee associated with having unspeakables do your dirty work was the price you paid to keep your name untarnished in the public eye.

"What're these marks on your neck, Blank?" Ruby said, startling him from his revere, the tips of her polished nails trailing down his throat. 

An uncomfortable chill zipped up his spine. Instinctively, he staggered back, clasping a protective hand over the area in question. He felt blood blistering across his cheeks.

"I scratched myself," he answered lamely and yet a bit too forcefully.  

Ruby blinked at him, clearly taken aback by his actions. The room was suddenly swallowed in pin-drop silence. Blank felt the eyes of his companions dart in his direction. 

His insides were writhing; he recognized an awkward attempt at an apology forming itself on Ruby's lips, but it was at that moment that he caught the eye of the one person he had been trying so desperately to avoid.

Zidane sat behind Ruby on a chair across the room, swathed comically in the same linen sheet Blank had tucked him in the night before. On his face was an expression of irrefutable shock – his mouth was slack and the slightest wash of color accentuated his features.

Blank's head swam, his pulse trilling in his throat. Without delay, he dove for the exit, seeking refuge in the one place he always found solace. 

Within moments, the scarred thief was slamming the door of his apothecary den. The sound of his breathing, laborious, filled the stark silence. 

Upon recomposing himself, he realized the room lay in abysmal disarray, a reminder of the night previous. Bottles lay shattered, their contents etched into the wooden floor paneling. The shelf at his right had collapsed - the very spot where…

Blank swallowed, glancing away as his cheeks pinked. 

"Surely, he doesn't remember…" Blank reasoned with himself. "I mean he was so wasted. Hah, yeah, like that makes it better…"

Warily, he glanced back at the shelving, with all of the hesitancy of one peering at a crime scene. 

"I'm overthinking it, that's all this is." He exhaled, pulling a broom from the far corner. "He was probably just–"

He jumped as a knock sounded at the door. 

"Oi, Bro, you in there?"

It was Marcus' voice. Blank breathed, turning for the door.

"The boss is holding a–" Marcus started, pausing, as his eyes lingered over his friend. "Blank, you okay?"  

"Yeah," Blank huffed, focusing pointedly on his cleaning while Marcus stepped into the room. "So what's this about the boss?"

Marcus did not answer. He was bent over, examining the damaged shelving. "Gee, Bro, what the hell happened here? An experiment gone wrong? Or…" He gasped. 

Blank's stomach made an involuntary nose dive. 

"Ahh, so this is where it happened."

There was a stretch of silence. 

"Where ' what' happened?" Blank's voice came unexpectedly thin, his eyes fixed on the floor.

Marcus gave a rumbling chortle. "You tried giving Zidane an antidote last night - that's what you said right? The bastard must've been a real handful to wreck this kind of havoc. I know how protective you are over your supply stock - haha, almost as much as Cinna with his coffee! Or Cinna with just about anything, come to think of it…" Marcus eased the shelf back onto its anchor. "I’m guessing he collapsed onto this?"

Blank cleared his throat, reanimating. "Yeah, that's right."

"Makes sense now. You know, truthfully, Ruby sent me here to scold you,” he laughed. “You made a right scene in the kitchen, I won't lie, but seeing what Zidane's done I don't blame you for being touchy."

The leather of Blank's glove tightened around his broom stick. "What did the boss say?" He repeated, a biting edge evident in his voice.

"Hey, it's not me you're angry at," Marcus replied, waving his hands in front of his face. "The boss is holding a meeting in the usual place in about 10 minutes. Thought I'd let you know so you don't have to pay the price for tardiness again." His grin widened. 

Blank scowled. "That happened once, 3 years ago."

"Sure, but it was a laugh, no doubt! You practically threw yourself out of bed! The look on your face was priceless."

"I would've decked you if I hadn't been tangled in my bedsheets." Despite himself, Blank returned his friend's smile. 

"If you recall, it was Cinna who lit the firecrackers, but I have no doubt you would've knocked him out cold. Get on your bad side and there's hell to pay, especially in the mornin'!" 

