FicWad

Axel wakes to find Demyx's head on his chest, and their fingers intertwined. It's not the most disconcerting thing to ever happen to him, but he thinks it comes close. He's not even certain how he manages to fall asleep when his skin is covered in a thin sheen of damp, drawing heat away from the surface, but he somehow does, and that alone is more disturbing than all the rest.

His skin still stings, and his entire body aches, and it's still good. Still something.

"You're still here," Demyx says quietly.

"You're surprised?" Axel asks.

"Yeah. You can't stand me," his junior replies, shifting, lifing his head, and looking down at him.

"That's true." Axel's eyes are fixed on the ceiling, and his face is a blank; the sensation of expressionlessness is quite distinct, and it matches the empty feeling inside. He drags his hand through limp, damp hair, pushing the strands out of his face again.

"This is the third time," Demyx says, levering himself up higher. The ambient light casts his face in shadows, from Axel's perspective, but his eyes are still clearly visible, in that cool, narrow-eyed look that he knows wasn't there a moment ago. That's how fast Demyx can change, to go from flailing incompetent to this--

"Stop looking at me like that," he says abruptly. Demyx's eyes narrow.

"Why?" he asks.

"Because-- Never mind. Fuck off."

"It's my room," Demyx points out, his voice cool. "If you don't want to be around me, you have to leave. But I still won't kick you out," he continues. Moments pass where Axel says nothing, and Demyx gives him a thin little smile.

"Would you ever leave if I didn't kick you out?" Axel asks. He meets Demyx's unblinking look with one of his own, and it should make them both uncomfortable, looking at that much emptiness, but it doesn't.

Time stretches out, and Demyx just stares at him, cold eyes gone almost shocky, and Axel can't help but think of a certain sense of satisfaction. His lips curl up slightly, not quite a smirk.

"Damn it," Demyx whispers.

"Resonance," Axel says. "Isn't necessarily a good thing. It can fuck you up. A building that resonates to the same frequency as an earthquake will liquefy." He stretches out on Demyx's bed, arching his back just a little as he extends his joints.

The slight curl of his lips becomes a smirk; he can see something in Demyx's eyes, like it's becoming easier to read that cool stare. Like maybe his stretching does the same thing to Demyx as his junior's cool, narrow-eyed look does to him.

All expression falls from his faceas he shuts his eyes, and falls into himself, drawing on the core of his being, to raise his temperature enough--

The room is abruptly filled with steam, as every droplet of moisture on Axel's body evaporates all at once. It startles Demyx visibly, And Axel's familiar enough with him that he can tell it's not just another feigned reaction.

It's only moments later that their positions are reversed, Demyx sprawled on his back, and Axel leaning over him on one hand, his smirk almost a grin, showing teeth. He slides his hands down Demyx's arms, pressing firmly, pulling up that sharp sting of steam.

"Hot." The word comes quietly, involuntarily, Axel thinks, from his junior; Demyx is squirming just a little, friction on every point of skin-to-skin contact, and Axel hisses for it, a sound to match the steam.

Axel laughs, a soft sound, but not pleasant, more like the crackle of a malicious flame. His body pressed against Demyx still, and it feels--

"Too bad I have a mission," he says. And laughs again, as the look on Demyx's face shifts, almost like a real change in emotion. And then this time, he's gone, leaving, coat and clothes in hand, before his junior can react.

---

The mission is short, but invigourating, and it leaves Axel positively wired, his hands flexing constantly as he walks through the castle. It was the same all the way through his report, and now--

He laughs, and runs his hands through his hair, and is completely expecting it this time, when Demyx comes to ambush him. There's a whirl of violence in the hall, that ends with Demyx pressed against a wall, and both of them breathless.

"My way," Axel breathes, leaning in close.

"Isn't that the way this started?" Demyx asks. "It had to be your way."

"Your way hurts too fucking much." One of his hands on Demyx's wrist, and the other up and in his junior's hair, gloved thumb brushing away sweat, or maybe just condensation; it's one thing he can never tell.

"And yours doesn't hurt me?" Demyx asks.

"Yours hurts both of us," Axel counters. The hand he has in his junior's hair slides down, along his face, curving to cup his jaw. "And we're talking too much."

The statement makes Demyx laugh, and Axel can feel it as well as hear it, the movement of Demyx's jaw, and the flex of his throat. It's somewhere on the border between bright and dark, warm and cold, like he can't quite decide which way to be.

"Yes or no?" Axel says, very softly, leaning in to speak the words into Demyx's ear.
"Yes," Demyx replies. "You know it's yes, either way." Axel feels him shudder a little, and tighten his fingers in his coat.

"I still like to hear it." He strokes his thumb over his junior's jawline, and smirks against his ear. Demyx sighs softly, almost too softly to hear, as Axel pulls them back into his room, the familiar heat, and the hiss of steam that passes between them.

It's almost like staus quo, except where Demyx looks at him like that, cool eyes, and the lines of his face somehow harder than he pretends they are, and Axel knows there isn't any status quo anymore. And strangely, he's just fine with that.

It only stays his way now as long as he makes it, and that's better than things were before, he thinks.

He pushes Demyx back onto his bed, and pauses, leaning back and looking at him. He waits long enough for it, that Demyx starts to open his mouth, starts drawing in breath to form the words. Axel doesn't give him a chance, darting in, and pushing him flat on the mattress (softer than Demyx's, and with far less bedding), sliding up over him, the slithering sound of leather on leather.

