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Author of 16 Stories |
Disclaimer: One day, I’m gonna come up with something really clever to put here. And it’ll blow your minds away. Seriously. They’ll make a movie out of it. I’ll be on the Colbert Report. And everybody in the world will know Dual, and they will know that she will never own Kingdom Hearts. Or Sora. Dammit.
Author’s Notes: Firstly, before anyone says anything: yes, I'm aware that nymphomania is the term used for females, and the masculine equivalent is satyriasis. But really, I'd rather not throw in a term that obscure in the middle of a summary; nyphomania's enough as it is, and hypersexuality just sounded odd. Anyway...secondly! College has started again, and the classes are, to be perfectly 90’s, killer. And I mean that in the ‘S.O.S. Someone save me, plz,’ kind of way. Because of that, I apologize, but updates and revisions for SGW and View will be slow in the coming. Rest assured though, that they are coming. Anyway…I hope you all enjoy!
Warnings: Yaoi and Het. A bit of 11/9. Pseudo-exhibitionism. Shameless use of a Bedazzled quote. And not-a-virgin!Demyx, who gets so little love it’s not even funny.
Dedications: To ShadowAili. This fic, dear? IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT, AND YOU KNOW IT. But I have to say that I had a helluva good time writing it! Much love!
Shout!
You know you make me wanna-
Day one: morning.
The worst thing about living in an apartment, Zexion decided - as one particularly drawn-out moan pierced through the thin walls of his small bedroom and made him trip over the legs of the pants he was attempting to slip into - were the neighbors. And the fact that he had them.
It was the first week of his junior year at university, and Zexion had spent the last few days happily saying a mental goodbye to the horrors of dorm-life. Two years on campus - that was all HBU required of its undergraduates, and then they had their choice of living space. Apartments outside the college, maybe. Moving back in with parents, for those who lived in Hollow Bastion. Or perhaps they might choose the comfortable little university-owned suites on Central, where frats and sororities were a thing of the past, where the residences were equipped with a pre-paid Laundromat, and where each room came with its own kitchenette.
Bliss.
Or at least, it should have been. And it really had - for a while. Zexion had enjoyed three days of solitude, productivity, and the joy that was moving himself into his own little piece of real estate on Central Campus, rearranging his room, filling his walk-in closet with an obscene amount of dress-shirts and pants (most in monochrome), setting up his internet access, and stocking the fridge chockfull of microwaveable dinners, milk, and enough yoghurt to feed a garrison.
It had been perfect. Wonderful. Nothing short of ecstasy. Zexion had left nothing to chance; he’d accounted for everything. He’d made lists. He’d created an inventory. His textbooks and DVDs were arranged on a shelf in alphabetical order. His shirts were organized by color. Not a single mote of dust could be found in the entirety of the domicile. His suite was comfortable, lavish, and quite to his taste. The dark curtains let in just the right amount of light. The thermostat was forever kept at a moderate 74 degrees Fahrenheit. His desk had been filled to the brim with pencils, pens, stickies, and white-out. His drawers were overflowing with computer paper, notebooks, and staples. The world was exactly as it should be.
Zexion had accounted for everything. His lists had been checked in triplicate. His inventories had been posted on the refrigerator. His internet connection ran at what seemed to be the speed of light. Everything had been perfect. Life had been perfect.
Except, you know, for that one teensy-weensy, but ever-so-crucial, little tiny detail. The one thing that brought his carefully constructed house of cards tumbling around his ears. The one thing Zexion, in his arrogance-masquerading-as-self-possession, had forgotten to factor in.
The Neighbors.
Zexion grit his teeth and climbed back onto his feet, shooting a vindictive glare at the wall. No. That was incorrect. Zexion had accounted for the neighbors. Really. He’d spent a grand total of three seconds accounting for them.
And then he’d realized that the neighbors didn’t quite matter, anyway, because Zexion had little intention of ever associating with them.
(Zexion, to tell the truth, rarely had much of an inclination to associate with anybody. Which wasn’t to that he was a recluse. He was just picky. He had high standards. It just so happened that not many people ever met those standards. Hence the not-associating-with-the-neighbors-ness)
On the other side of the wall the bed started thumping. Zexion resisted the urge to cover his ears with a pillow. It was eight o’clock in the morning. Surely no one had sex-drives at eight o’clock in the fucking morning.
Little bits of plaster started fluttering down from the ceiling, and Zexion closed his eyes. The wise thing to do would be to walk over to his neighbor’s room, knock on the door, and demand a cessation. You know. Something like: ‘Hello, my name is Zexion. I’m currently residing next door. Would you mind withdrawing from your girlfriend, please?’