They shared a moment of brief laughter which died down as Blank stowed the broom by the door. Marcus pulled a bronze watch from his vest pocket. 

"It's about that time. We should head up there," he grunted.

Upon reaching the meeting room Marcus took his usual seat across from Cinna while Blank idled in the far corner. 

From under his headband Blank eyed Zidane who, as usual, was straddling his chair some feet away. His golden tail thumped on the floor, sending a cloud of dust into the air behind him. Peculiarly, the teasing grin that normally adorned Zidane's face was absent and in its place he wore an expression of what could only be described as sullen disinterest. 

He pulled at a loose thread on his glove, his brows lightly knitted while a pout played on his lips. Before anyone gave comment or notice to this, however, Baku strode into the room with a bundle of maps tucked under his arm. 

"Alright men!" He barked, tossing the rolls of parchment over the table before him. "Yesterday's endeavor earned us another job - this time in Treno. You see, a noble by the name of Atticus Boulderward had some goods of particular value stolen from him and we're being tasked with getting it back."

"What kind of goods of particular value are we talkin' about here?" Cinna called, his voice dripping with skepticism. 

Baku grinned. "Why do you care? We're being paid well for it and we won't see that money if any of the supply is missin'." Cinna gave a low gruff, folding his arms. "And don't worry about it hurtin' you or anything Cinna. We all know how precious your skincare routine is and we wouldn't wanna hear you bitching about blisters anyway," Baku added, wrinkling his snout.

Marcus snickered, leaning back as he lit a cigar. 

"This warehouse on the east side bank is where it's suspected to be located." Baku said, pointing to a black square on the map before him labeled 'Excalibur Iron Works.' "It's likely hidden somewhere in the back, where it won't be easily happened upon. I do know that this particular substance glows - sort of an ambery color - so you'll probably have to pop a few lids to find it. Blank, Zidane – "

They glanced up at the sound of their names. 

"You two will pick the locks, retrieve the goods and pass them off to Marcus and Cinna who'll be outside on guard duty." Baku continued. "Don't make a mess of things or you'll lose more than just your cut." He cracked his knuckles threateningly. 

For a half second Blank caught Zidane's gaze. The latter's eyebrows twitched, his eyes widening before he glanced away. His arm came to rest on the back of his chair as, quickly, he buried his mouth in his palm. Blank's stomach turned.

"Awh, why do Zidane and Blank get to have all the fun?" Cinna whined, distractingly. "I've been working on this gadget that'll let me see in the dark." He popped a lens over his right eye, tapping it until a blindly bright beam of yellow light shot out of it across the room. 

"Goddammit, turn that thing off Cinna!" Baku growled, pulling his own tinted aviator goggles over his eyes. "Because Blank and Zidane know how to make it quick and quiet, which clearly, you don't. You wouldn't know discretion if it slapped you in the face. Sure the factory won't be runnin', but this is a highly populated area in Treno of all places if you haven't forgotten."

Marcus puffed his cigar. "Cinna, the only time Treno sleeps is when the sun comes up."

"But it's dark there more than it's light, especially in the winter," Cinna followed.

"Exactly, so stop being an idiot."

Cinna's cheeks puffed but before he could muster a retort Baku cut him off.

"We'll set out tomorrow at around two in the A.M. Marcus, I'm putting you in charge of the operation.. but Cinna just for pissing me off you're staying by the dock, by the boat."

Finally Zidane smirked, unable to help himself as Cinna made what Blank could only assume to be a crude hand gesture at their boss from under the table. 

"Alriiight! Marcus I need to go over a few things with you but to everyone else – meeting over!" 

By sundown, Blank turned in the earliest of the troupe, exhausted from his sleeplessness the night before. He wound himself tightly in his bedsheets, glaring at the beams above him - the underside of Zidane's empty bed. Although the Prima Vista held a number of bedrooms, dotted around the various floors of the sizable airship, most of its occupants shared sleeping quarters. The only members with rooms of their own were Ruby, being that she was the crew's sole female and it was improper even by tantalus standards that it should not be so and Baku, the troupe's boss - who had the only suite located on the top floor. 

