Cosplay drabble thing for the akuroku DevArt club. Crossdressing and a tiny pinch of smut. Axel and Roxas.
He takes a deep breathe with his eyes closed.
One. Two. Three. And he opens them.
The room is much the same as it was three seconds ago, but that is a testament to the stability of reality, even in a place that technically never existed.
But what Roxas saw could not possibly have been reality.
The red hair is brushed out, the rockstar quills flattened somehow into a neat, strait part gathered loosely at the base of his neck with a huge red ribbon.
For the first time Roxas notices that Axel has bangs, but no, this can't be Axel because he's wearing a pink dress and Men Do Not Wear Dresses, so he closes his eyes again.
There is quite the bit of temple-massaging, and Roxas wonders if he is delirious, or drunk, or on some kind of narcotic that Axel slipped him-because Axel would do that-but, no, three seconds again and he opens his eyes.
This time Axel produces a hanger with a cropped black wig, a tiny green sweater that is sleeveless and midriff, and a pair of shorts that seem to be missing the top button altogether. He is saying something like, "Sorry I don't have the armor, but you can use one of my Chakrams..."
There is a long silence that stretches and stretches and then Roxas says, very clearly, "Axel, you are wearing a dress. Why are you wearing a dress."
"Oh, just getting into the local color! And you will, too. There's a bit of a festival going-"
"Axel, I am not wearing that."
A pause, then a familiar rakish grin. "Oh, but you'll look adorable."
He tries for the door, but in the end Axel is bigger and stronger than he is. A struggle ensues. The wig is on crooked, but everything else is more or less properly in place; there's a bit of fishnet on his left leg, too, and he tries not to think about it too much.
He's flushed, just a little, and mutters, "If you wanted a girlfriend, you should've taken Larxene up on her offer."
Warm hands splayed at his bare waist and soft lips-waxy with lipstick, but still soft, and they smear the base of his throat-whisper in a quiet, soothing way, "Oh, Roxas, you're cuter than she is,"
Turns his head, a more pronounced rose now; Axel slides up against him, and they are hip to hip, he tries again, "I don't have boobs."
There is a laugh and a pink-gloved hand falls and slips down past the hem of the ever-unbuttoned shorts, and there is a gasp and Roxas tilts back his head-
"And she doesn't have what I really like."
They never really make it to the festival.