Or he could do something that would not get him shot, and go right ahead with what he’d been trying to do for the last fifteen minutes: finish getting dressed for work so he could get the fuck out of his room and out of earshot of his neighbor, who was apparently screwing his girlfriend into the mattress, and quite merrily.
Thump thump thump thump ohhh harder, give it to me harder!
With one last glare at the wall, he hurriedly slipped his feet into shoes, decided he would tie them later, and rushed out of the door. He locked it, and took off at a speedy clip.
A long, throaty shout followed him down the corridor.
Zexion closed his eyes, narrowly avoided bumping into a wall, and decided that this was going to be a long year.
The Rare Books, Manuscripts, and Special Collections department of Great Maw Library was, without a doubt, the shittiest place to work in all of HBU.
Two years ago, Zexion - still a wide-eyed freshman eager for a bit of resume-padding - had thought the place sounded, for lack of a better term, romantic. Rare books - how quaint! Ancient tomes scattered aesthetically upon plush cushions; lines of text written painstakingly three hundred years ago; carefully rolled papyrus manuscripts lovingly placed in their little cubbies; the crisp scent of paper wafting through a room lit by candles. When Zexion had pictured a job at Special Collections, these were the images that had drifted through his mind, painting a delicate tapestry of warm hues and a cozy atmosphere.
In reality, Zexion spent twelve hours a week holed up in a cubicle so tiny his hands hit the wall every time he stretched, wearily sorting documents into manila folders. One after another after another. For months. Years. And when all of the stamping and labeling and erasing was finally done, every folder description had to be inputted into a huge-ass html file, so that the university could have a huge-ass inventory of every single article, letter, and yellowed newspaper clipping pertaining to a certain subject, all available on the HBU website for whatever geek, grad student, or psycho actually cared about (Zexion came to a halt in front of his cubicle and blinked at the name engraving a hundred boxes filled to the brim with paper) Dr. Yen Sid, amateur magician.
He frowned and slid into his chair, idly nodding at Namine, the little sophomore working in the cubicle beside his. It was the first day of a new year, working for menial wages at the shittiest place on campus. A hundred boxes worth of information to sort, catalogue, label, and input. One year to do it.
At least, that’s what old Professor Ansem had said during their phone conversation the day before: It’s a fairly large collection. It will most likely take you the entirety of the year to finish. You do remember how to use Excel, correct? Zexion had responded with an offended silence, and Professor Ansem had laughed.
Right, he’d continued. I’m assuming you haven’t forgotten how to use X-Metal, either.
Of course I haven't, Zexion had replied. I’ve been working with it for the last two years, sir.
I know, and you use it a far cry better than the majority of our full-time employees do, my boy.
Zexion had allowed himself a smile at the praise, and had murmured a quiet word of thanks. And then had come the kicker.
It’s because of this that I’ve decided to delegate unto you the task of instructing our new work-study student. I believe he’s a fellow junior. He’ll be assisting you this coming year.
And while Zexion was trying to splutter out a disagreement, Ansem had said his farewells, leaving him with well-wishes and a single closing statement.
Oh, and Zexion? Do try to be nice to the boy.
Zexion snorted, grabbing a box and placing it on the island-esque counter that followed the circumference of the cubicle. Nice to the boy. He was expected to be nice to the boy, when the idiot was already (Zexion glanced up at the clock, and his frown increased) eight minutes late. On his first day of work.
He carefully smoothed his expression, displacing the small grimace that had formed between his eyebrows. It wouldn’t do to appear angry so soon into the school year. Namine would probably notice, would probably walk over with her gentle smile and kind eyes and ask if anything was the matter, you know you can always talk to me, and would you like to join us for dinner to celebrate the start of the new year?
He muffled another snort, opening a folder and peering into its contents. Right. As if his course schedule and work load was so leisurely as to allow hours spent in boring company, listening to Namine and Sora and Kairi and Ricky-what’s-his-face banter about their summers while he sat on the outskirts, idly eating pasta and pretending he cared, for the sake of inter-office relations.
Oh, whatever. That agony could be averted easily enough. Providing he didn’t lose his temper with the new kid, anyway (Twelve minutes late, and counting).
With one last roll of his eyes, he began flipping through the contents of the folder. The furrow between his eyebrows deepened in concentration. Newspaper clippings, bulletins, newsletters…all from the Twilight Town Times, circa 1960. He lifted a pen, carefully measured the amount of space he’d need to write a label, and placed the tip of the utensil to the manila folder.
And then a loud crash smashed through the silence of the room, and all heads snapped towards the entrance, where a tall blond with broad shoulders was holding the door open, breathing heavily. His eyes quickly scanned the room, flitting over the cubicles until they alighted on Zexion. He grinned.