Blank, Marcus, Cinna and Zidane had shared a room for years. Zidane had always preferred the top bunk despite the numerous times he had rolled out of bed only to crash land on the floor with a mighty thud, startling everyone but himself awake. Be it across the room, Blank couldn't stand the fact that Cinna slept with an oil lamp lit, so he had claimed the bed under Zidane's. He had hammered a makeshift curtain over the opening, providing him the privacy and darkness he required. The downside to this predicament came when Zidane rolled in his sleep or – Blank flushed – to the sound of unmistakable timed creaking and muffled panting from above.

"He really has no shame," Blank thought to himself, scowling, as he staved off the twinge of discomfort which now stirred in his lower abdomen. 

He focused instead on the clock which ticked, rhythmically, from atop the vanity across the room until eventually all thought dissolved from his mind as his drowsiness overcame him at last.

"Ugh, ow," Blank groaned. He reached up to massage the aching knot that was surely at the crown of his head. To his surprise, however, he also felt a flat and rough plank of wood behind him. "A shelf," he answered himself.

As if someone had flicked on the lights, his vision came flooding back to him. He sat on the floor of a room he'd been in countless times before - a place that was more his to him than his bed - a storage room at the bottom level of the Prima Vista. Before him, expertly labeled boxes and bottles lined the shelves, containing everything needed for his alchemy. 

For reasons even he could not explain, he suddenly became aware of a secondary presence here. An uneasy feeling started inside of him, likened to the mounting of bubbles in a hot kettle.

Something hot brushed his neck. He pressed his hand reflexively to spot. He found something unexpected there - his fingers trailing along something soft and tantalizingly warm. Lips and cheeks, framed by hair golden as the morning sun and as soft as silk were tucked into the bend of his shoulder. 

"Z-Zidane?" Blank's voice broke from him in a strangled gasp, as he realized to whom these features belonged. 

Zidane said nothing but instead stretched his mouth wider, allowing his sharp canines to pierce the skin of Blank's pulsating neck. Despite himself, Blank cried out at the feeling as a jolt of pleasure danced up his spine. 

Zidane pressed himself against Blank's body as a moan issued from his lips. 

"This has happened before," Blank groaned, shivering as his head began to swim. 

Only this time it wasn't Blank's hand that was wedged between them for Zidane's fingers were trailing threateningly close to Blank's inner thigh. 

"Zidane...W-what are you doing?"

Zidane gave a low and airy laugh, "What you want me to do."

Blank huffed, shifting under Zidane's weight as heat bloomed down to his collarbone. 

"Don't be ridiculous," he started. "I never meant for –" 

Zidane's palm, bare, was pressed against Blank's pelvic bone now, his fingers wrapping delicately around him - a response for which his body willingly gave, despite every one of Blank’s mental protests. 

"Are you sure? I mean it was you who was sober that night anyway," Zidane teased. "You could've stopped at any time. I'm just returning the favor." 

"No I… I – !" 

But it was then that Blank's eyes flew open. He blinked wildly at the underside of the top bunk, his back and neck drenched in a cold sweat as his vision slowly stabilized. 

He swallowed, settling back onto his pillow as he willed his pounding heart to settle. 

"It was just a dream," he realized. The bed springs above him creaked as Zidane turned, muttering nonsense into his pillow. 

Blank's brow furrowed. Cautiously, he slid his hand down his front, sighing with indignation at what he found there. 

"Really?" He swore at himself inwardly, pulling aside the corner of his bed curtain.

"Damn you Cinna and your stupid light," he muttered, scowling at his crew mate who lay fast asleep, mouth open, across the room. 

He let the curtain fall back again, shrouding him in shadow. 

