My Canary... Mine.

[[AN: I have so much explaining to do, don’t I? I’m sorry I abandoned this fic. I actually met my girlfriend through it, and we were Kuja/Zidane roleplayers together. I won’t go weeping onto the page (screen?) but writing alone became less and less of an option. Anyway. Two, three years, however long it’s been, I’m nearly graduating from university so time has been short, my girlfriend and I broke up not so long ago, and my Kuja muse is rather dusty... and the more and more guilty I felt for abandoning the story, the less inclined I was to go back! But I realised I still wanted to finish it, so... in short, apologies, if anyone there is still around, and thanks to ListlessMemory, whose review reminded me of the fic’s existence.~ I had to re-read it so many times just to remember what I had included!]]


Zidane looked away first, turning his eyes to the ceiling.
“But, you know. I can’t stay forever. And you haven’t told me how long you’ve planned on keeping me for.”

Kuja sighed in the face of the truth he didn’t want to acknowledge and turned face up as well. “That would be because I haven’t exactly decided.”

“You had all that time while I was in Oil... oei... o...”

“Oeilvert.”

“You had all that time and you didn’t plan properly? From an evil genius’ point of view, you’re not really doing too well, Kuja...”

Not sure if he was offended or amused, Kuja glanced across, and saw a mischievous smile tugging at Zidane’s lips. “It wasn’t a plan, canary.”

“But the second I got back, you said you--”

Turning on his side again, sliding a hand around Zidane’s waist, Kuja murmured. “That doesn’t mean it was scripted. I improvised.”

He could tell Zidane was tensing up at the contact, and whispered what he thought would be reassurance.

“Give me today and tonight. Tomorrow you can leave.”

“...All of us?” Zidane said, eyeing him suspiciously.

Kuja rolled his eyes. “I haven’t displayed much interest in the rest, have I?”

“Are you going to say ‘Just one more day’ after that?”

A weary sigh. “No...”

“And...” the boy’s eyes brightened at this. “Are you going to tell me about home?”

Kuja cringed. “I’ll give you the information I said I would.”

From the look on his face, Zidane was running through all possibilities to figure out a loophole. After a while he nodded. Kuja knew it was the promise of information that had swayed his decision, but what mattered was that the agreement was made.

“Wonderful!” He pulled Zidane closer, turning the blond to face him. “H-hey,” was the immediate protest. “I didn’t agree to do anything while I was here...”

Sighing melodramatically, and sweeping hair from his eyes with his free hand, Kuja did not loosen his grip. “I fail to see what the issue is.”

“Probably because it’s a moral one...”

Kuja feigned an expression of pain. “You wound me, truly. Listen, you will understand. You are cast in the part of a long-suffering hero...”

“It’s not a story, I am a long-suffering hero!”

“You can even pretend I am the villain if you wish.”

“Pretend?”

Impatient, Kuja placed a finger at Zidane’s lips. “You are the long-suffering hero, forced to spend three days in captivity with your antagonist. Whatever happens here, you can insist it is my fault. Pleasure without the guilt, you might say... of course, you’re only doing it to ensure the safety of your friends...”

Zidane was staring at him. “I am only doing it to ensure the safety of my friends, Kuja.”

The silver-haired man smirked. “Convincing! The part you were born to play.”

Before this moment, he would never have thought Zidane was capable of such a threatening expression. But he had effectively silenced the boy’s protests...

“I’m simply saying...” Kuja tilted his head to lean into Zidane’s neck again, his voice muffled; “that nothing that happens here will have consequences for you.”

Zidane didn’t tense up again when Kuja’s lips touched his neck. Nor did he answer.

He’s thinking about it...

Fingertips danced lower, to Zidane’s hips, and he shuddered pleasantly, sensitive. “A-ah... I’ll admit that... that yesterday wasn’t so bad.” He hastily added, “I mean, once I knew you weren’t going to kill me!”

“Not so bad? Please, Zidane. I know better than to settle for ‘not being bad’.”

“You’re so...!”

Kuja raised an eyebrow, silently demanding an end to the sentence. “Self-obsessed,” Zidane announced, after a moment of thought.

“Oh, no, you cannot possibly think so. I have been so selfless since your return...”

Zidane almost laughed, thinking it was sarcasm, but a sudden realisation stopped him and his incredulity became confusion. Kuja saw the change in his expression. “...You’re wondering why I didn’t ask you to anything for me?”

“I’m ... trying not to get you to realise that’s a possibility.”

“You think the idea didn’t cross my mind? What little faith you have in my mental capacity.”

Now Zidane was tense. “Oh, stop that,” Kuja muttered irritably. “Why must you make this situation so difficult?”

Incensed by the fact Kuja apparently blamed him, Zidane scowled back. “Jeez, I don’t know Kuja, could it be because I’m a hostage here?”

Glaring, Kuja pinched the red marks on Zidane’s wrist, from where he had fought the handcuffs so violently. “O-OWW! Get those claws off me!”

“You were intrigued by the offer I gave you. Perhaps I should make the terms clear. I will only do to you what you do to me. It is up to you how little... or how much... you choose to begin.”

Meeting Zidane’s eyes, Kuja decided he wanted to outlaw silence.

“With no consequences,” he repeated for emphasis.

A hand reached out to touch his waist. He almost – almost – didn’t expect it.