Author's Note: Okay, I admit it. I've never played Final Fantasy Versus XIII (neither has anyone else), and I already love it. XD It's ensnared me.

Just as a note, since we don't know anyone's name and "Scarred Guy", "The Driver", and "Shotgun Guy" is too much to type every time and sound normal, the names have been shortened down to "Scar", "Driver", and "Shotgun" or "Shot". Yes. KitaraStrife and I are just that lame. XD

Disclaimer: Square-Enix owns the characters. If they were mine, this would've actually happened, including the dirty scene that follows, but my writer's block wouldn't allow me to actually write.

Enjoy!

Scar tossed back another- well, something made with hard liquor. The place was a bust. There was absolutely no information about the crystal, here, nor about the royal families. The music was loud, and the people were too rowdy to distract long enough to ask normal-sounding questions. The only good thing about this place was the alcohol.

And then a tall, lean form in a dress shirt, jacket, and jeans collapsed onto a seat a little ways away from him. "Give me something hard," he mumbled to the barkeep, quickly flashing his I.D.

Scar flicked his gaze over to give the stranger a sidelong glance. To be honest, Scar knew that there was a 'less than straight' side to him, but remained dormant for the most part. This guy, here, though, caught his attention. His face was gaunt with enviable cheekbones, and a pair of glasses were perched upon his straight nose. Light brown hair was swept back from his face and his forehead was creased in a frown as he mumbled a 'thanks'. Scar watched, unaware that he was staring, long, thin fingers bring the glass to full lips and green-gold eyes squeeze shut against the burn of alcohol before locking their gaze with his. "Can I help you?"

Scar jumped and laughed nervously, "Sorry, dude! I was just, uh," he searched desperately for an excuse for his staring, "I was just wondering what it is you've got, there?" He gestured to the other's drink.

The stranger blinked a few times and turned his gaze to the glass, "Oh," his voice had softened from his original inquiry, "I'm not sure, actually."

Scar laughed aloud. "You gotta be careful with what you get, dude. You're gonna end up with the weirdest shit in your gut."

"No, kidding," the stranger agreed before taking another drink of the substance, "…It has whiskey in it, but that's about all I can tell."

A smile crossed his scarred face. "You can call me Scar."

The lighter haired male raised an eyebrow. "Scar?" he snorted, "what kind of a name is that?"

Scar grinned widely. "A nickname," he explained, tapping the large, vertical scar over the left side of his face, "What's yours?"

A mysterious smirk graced the stranger's lips. "Call me Driver."

"Now, that is a weird-ass name," Scar laughed, "Nice to meet you, though."

Driver smiled as he took another drink from the glass in his hand. "Can I ask why you're here?" Scar asked, catching his attention once again, "I mean, there's gotta be a reason why the first thing you order from the bar is something made of hard stuff."

He smiled wistfully as he stared absently into his drink. "Well," he trailed off, "Id rather not say, actually."

"Awright," Scar drawled, "to each their own."

"What about yourself?" If sound was capable of possessing a physical form, Scar swore that Driver's voice would be smooth and feel of velvet, and Scar found himself shivering. Driver waited patiently, green-gold eyes boring into his own. Scar's lips split into a smirk.

"There's no particular reason," he said, "Got bored. I'm here just for the hell of it." He paused to grin widely, "and the booze." The lie tasted strange- he felt as though he shouldn't be lying to this man. But he knew the drill- if anyone asked, he was not part of the rebel faction.

Much to his surprise, they continued to talk, and he even ended up sitting right next the other. Before long, the alcohol made his head woozy and every discretion he had loosened as he started to flirt. A loud noise sounded on the other side of the club, causing both men to whip their heads around and nearly sent Driver off of his stool. "Whoa, now!" Scar exclaimed, reaching out to catch him, but going down with him.

Driver laughed as Scar landed on top of him. "Sorry," he slurred slightly, "I don't hold my liquor very well."

