The warm water felt reviving to his pale and delicate skin, most of the surface turning a light shade of pink at contact. He plucked up a strand of blue hair as it floated by, lazily fingering it and wondering of its length. It certainly wasn't the easiest thing to take care of, and when he didn't feel like doing so, the whole mass feathered up and made him look like a lanky blue jay. As it was, that one piece would never stay down. All the gel and magic in the world couldn't keep it tamed.
He dropped the lock and reached for the sponge, accidentally putting his finger strait through it. Sighing as well as laughing a bit, he removed his finger from its center. Why DID he keep his nails so long and painted anyhow? Wiggling his toes he wondered about those as well.
At least he had the luxury to bathe now; it had been too long he'd spent coated in his own blood and dirt while they tried to find a way out of their natural prison. Well of course he had all the hot water aboard the theater ship to himself! The rest of the world was watching 'I Want To Be Your Canary' up top.
That thought ruined his bath, and he hit the drain to watch the water slowly disappear. As he let his body slowly come back down to room temperature, he fingered the Rebirth Ring Zidane had given him years ago. It was such a cute but futile attempt at saving his pathetic soul, which was, he deemed, his own now. It also proved Garland wrong -again- about death and that destiny was- He stopped that line of thinking for the umpteenth time that week. This destiny crap was getting REALLY redundant.
He was startled out of his cynical moping by a loud pounding on the door. Who the Hell would be so arrogant?
"Kuja!"
He rolled his eyes and gave his head a good smack on the wall behind him. He should have guessed. "Yes, Zidane?"
"We're going to dinner soon."
A small bitter smile crossed his blue lips. "Have fun."
"Aren't you coming?"
Kuja smacked his head again on the tile behind him. "No."
"What was that sound?" Great, so he was pressing his ear to the door. "Anyway, why not?"
He sighed again and climbed out of the basin, wrapping a towel around his waist and flinging the door open, half-hoping Zidane would fall. "Oh? Did you want to put me on a spit with an apple in my mouth and use it for a centerpiece?"
Zidane pitched a little, but balanced himself out with his tail. "Come on, get dressed. You have to eat."
"I can find food by myself without having to eat at the castle, mind you the one I destroyed." Kuja pushed past him, flicking his tail in annoyance.
Zidane followed him, hovering just behind him as he went to his dresser. "Stop moping and come eat!"
His shoulders tensed. Caught again, how did Zidane always know what he'd been doing? "I'm not moping." He paused, fingering for a good excuse, but settling in the end for the truth. "I just... don't think the locals would appreciate a guest appearance by the 'Angel of Death'. There has to be something in the kitchen."
"There isn't. Not unless you want Cinna's cooking. This is the only chance at dinner you'll get besides going out to the tavern. You're more likely to get lynched there than with us. At least come keep Dagger's hands off me."
Kuja laughed and started to dress, rubbing his hair out with the towel before putting on a plain white shirt. "Oh no, I'd starve myself for days if it meant seeing your face with Sarah on one side and Eiko on the other. You'd be lucky to get out with your pants still on."
Zidane's face went grim and he fell silent. He plopped down on the bed and stared at the ceiling so he wouldn't have to watch his lover dress right before going out in public. Chalk it up to hormones. "I liked it when you wore a thong better."
"Well maybe if you're good I'll find it again later." Kuja was slightly preoccupied with getting his tail through the hole in the back of his black pants. He looked up with a defeated expression and quivered his lower lip. "Help."
Zidane got up from the bed and assisted Kuja in navigating his untrained appendage through the space. "There. So are you coming?"
Kuja rose an eyebrow and began a sardonic retort, but was swiftly interrupted by a low growl from his stomach. "Fine, but if anyone even looks at me with what I think is pity I'm leaving."
"How come you weren't this stubborn when I was trying to get you into bed?"
Kuja shrugged and smiled. "Because I wanted to."
"Then why did you argue in the first place?"
"Was I not supposed to?" Kuja adorably feigned innocence.
Zidane clutched his forehead in his palm and rocked it gently, trying without success not to laugh. "I hate you."
Kuja tackled him onto the bed and nipped his nose. "No, you don't. You love your little screwtoy."
"Don't remind me! We have to go be around people and pretend to be strait, okay?" Zidane groaned as Kuja's thigh pressed between his legs and found the uncomfortable bulge there. "Please..." He cursed himself for the exhalation of breath laced with the word, knowing Kuja had heard him.
"'Please' what? Please take off your clothes and fuck you? Please jack you off under the table while Dagger is attempting intelligent conversation? Please follow you when you go to the bathroom and suck you so hard you cum in five seconds?" Nails skimmed lightly up Zidane's shirt and down again, lifting the lip of his pants up to slip a hand inside.
(TBC...)