Blank pressed his knuckles into the crease between his brows. "Tonight's gonna be fun," he thought bitterly, as Zidane's tail flopped over the bedside above him, landing on the wooden frame with a soft 'thunk!' 

Chapter Text

Zidane drummed his fingers on the boat’s edge, the engine humming in his ear. From his seat, he stared at the back of Blank’s head; at his crimson hair blowing lightly in the wind. Beads of  light rushed past them in a blur from the town encircling the bay. Zidane grimaced and shifted, crisscrossing his legs again, wood splinters prickling at his back.

“There's just no way,” he thought. For as long as he had known him, Blank had always featured a generally mottled appearance. "It's just part of him - always has been," Zidane lied as his treacherous eyes flickered to the unmistakable tooth marks that were printed on the side of his companion's neck. He glanced away, his ears blistering as his stomach flopped like a fish out of water.

Suddenly, Cinna killed the engine and an oppressive quiet swept over them as the boat crept alongside the bank. The warehouse sat at the bend of the canal like a dark monolith, water sloshing under the dock that wrapped around it. 

"A'right boys," said Marcus in a hushed voice. "Cinna and I'll keep watch from the pier. This particular road's a little out of the way, but that doesn't mean you won't get the occasional foot traffic." He gestured to the cobblestone pathway behind the building. "Tread lightly. You know the drill." 

Blank grunted in response as he gathered the crowbar by his feet. Zidane climbed out of the boat after him. They sidled alongside the building until they came to a small door. Heads swiveling for onlookers, they picked the lock and vanished inside. They were plunged into utter darkness - the air stale and damp with mildew. 

As their eyes adjusted, structures appeared through the gloom: machinery suspended over tracks and metal staircases that wound around high shelves which were lined with crates. On the floor, a patch of oil reflected the moonlight streaming in from the rafters far above.

Zidane cleared his throat. "Let's try the right side." 

With that, the two of them began prying the lids off of wooden crates, working their way through the warehouse as they searched for the supposed glowing amber substance for which Baku had sent them here for. Conversation unusually stagnant between them, they traded the crowbar back and forth -  steadily losing count of the number of crates they had opened. 

Blank's hands slipped in his efforts. He swore, tearing his glove off with his teeth. He examined his inner elbow, now ribboned with red and then eyed the dull iron ore stowed in the crate before him. 

"Ugh, we're never going to find it at this rate." He scowled. "Baku’s got a talent for dumping the most monotonous jobs on us."

Zidane found that his voice was lodged in his throat. His gaze was fixed on Blank's fingers as they traced a path down his arm, his veins as prominent as the grooves in a tree. His hand was long and knobby, sporting knuckles adorned with calluses. 

Unbidden, memories that turned Zidane’s cheeks scarlet crept into his mind. Only days before these fingers had wrapped almost eagerly around him, consuming him with tides of pleasure. His heart began to drum in his chest and he frowned as heat trickled down to his lower abdomen. But it felt like a fever dream - surely Blank of all people never would have… At once, it dawned on him that the man in question had fallen wordless and now gazed at him not an arm’s length away. He caught his eye and for an instant Zidane worried he'd spoken his thoughts aloud. 

But just then, something beside them gave an almighty crash as it collided with the floor. They jolted, receding into the shadows behind a nearby stock tower. Zidane, who was closest to the opening, peered out warily. A tiny lid rattled on the concrete some feet away  and a waste can lay on its side. A black frumpy shadow scurried out of it with someone's spoiled lunch clamped in its jowls.

Zidane sighed heavily. "It's just a raccoon." His head landed against the shelving as he willed his breathing to calm.

Hearing no reply from Blank, Zidane arched a curious brow, peering through the dark in his direction. Blank’s attention was fixed intently on the cube of light situated at the end of the long passageway they now occupied. In this halo there sat a rather sizable iron vault with two wheels on its face. 

“That has to be it,” Blank mumbled.

The walkway, which barely stretched the breadth of their shoulders, narrowed sharply as they went. When it opened, however, the room became wide and bare save for the vault and a modest window near the ceiling. 

