Most and Least Expected


It comes when he's least expecting it. They've been on different missions, separate parts of the castle, rarely in the same room for more than a few seconds for more than a month now.

Xigbar's brought home the smug, goateed Number X, and Demyx is no longer the low-man on the totem pole; it has no effect on the way Axel's treated him in those brief encounters, and it hasn't changed anything in the way his junior's reacted to him.

It's late, relatively speaking, and Axel's worn to the bone, out of potions and ethers, coated in blood, and sore in the arms, and there's suddenly a cool hand on his shoulder, and he just knows.

The next thing Axel knows is that he's in a cool, damp space, with tranquil blue light ambient around them, softening the edges of the castle walls. The bed he lets himself be pushed into is surprisingly firm, but covered with soft pillows, and thick blankets.

Axel leans back on his elbows, up to his armpits in fluffy plush bedding, licks his teeth, and smirks. The look on Demyx's face is already that cold one, eyes narrowed and deep.

When he moves, it's like one of his Dancers, twisting and deceptive, and fuck if it isn't--

He doesn't complete the thought, because he won't let himself, and Demyx is suddenly straddling his hips, and pinning his arms to the still-surprisingly firm bed.

Axel inhales sharply, and a narrow smirk spreads on his junior's face.

"Think you've found a way to win?" Axel breathes.

"Quiet, Axel," Demyx says coldly. "And this time, stay quiet." He twists his shoulders, and its that same sinuous twist that catches Axel's eyes, and holds his attention. He licks his teeth again, and flicks his eyes back up to meet Demyx's.

The cool satisfaction he sees there curls in his stomach and groin, and burns in his eyes. He says nothing. Demyx says nothing either, shedding his clothes like water, and pulling Axel out of his in a similar fashion.

The very air here stings his skin, there's so much water in it, but it doesn't hurt; it just sets his nerves on edge. That's when Axel realises that for once, Demyx has a distinct and definite advantage. He doesn't sweat, but there's water condensation on his skin, in spite of the heat he radiates.

Demyx slides his hands up Axel's legs, pushing them apart, and sliding between them. Axel doesn't stop him, doesn't try to turn things around in any way; the thick humid air makes him feel drugged, and his stinging skin begs for touch.

And he wants this, wants his junior to finish what he started. And that hard look in Demyx's eyes, cold and deep and unblinking is such a turn-on.

Demyx bends to kiss him, and Axel kisses back, tasting nothing but pure water and dissonance, sliding over his tongue and into his being, and Axel moans.

"My way," Demyx says firmly, quietly, as he breaks away from the kiss for a moment. Axel can feel him shift his posture, and there are suddenly hands at the sides of his jaw, tipping his head back, baring his throat for the slide of Demyx's tongue. Down to the hollow, and back up to kiss him again, using his weight to press Axel as hard into the bed as he can.

Axel isn't surprised when Demyx thrusts into him; they're already perfectly positioned, and now he'd not just pinned, he's nailed. It'd be funny if it didn't feel so good. He's drowning in water and bedding, and when he breathes, it's in long ragged gasps that match Demyx's movements inside him.

He hooks his legs around Demyx's hips, crossing at the ankles. The reaction he gets is startling, the hands on his face moving suddenly to his knees, pulling his legs apart again, and pressing his feet into the bed.

Axel takes the hint, keeping his feet where they're put, and letting Demyx move him. His skin feels slick, a sensation he barely remembers, and it's almost more than he can stand.

Slick skin, limp, damp hair; it's alien and it hurts, and part of him wonders distantly if this is how Demyx always feels in his room. It explains a few things if he does.

Hands in Axel's hair again, smoothing the strands out of his face, slowly. Everything Demyx is doing now is slow and intense, and stealing his breath.

Demyx is kissing him again, and he's kissing like he's fucking, and it makes Axel moan, and arch up into Demyx, pressing their bodies together, generating a loud hiss of steam. It wreathes around them, and it seems that all Axel can see through it is his junior's eyes, still deep and cold, unblinking like a fish.

Axel doesn't last much longer; the visceral feeling of his own wet akin, and that narrow stare of his junior's, and everything everything else--

It's different, and it leaves him limp and breathless in Demyx's bed and Demyx's arms. His junior's fingers slide through his hair again, pushing stray strands out of his face. Their bodies are still pressed together, and one of Demyx's hands leaves his hair, to move over his skin.

"I'm not going to kick you out," Demyx says quietly. Axel raises a hand, and runs it over Demyx's shoulder, and down his body; his skin is cooler, and wetter than he's used to, and--