Empty Halls

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From the very first second he saw Number VIII, Demyx was... drawn. It was the flex of long muscles, visible even under the coat, because his senior wears the uniform like a second skin, instead of some kind of shield from the rest of the worlds. It was bold and brash and defiant, and it made his breath catch.

Things haven't become any better since.

His skin burns every time Axel touches it, hot and hissing and stinging, until sometimes, he thinks he'll evaporate away into nothing. He's pretty sure it's not a good thing, that... that feeling, but he's far past caring.

And there's something else, too; that other side of himself. The part that sees fire, and wants to smother it. To leave Axel cool and dripping and breathless. To take that incredible speed and grace of his, and slow him down to something Demyx can keep up with.

Fire is weak against water, but it's kind of hard for Demyx to remember that; Axel is so overwhelming sometimes. Most times. All the time, even when he's cool enough that his skin doesn't burn, and Demyx almost doesn't yearn to smother him at all.

The halls are empty. Unusually empty, even for the Castle in The World That Never Was, as Demyx wanders through them, thinking about Axel.

Axel Axel Axel.

Sometimes he wonders if he's obsessed; he wonders if Axel thinks about him as much.

It's about then that he finds himself pressed against one of the cold white walls of the castle.

"We're all alone, you know," Axel's voice says matter-of-factly into his ear. Demyx knows that Axel has to be on his toes a little, because he's shorter, and their boots don't exactly have heels (enough for a stirrup, and that's about it, a distant part of his mind observes).

The heat of Axel's body is more intense than his physical presence is, Demyx thinks, just sinking right through the layers between them, like they aren't even there...

...Axel's projecting, he realises, and pushes back, getting himself turned around. He doesn't really feel safe with Axel at his back. There's fire in Axel's eyes, brilliant green like something chemical.

"What do you mean, 'we're all alone?'" he asks.

"What do you think I mean?" Axel replies. "We're all alone. All the others are out on missions. Even the Superior is off doing something." His long clever fingers (still safely gloved) are pulling at the zipper of Demyx's coat, sliding it up from the bottom, and brushing against Demyx's skin.

The glove is almost as hot as his hand.

Oh Kingdom Hearts the glove his almost as hot as his hand, and Demyx's skin hisses and burns, fractional pieces of himself melting away into the air. He gasps, arching up into it; it hurts, it hurts, it hurts and yet--

Axel's mouth is hotter than his gloved hands, and almost as wet as Demyx's own skin. Demyx moans shamelessly, arching into that, or trying to, except Axel's making it hard by moving over to his shoulder, but that's fine. It's just fine.

He is so glad he stopped wearing a shirt under his coat. So glad. And doubly so when Axel's hands are sliding in around his waist, gloved fingers moving over his skin, to hold him closer.

He notices that Axel still hasn't even so much as unzipped his coat which he thinks a just a little unfair. But then Axel's kissing him, and his mouth is so hot and dry, sucking the moisture right out of him, filling him with the taste of smoke and sulphur, and leaving the lingering flavour of ash behind.

"What-- what if they, you know, come back?" he gasps, when Axel breaks away. Axel snorts, a soft brush of hot breath against Demyx's skin.

"Of course they'll come back," he says. "That's half the fun." Then he looks up, and his eyes are very, very green, and he's grinning like a razor's edge, and then he stretches out, flexing his body against Demyx's.

"Okay," Demyx finds himself saying, breathlessly. The razor's edge stretches wider, and Axel's hands are on his, guiding them to the zipper of his coat. Demyx can totally take the hint.

Axel's coat is very, very tight; there's almost no difference between it, and Axel's skin, hot, and thin enough Demyx could almost wrap his hands around his waist. Although he's never tried; he's not sure how Axel would react to it. He flaunts his body, the way no other Nobody, not even Demyx's own Dancers, do, but.

There's something very standoffish about him, as if he knows some secret that none of the rest of them do.

Demyx gives a breathless laugh, and then shakes his head, when Axel starts to ask something.

"Nothing. It's nothing," he says, sliding gloved hands over Axel's narrow waist, his thumbs stretching up to brush his ribs. His hands reach each other around Axel's back, and he pulls off both his gloves in a single well-coordinated movement; he's quite proud of it, really.

Even though he's ready for it, he gasps when his hands touch Axel again. And Axel leans into it, his body flexing, long muscles moving over bones, leans into it, even though Demyx suspects it hurts him almost as much.

Then Axel's kissing him again, and they're both moving, and his hands are still on Axel, and he can feel him moving, until Demyx has lost a boot, and one leg of his pants, and is definitely definitely pressed against the wall, and the hiss of steam is a constant echoing in his ears.

He raises his free leg, worming it under the drape of Axel's coat, and and and that's hot, oh Kingdom Hearts that's hot and burning, and he feels his mouth fall open wider, but no sound comes out, because he can't get enough breath for that. Axel's hands (still gloved, still hot) slide under his thighs, lifting a little, a silent promise to suppport his weight.

And that's how they end up, before long, with Demyx very firmly pressed against the wall, Axel holding him up, and pressing into him, so fucking slowly. It burns, but it's good, because it feels like something, and Axel really knows how to use his body.

He's burning from the inside, and melting from the outside, and the way Axel moves still feels good. It makes him hyperaware of his own body. His skin, pressed between leather, and hard metal pieces (leaving marks in his skin), burns and prickles and steams, and wisps away into nothing.

He wonders if Axel realises that, that all that steam all around them is him. And then Demyx can't think anymore, because Axel's moving harder, and faster, and flaring his bodyheat, so much that Demyx feels like he's melting, and nothing else.

It's kind of different like this, where they have to worry about things like balance, but even then, Demyx doesn't really have to worry about it. Axel's doing all the hard work, and all he has to do is hold on. Which is good.

Axel comes before he does - he can feel it - but since he's still working to bring Demyx off, his whole body moving, and his hands deft enough for music (and he wonders why sometimes Axel doesn't play; he'd probably be good) doing terrible things, it's just. Fine. With him.

They can both feel the change when someone comes home; Demyx can tell that, because he feels Axel's muscles tighten in exactly the same way his own do, and he mutters something uncomplimentary. But there are steps approaching.

"--Axel--" he gasps.

"I know," Axel mutters into his shoulder. One of his hands comes away from Demyx long enough to gesture for the Assassin he can see out of the corner of his eye to gather things up, and then they're falling through the darkness, onto Axel's bed, in his stiflingly hot room.

If he needed to breathe, Demyx is sure he wouldn't be able to; it's that bad. Hot, and dry, worse than the desert of Agrabah. Axel's hands are still hotter. And still on him, even as the Assassin deposits stray uniform pieces, and then leaves again.

He picks up almost right where he left off, and it isn't long before Demyx is left doubly breathless; he can't breathe through the dry heat, and he can't breathe from the touch of Axel's hands and Axel's body and he can really forget that he doesn't need to.

When he's done, he's aware that Axel's wiping his hand off on his bedding, and then he collapses next to Demyx. They're both sticky and damp, and Demyx is distantly amazed that he hasn't evaporated yet.

There's a line of tension in him, because he never knows these days if Axel's going to kick him out or not, and he's feeling too worn to do anything about it himself. Axel shifts, and Demyx more hears the movement than sees it, and then abruptly, a bare hand and a bare arm are sliding over his stomach, steaming him away as it settles.

Axel says nothing, but Demyx can live with that.