Zidane took the larger wheel while Blank, at his right, took the smaller. Through a series of clicks and turns they solved the combination and the door popped open with an audible hiss.

A speck of golden light glimmered through the dark - animating great shadows along the confines of the vault. 

They sauntered to the back of the dark cubical. There sat a cool metal grate - clumps of amber, frosted with yellow powder, sparkling from within.

"Wonder what this stuff is…" Zidane murmured. He worked his fingers through the gaps and tried to lift it but found that the crate was surprisingly heavy.

Blank's face emerged from the shadows opposite him, his features illuminated eerily by the dim light. Upon seeing the object of their pursuit, his eyes widened and his jaw fell slack.

Zidane took notice at once. "What's wrong?" 

Blank opened his mouth several times with the attempt to form words. A crease appeared between his brows as he backed away from the crate, scrutinizing his palms. A small knot manifested in Zidane's stomach as he studied him before he stepped back too.

"Blank, what is it?" 

Blank chewed on his lips and glanced away. 

"Hey, if it's poison I'd kinda like to know!" Zidane followed, agitation creeping into his voice.

Blank shook his head, still not meeting Zidane's eye. "I-If it's what I think it is… it's called 'Golden Jasper.' It's a rare monster-made honey…" He swallowed, lingering on his thoughts before blurting in a rush of words: "and an extremely potent aphrodisiac." Blush bloomed rapidly across his cheeks. 

Zidane staggered at this revelation with all the vigor of one being zapped. His back hit the wall of their enclosure. He felt Blank's pensive gaze ascend to him. 

"You didn't touch it, did you?" 

Feeling slightly dizzy, Zidane analyzed his gloves before hurriedly wiping them on his pants; it hadn't touched his skin anyway.

Blank exhaled forcibly. "W-well… we have to move it…"

They each found the handles, bolted to either side of the crate, and heaved it up. 

"What do they… need this stuff for anyway?" Zidane wondered aloud. The color of Blank's face dappled purple under the strain of the weight they carried. 

"What do you think?" He grunted, looking irritable. "I know you're not misplacing the morality of nobles." 

They breached the tail of the narrow walkway from which they came. Zidane was enveloped in shadow and his shoulder brushed the brick wall behind him. It was the crate, however, that proved to be the problem for it was seemingly too wide for the opening. 

They debated turning it onto its side. Then, very carefully, they eased it onto the floor, being mindful not to slip their fingers through the grate as they hoisted it back up.

Now in the lead, Zidane vanished completely through the gap again and watched as Blank did the same. He wrinkled his nose - the dubbed 'Golden Jasper' wafted a nauseatingly sweet fragrance. Flakes of golden powder sprinkled to the floor by their feet as they inched backwards. It was then, however, that Zidane clipped the crate on one of the metal shelves. The whole structure gave way to violent tremors which sent bags of supplies tumbling down like an avalanche from overhead. 

"Watch out!" Zidane yelped, the crate slipping from his hands as they were overcome by stock. 

When all fell still and silent once more Zidane glanced around as dust clouds billowed in the air around him. To his left, a mountain of supplies, more than five times his height, barricaded the exit. To his right, a keyhole of light shone through the wreckage. But soon he realized that something more was very, very wrong.

"Blank!" 

Twice more he called for him until finally, Blank's voice came, groaning from beneath the hefty stack beside him. Zidane hastened to move it. Blank lay incapacitated on the floor, blood trickling over his forehead and hair. In the commotion, the crate had fallen on his lap and he was now covered in golden powder.  

"Blank!" Zidane cried again. He struggled in hoisting the crate off of Blank before allowing it to fall with a clatter to the floor. 

Without contemplation, he shrugged off his vests and lifted his shirt. At that moment, Blank came to. He pinked considerably at what he saw, his eyes popping comically. 

"Z-Zidane?!" He gasped, wincing as he scooted backwards on the floor. "What're you…?"

