Pocket

[electrumicity.livejournal.com]

Title: Pocket
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIII
Pairing: Cid/Rygdea
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Written for Dagger. ♥ Also half written on my blackberry in the car, and fully written while I'm exhausted, so there's probably errors all over the place. I'll go over it again sometime soon to fix mistakes. Inspired by the hangout I was at earlier today.



"Cid."

"...nn."

"Cid. Wake up."

"...mmm...?"

"I said wake the fuck up, you lazy ass!"

Cid groaned as he felt himself being half shoved off of the bed, hand scrambling at the edge of the mattress to keep his balance. Bleary eyes glanced up at the clock, 2:04 staring back at him in large, red digital numbers. It clearly wasn't time to awaken for the day, and even if it was, he would be the one kicking the other man out of bed.

"Wha... What is wrong, you idiot...?" he mumbled as he rubbed at his eyes, vision adjusting in the dark to see the grin splayed against Rygdea's face. He knew that look. It only spelled trouble, no matter the time, no matter the place. "Obviously, nothing is bothering you, so what...is it that you want?"

Rygdea swung his legs off the edge off of the bed, switching on the lamp by the light stand before pulling on the pajama pants that had been hastily tossed to the floor earlier that night. "Get dressed," he all but commanded, acting genuinely confused when he was met with a half confused, half annoyed stare. "C'mon! I want to go do something, let's go."

"Do what? It is two in the morning. Whatever it is can be done in the morning."

"No, it can't." Rygdea moved to the other side of the bed in order to pick up Cid's sleep clothes, tossing them at his face. "One hour. That's all I'm askin'. One hour of your time and I'll actually do the paperwork crap you've been gettin' on my ass about tomorrow."

"What is so damned important?" Cid grumbled as he began to get dressed, knowing that Rygdea was not going to take no for an answer. "You cannot expect us to go out of this room looking like this." He motioned to their state of dress.

It didn't seem to dissuade Rygdea any, and he threw a pair of slippers at Cid before pulling on his own pair. "No one's awake, and our destination's one stairway and one corner down." Before the Brigadier General could protest further, a tanned hand gripped his wrist tightly and dragged him up. "So put on your slippers if ya don't wanna walk on cold metal."

A few minutes later, Cid found himself trudging down one of the hallways of the Lindblum, cool air raising goose bumps on pale skin. The combination of nighttime and that he was wearing a thin, short sleeved shirt and light cotton pants rather than his heavy uniform made him acutely aware of the temperature. When Rygdea attempted to wrap an arm around him to warm him, however, he all but shoved him away and ignored the younger man's subsequent pout. He still wasn't quite happy with being dragged out of slumbers, especially on one of the few nights that it was uninterrupted by nightmares. At the least, it wasn't long before Rygdea pulled him into one of the nearby rooms, the mechanical door sliding closed behind him.

The light was flicked on, and Cid could only stare with an expression more confused than it was previous.

"Why have you brought me to the recreation room of all places?" He stared down at the brunet, wondering what could have possibly been going through—and was still going through—his mind.

Rygdea didn't answer him, not at first, merely continuing to tug Cid along as if he was a puppy over to the corner of the room. "I wanted to play pool," he said matter of factly when they reached the table in question, grabbing a pool stick and tossing it over.

Cid caught it easily, half wondering why Rygdea seemed to love throwing things at him tonight, half wondering if his lover had gone completely mad. "Pool," he muttered, still hardly able to believe that this was even happening. "You woke me up at two in the morning to play a game of pool."

Nodding in confirmation as if everything was normal, Rygdea whistled to himself as he set up the table for the game. What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn't he have waited until a decent hour of the day for this? All of Cid's questions fell on deaf ears, it seemed, until finally, the proceeding silence was broken by the crack of the cue ball hitting the others.

"'cause," Rygdea finally replied, almost content to leave it at there, but Cid's glare pressed him onwards. "You're always busy, I like time alone with ya, and because I felt like it. I'm not takin' no for an answer." He smirked, leaning against the pool table. "Now. It's your turn. You gonna go or am I goin' to have to keep bitching at you until ya do?"

It was hardly as if he couldn't, or didn't know how to, say no to Rygdea. Rygdea hardly had him wrapped around his finger; Cid would never be that kind of person with anyone. At the same time, however, he knew just how stubborn the younger man could get, and when it would be easier in the long run to just humor him rather than protest.

"One hour," the raven haired man finally grumbled as he walked around the table, leaning down in order to begin aiming his shot. "One hour, and no more."

Forty minutes later left them in a peculiar situation: both pool sticks broken, the cue ball lodged in the wall to the side, and Rygdea sitting on the pool table with an annoyed expression. "Game's stupid as hell anyway," he muttered, looking no different than a child.

"Only because it actually requires a little thing known as patience, which you sorely seem to lack." Cid approached him, crossing his arms as he looked down at him. "Now, if you are done acting like a child, I believe that we have a bed to get back to."

As he was turning to leave, however, his wrist was grabbed; Cid was quickly spun around to the point of losing his balance. The next thing he realized, he had fallen onto the table and on top of Rygdea, who was half-lying down on the table now with another one of those damned smirks on his face.

"Not so fast, darlin'," Rygdea teased with an emphasis on the last word. "We still have twenty minutes, don't we?"

Cid stared down at him. He couldn't possibly be implying what he thought he was. Was he? "...this is a public area, Rygdea. Stop being ridiculous."

"Just give me twenty minutes. You promised me the hour."

"No."

"No? You'd better, otherwise..."



He ended up giving him the twenty minutes.

Or hour and twenty minutes, as it were.


He was never going to play billiards on that specific pool table again.