The sound Demyx makes when he leans in to kiss him is almost as satisfying as the way he responds, and his hands are in Axel's hair, holding him with the strength that the rest of the Organization wouldn't believe. Axel lets him, for the moment, because this is right where he wants to be. He still doesn't like Demyx; he'll never like Demyx, and Demyx will never like him.

His fingers slide down his junior's chest, pulling at the zipper as they go, leather sliding over bare skin, and then over more leather. Demyx is clearly aroused, and arches into Axel's touch, pressing his hand between ther bodies for a moment, before Axel drags it away.

Demyx moans into his mouth, and Axel smirks. His coat is open now, and Axel's hands are moving back up, sliding over his sides. The steam doesn't come, because the gloves hold in enough of his heat, even going over Demyx's bare skin.

He breaks the kiss, listening to Demyx breathe for a minute, his hands resting lightly on his junior's sides.

"Boots," he says finally. "And these," he adds, tugging on Demyx's leather pants.

"That's it?" Demyx asks. His voice is breathy and rough, and cool enough to send a jolt of arousal through him.

"Just take care of the boots," Axel says. Moments later, he can feel Demyx moving under him, and he shifts a little to accommadate, so Demyx can kick his boots off. The land on the floor with muffled thunks, and Axel settles in close to him again, bending to leave a line of kisses and bites. It's the only hiss of steam they get, that bite that's more than a bite, Axel's lips on Demyx's skin, and it draws sound from both of them.

Axel's hands slide down Demyx's sides, and over his pulling and tugging and shifting to get rid of his junior's pants. There's nothing on underneath them, and that's another habit he's pretty sure Demyx has picked up from him, and it makes him smirk, heat in his eyes as he looks up to meet Demyx's eyes again.

His junior's eyes are narrow, and hazy, and Axel thinks he sees a bit of curiosity there, but it's hard to be sure, just now, for some reason. It doesn't matter though; he can feel the pliability in Demyx's legs as he tosses aside clothing, and slides those legs apart, hitching them around his hips, under his coat.

The look in Demyx's eyes flickers in surprise, and then he moans, and arches as Axel presses against him in a line of leather against flesh.

"Ah-- Axel---"

"Yeah," Axel replies, his hands sliding forward, under his own coat to open his pants, and draw himself out. It's not a relief, just a reduction of pressure, but he doesn't get any further undressed than that, and he can see the light of understanding in Demyx's eyes.

"Yeah," he repeats. "Just like this. It feels different, doesn't it?"

"I don't get it," Demyx replies.

"Good," Axel says. "Neither do I." The last is admitted, breathed into Demyx's ear as he lifts his junior's hips, and pushes in, burying himself as deeply as he can. The hiss and sting of steam is reduced, and focused, and Axel hears himself make some incoherent sound, because when that's all there is, it rattles on his nerves, and sings down his soul, and is almost like a real feeling.

He groans, and moves, leaning in, and Demyx's hands find his hair again, gloved fingers gripping tight. There's a different kind of intensity to this, Axel thinks, the kind that's in the mind almost as much as the body, and especially, he thinks, between he and Demyx, because they're kissing again now, and Axel can taste the steam, and there's more salt in Demyx than usual.

"Atlantica," he breathes, breaking the kiss for a moment.

"How can you taste that?" Demyx asks.

"I'm that good," Axel replies. Each word is punctuated by a thrust, and he is that good, because Demyx arches into each one, and moans. Really, Axel doesn't think how he can tell where Demyx has been by the taste of him; he doesn't want to think about it, because it--

Demyx tugs on his hair, pulling him back into a new kiss, and Axel doesn't fight him on that one, moaning into the hiss-sting, and moving still, his own hands firm on Demyx's hips. They're narrower than his own, and he likes the way it forces his junior to spread his legs wider to make room.

There's a sharp tug on his hair whenever he moves, because he thrusts with his whole body, sliding leather and skin together, but he doesn't mind it. More sensation, more reality, more.

Demyx's voice echoes the word in Axel's mind, a low moan that breaks the kiss, and leaves his lips stinging.

"Axel--" he breathes.

"Shut up," Axel replies. "Just, don't--" And wonder of wonders lately, he does.

When they're finished this time, Axel feels worn and almost satisfied, the hollow place in him all too prominent, and more real than anything else, for all that Demyx is a sweaty, sticky tangle of limbs and leather in his arms.

"Are you going to kick me out?" Demyx eventually asks, when Axel hasn't moved for a while. Axel pushes up on one arm, and looks down at him.

"Do you want me to?" he asks. Demyx's eyes are wide, and bright, and in any other face, you'd say honest, but wide eyes and a guileless smile were never honest on Demyx. "Don't lie to me," Axel says, a note of warning in his voice. "Unless you want this to end forever."

Demyx's lips curl up just a little, a thin, nasty little smile, cold eyes looking at Axel like he knows better.

"Would you be able to live with that, anymore?" he asks. And abruptly, Axel thinks he knows why this kind of thing they have is outside the rules. He draags his fingers over Demyx's face, and smiles at him. Demyx tips his face into the touch, and Axel moves abruptly away, breaking all contact.

"Get out," he says.

"Fine," Demyx replies. "I'll see you."

A minute later, he's gone, and Axel's alone again, and not really sure if he's done the right thing or not.