Scare grinned, but didn't (or couldn't quite) remove himself from the other. "S'okay," he mumbled, "S'all good." He stared at Driver for a long while, eyes flicking over the slighter man's face, and finally capturing his gaze. He found himself dipping down to kiss the other and was met with eager response. They remained like that until the barkeep shouted something about 'get off the fucking floor' and 'get a fucking room'. Scar couldn't be sure- the alcohol coupled with the giddiness that flowed through him at the contact of their lips, and the intoxicating scent that emanated from Driver all screwed up his brain. He was sure that 'fucking' had been used as an adjective, though.

Diver laughed lowly into the kiss and pulled away, mumbling, "God idea." Scar felt Driver pry himself away long enough to stand, help the other up and set some money on the bar before walking away, casting a glance over his shoulder that invited Scar to follow. He did so quickly.

Almost as soon as they reached the parking lot, Driver's lips found his once more, and Scar was led to the other's car. They collapsed into the back seat, closing the door behind them as their kiss became heated and hands wandered under shirts. Driver moved to straddle Scar's hips, kissing him deeply as his slim fingers ghosted a trail down to Scar's belt. Scar grinned, once more, into the kiss, his hands settling on Driver's hips. "Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

Driver didn't respond, and Scar suddenly felt the cold barrel of a handgun pressed against his temple. "Oh… shit." Instinctively, his hands went above his head as Driver sat up, a cold glare in his eyes.

"Who are you?" He demanded, no hint of drunkenness in his silk voice, "Who do you stand for?"

Scar started to panic. 'Is he a cop? Does he know why I was here?' His brown eyes suddenly landed upon a pair of dog tags hanging around Driver's neck, settled just below the hollow of collarbone, a metallic cold glint reflecting upon it from the parking lot lights. 'Why didn't I see that before?! He's military?!'

The demand came again, harsher. "Who are you?"

Scar stared straight into those green-gold eyes that had gone cold. "I told you, I'm Scar." Driver cocked the gun. He was serious. Scar fought the fear he felt coiling in his gut. He should've been more careful. "I'm part of the rebel faction. I want to help protect the crystal- I'm against out government's trying to take it." He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the bullet.

Instead, the hard metal of the handgun was pulled away from his temple and uncocked, and a sigh of relief left Driver's lips. "Thank the Gods," he murmured, "I was afraid I'd have to kill you."

Scar opened his eyes and raised his eyebrow. "Why would you hafta kill me?"

Driver's face was set in a somber expression. "I received word that a spy would be in this club, tonight. I was to find out whose side you were on."

"And you are?"

Driver looked him straight in the eye. "I'm a good friend of our prince, Noctis Lucis Caelum," he gestured to his car, "this is his main mode of transportation."

Scar nodded. "Hence your nickname."

"Yeah."

Scar let out a heavy breath. "Well, you sure know how to kill the mood."

Driver laughed out loud. "I'm not sure whether that's a compliment or a insult."

"Why would it be a compliment?"

The paler man shrugged. "I don't know, but, in the correct context, it could be."

Scar eyed him warily. "You don't sound drunk."

Driver shrugged once more. "I'm a bit buzzed, but that's about it."

"Good actor."

"Thanks."

Scar chewed his lip. "Was the rest of it acting, too?" The other quirked an eyebrow. "I mean, I'll feel real stupid if all out got me drunk and horny was for this. Not to say that- I, uh, y'know. Don't have to if you don't wanna, but-" his rambling was cut off as Driver rolled his eyes and leaned down to kiss him swiftly.

"Shut up," he mumbled against the other's lips, "Just stop talking."

"But-"

Driver pressed his fingers over Scar's mouth. "I could've just led you to the car," he explained, "I have an interest in you, though," and with a smirk that could only be described as dirty, he finished, "It isn't just a gun in my pocket, either. I'm quite happy to see you."

Scar grinned widely and wrapped his muscular arms around Driver's thin waist, pulling him flush against him. "Glad to hear it."

Thank you so much for reading! Remember: Reviews are requested, but not required. :)