Nobody had to stay with me, but you did anyway. You're like the ketchup to my fries...if I liked ketchup, anyway. *Written for Demyx/Axel Day, yaoi, Demyx POV
A/N: I started writing this at 3:30 in the a.m. o__0 I don't know why or how, but all of the sudden , I started writing, and next thing I know, I've got a half a page going. So, a one-shot for Dexel (?) Day, Demyx and Axel, fire and water. Hope you like!
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Maybe it's something in the way he simply stares, like he's trying to memorize every damn cell of my being. Like I'm an Escher painting and he can't help but try to figure me out. Like I'm the only thing keeping him anchored to this dreary world and everything in it. Like...I'm a triple cheeseburger with super-sized fries and a McFlurry milkshake after a night of boozing it up.
It was amazing, the way they had such good chemistry for such disparate personalities; the way they came together was nothing short of explosive. One minute they could be so tender with each other, murmuring in each other's ears, fingers whispering across heated skin, lips caressing gently to coax out the soft cries. And the next second, it would almost seem more like they were fighting rather than making love: the struggle for dominance clear in each of their eyes, one set a sparking emerald and the other an oceanic abyss. The muscled bodies twist and turn, tangled in each other, frantically clutching to whatever allowed them enough of a grip. And then back again; the calm assurances in his ear, the careful kisses on his face. But this was how then always were, how they'd always done it; neither saw any reason to change.
I've always found him to be endearing, in that sort of “last-puppy-in-the-box” way. I mean, don't get me wrong—I love him, weirdness and all, but...I think that's why I love him. We're a lot more alike than people think. People call me weird, and people call him weird. But I get his weirdness, and he gets mine. And most of the time, other people don't. And then we're just a couple of weirdos.
Tonight was no different. Half a bottle of Lucid Absinthe Supérieure sat on the kitchen table, long forgotten by the two men in the bedroom. Not that they needed to be drunk to enjoy each other's company; no, the alcohol only added an interesting new flavor to Axel's usually cinnamon-tasting mouth. And it was delicious. Demyx couldn't get enough of it. Impatiently shifting underneath the redhead's tame touches, he finally snapped, pushing hard at Axel until he fell to the bed beside him. Without giving him a chance to argue, the musician quickly claimed the redhead's mouth, giving his tongue something to do other than mouth off in indignation.
And then the fire! Usually I'm scared shitless of it—I can't stand the heat or the way it's so wild and unpredictable. But with him, it's okay. I trust him not to let me get hurt, not to hurt me himself. He's got this fire in his soul, and let me tell you—I sure as hell am not scared of that one. Passionate Axel is my favorite. The sex is awesome...except for the one time we almost burned down the apartment.
After a few moments of kissing him roughly, Demyx felt Axel's hand lightly cup the back of his head. It was the only warning he received as Axel suddenly pulled away from Demyx's lips, tracing his jawline with his tongue. Slowly, deliberately, he kissed and nibbled his way down the musician's neck, maneuvering him onto his back, and with his hands splayed over Axel's back, Demyx could feel every subtle shift in the redhead's muscles. Ragged gasps escaped his body as a feeling much more profound than lust crept its way into his soul. “Ah—Axel,” he moaned, cautioning the other to his condition. The redhead glances into the blond's eyes and immediately understands, allowing Demyx to take the lead again.
Sometimes he scares me, thought. Not like “horror movie” scary, or like “psychopath” scary. More like, “He makes me feel like I'm drowning in my own soul” scary. That's some scary shit. I always worry what would happen one day if it actually happened, if I drowned in my soul. I wonder if Axel knows CPR for that sort of thing? He better.
He was always gentle at first, never rushing his initial entry for fear of hurting Axel. But the moment the redhead gave him the okay, he would simply lose himself to instinct. Pinned to the mattress beneath his spindly-fingered hands, Axel seemed so far away from his usually controlling personality. And that was the way they liked it. Axel just couldn't see himself thrusting into the delicate blond like Demyx did to him; he could never be so bold as to assert himself in the one place where Demyx always held the upper-hand. The blond was just so much more experienced in reading people's bodies, especially his own. He always knew how to touch him, when to kiss him, whether or not he was enjoying it. “Nngh...yes,” he breathed out, only to be cut off by his own moans and shudders. Demyx loved hearing Axel like that; one of the few times he was truly quiet was when they were making love, so he could hear exactly what Axel sounded like in true ecstasy and commit it to memory. “Axel,” he whispered, leaning close to the redhead's ear, “come for me.”
And, I mean, it's not like we're dysfunctional or anything. We're good to each other. We kiss and make up after we fight. His mom likes me; my friends like him. I remember our anniversary...when he reminds me. And he always manages to get me something I really want for Christmas...even if it means he has to bum-rush a 6-year-old girl to get it.
Demyx's favorite part of making love to Axel was when it was all over, the still, balmy air settling around them as they lay wrapped in each others' arms. Demyx liked to trace the various tattoos on his lover's body: the upside-down triangles on his face, the VIII on his left pectoral, and the sunburst around his navel. Every once and a while Axel chuckled softly as Demyx's trailing fingertips tickled him, and Demyx would press his lips to the spot, remembering it for later. After a while, he laid his head against Axel's chest, taking in the sounds. The lazy whup-whup-whup of the slowly turning ceiling fan, cars passing by outside on the street every few minutes, the overly loud television from the apartment next door—no doubt due to their noise—and beneath it all, the steady lubdub-lubdub-lubdub of Axel's heartbeat, reassuring him that yes, this was all real, and yes, this was all his.
I guess my point is that even though we may seem like we'd never have a functional relationship, Axel and I complete each other in ways neither of us could have imagined. Where I lack focus, he's got, like, a laser-point tracking system in his brain. When he gets all analytical and practical, I'm right there to make the nonsense seem like sound science. He's like the white to my rice, the hip to my hop, the bad to my ass...okay, maybe I should stop talking now.