Zidane tore the hem of his shirt. "You're hurt." 

Blank's brow furrowed at this information. Gingerly, he raised a hand to his hairline, hissing as he grazed it. 

"You don't have any healing serums on you, do you?" Asked Zidane.

Blank groaned, "I'll be fine. I just need a minute to…"

"Come on, just let me help you," urged Zidane, endeavoring to ignore the strange fluttering feeling that had started in his gut. He pulled off his gloves. 

An uncharacteristic aspect colored Blank's features; was it apprehension? His chest rose and fell visibly while the heat of his face spread to his ears. 

"I- I'm," Blank stuttered, his voice catching in his throat. He felt for the wall behind him, straining backwards as if he wished to disappear through it. The blood on his forehead drew a crimson line between the crevice of his brows. "Zidane… d-don't do something you'll regret," he warned in a ragged whisper.

Zidane's stomach gave another lurch. What did he mean? Just what did he think he was going to do? Zidane clenched his fist around the fabric of his shirt.

"Don't be stupid," he hissed, nearing Blank. "Hold still."

Wide-eyed, Blank surveyed Zidane, his breath held, as the latter raised a trembling hand to his forehead.

Zidane cursed silently. Why wouldn't his fingers stop shaking? His pulse throbbed painfully in his throat and an unnerving sensation crept up his spine. He wished Blank would look anywhere but on him. 

He slid his fingers through Blank's hair, lifting his leather browband. His crimson mane was plastered to his temple with sweat and blood.

Blank grimaced as Zidane wrapped the cloth twice before finishing it off with a tight knot at the back of his head. 

Zidane shuttered. The great agitation prickling at his spine had quickly mounted into something of a boil. His head spun as he heaved for breath. He bowed, prostrating himself and his burning forehead against the cool floor.

Blank moved his legs beside him. His breathing was also labored, the sound magnified in the cramped space they inhabited. Zidane tried not to listen to it - tried instead to focus on anything else. He blinked unseeingly at the stone beneath his nose. Memories of days previous erupted like from a dam into his mind's eye once more. He registered faintly that a full and warm feeling was swelling between his legs.

"Dammit," he panted. 

He bit his lip, tasting blood and shifted with all the intention of putting a safe distance between himself and his friend, but it was Blank's hand that locked around his forearm. 

A single word escaped him. "Don't-" 

Zidane became as if magically petrified. A tiny voice cooed at him from the dissolute recesses of his brain: 'You could do it. You could make it fast, like last time and if you drink enough later you might even forget about it by morning.' 

He swallowed heavily. 

No! He had to get out of here. He had to move before –

"Blank! Zidane! You alright? I heard a crash." Marcus's voice called hoarsely from the exit. 

Clumsily, the two men sprang apart at the sound of their names. Their faces were equally hot and they stared at each other with fervent bewilderment.

"Guys?" Marcus called again, louder. His footsteps were fast approaching now.

Blank was first to recover himself. "Yeah, we're fine!" His voice came oddly strained. "Idiot here brought down the stock - we're boxed in!"

With Blank's gaze redirected the effects of the drug seemed to lessen. Zidane clamored to his feet, using the beams behind him as a support. With a thrill of fresh embarrassment he made hastily to cover his front with one of the totes piled around them. 

"You need help? I can try heaving this junk out from my end!" Marcus offered. 

Blank considered Zidane with the briefest look. 

"No we'll um," he cleared his throat, "There's another way out on this side. We'll just meet you at the docks!"

Instantly, Zidane shot Blank a quizzical look.

"Another way?" He mouthed as Marcus relented, striding back for the exit from which he came. 

"We'll find one." He huffed, rolling his eyes at the expression Zidane gave him. "Or would you rather explain to him why you're hiding behind that tote?" Blank gave Zidane's silence a meaningful look as he too stood, dusting himself off. "Put that tail of yours to use. Climb into the rafters. If there's a dock at the back of this building there must be a load-in port somewhere. Let me know what you find."