“Sorry,” the blond smiled, words still a little breathy. He began walking over, oblivious to the blank stares the entire room was giving him. “Slept through my alarm clock, and then remembered that I’d forgotten to take a shower last night. You know how it is.” He glanced at the clock, and his smile gave way to a large grin. “Oh, I’m only twenty minutes late? I thought for sure it’d be more than an hour!” And with that, he plopped into the extra seat beside Zexion’s, smirking fit to burst.
“Hey,” he said, holding a large hand towards the dumbstruck man sitting before him. “I’m Demyx. Old Man Ansem said I’d be working with you. On the Yen Sid shit, I mean. I think. You are Zexion, right?”
Zexion stared at him, the slant of his eyebrows increasing with each passing moment. Oh, dear. They’d sent him an idiot. An irresponsible, unpunctual, loudmouthed idiot. And he was expected to put up with this kid for the remainder of the year?
“Yes,” he said curtly, turning back to his documents. “I’m Zexion.” And then, without missing a beat: “There are a hundred and seven boxes in the collection. We’ll be cataloguing every single one of them. The stamps are in the drawer to your right. Once you’re done stamping each folder with the collection title - that would be the large Yen Sid stamp sitting directly to your left - you’ll need to flip through the contents of the folders and come up with an adequate folder description, which must be written in legible print on the upper right hand corner of each manila envelope. I’ll be simultaneously inputting the data into the X-Metal program, so you’ll need to be quick.”
Demyx blinked. “Umm,” he said, brow furrowing slightly. “I’m on the swim team?”
Zexion blinked back. “Excuse me?”
“I mean.” Demyx frowned, sweeping a hand through his upswept locks of hair. “Yeah. I…kind of thought we could have a conversation first? To get to know each other, maybe? Since we just met? And we’re working together?”
“Maybe, when you stop giving your statements inflections that belong solely to questions, I’ll consider a conversation,” Zexion responded dryly. “Or not, seeing as how this is a workplace, and I am not here to make small talkSo if you’ll kindly begin labeling?”
Demyx’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. His hands were fidgeting, one clasping and unclasping in what Zexion thought for a moment was sign language, the other tapping strange patterns against the counter. “I…” he began, then faltered. He shot a strange, almost confused look at his already-quietly-working superior. “You sort of suck.”
“Ah,” Zexion answered. “I’ll be sure to remember that for future reference. Your work, please?”
“Would you please stop tapping on the counter?” Zexion sighed. He cast his slightly annoyed-mostly indifferent gaze on the long fingers beating a wild rhythm on the desk. “It’s distracting, and I’m sure you’ll get more work done if you utilize both hands to their full capacity. Things come out better that way, I find.”
Demyx glanced at him, eyes wide with something almost resembling shock. His fingers curled in on themselves, and he shrugged. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t realize I was doing it.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Zexion murmured magnanimously. “Have you finished the second box?”
The blond blinked. “I…” He turned his stare back downwards, then shrugged. “Almost.”
“So, did you hear about the party Notre Dame House is throwing tomorrow night?” Demyx asked, leaning back on his chair and setting his stamp down. “The theme’s Catholic Schoolgirls. It was pretty wild last year. You coming?”
The question actually shocked a pause out of Zexion, who turned to stare at the young man aiming a tentative grin at him. “A party?”
“Yeah,” Demyx laughed. “Me and some of my friends are the entertainment. We’re gonna be playing from ten to two. You should seriously come.”
Zexion stared at him.
Now, here were a few things he could do here. He could accept, for one. It might be fun. He could show up at a party, play a bit of beer pong, ogle svelte female athletes in short plaid skirts and half-unbuttoned shirts.
Or, you know, he could not do something completely out of character.
Zexion scoffed. “You honestly believe me to be the sort of person who frequents college frat parties, where it is the express desire of the entire populace to leave the premises completely intoxicated and minus whatever undergarments they were wearing when they arrived?” He lifted a derisive eyebrow, cocking his head upwards. “No. Even accounting for the scant amount of time we’ve spent as acquaintances, I’d have assumed you’d have realized at least that much about me. My fault for believing you possessed even slightest modicum of intelligence, I suppose. ”
The muscles in Demyx’s face went slack for a moment. Then his eyes narrowed. “I’m not stupi-”
“Of course you’re not,” Zexion interrupted, dismissing him with a single wave of his hand. “Get back to work.”
Demyx scowled, hands flying through the air to come to a rest on his thighs. “Bastard, I was trying to be nice. I just asked-”
“And I answered,” Zexion said with a world-weary sigh. “The next folder, please?”
“You know, you really suck.”
“Hey, Zexion, I can’t find the years for these folders.”
The slate-haired man shrugged, refusing to look away from the computer screen. “Label it ‘undated,’ then.”
“But I think they’re from the same set as these other folders over here.”
“Then make an educated guess. I assume you can do that much.”
Demyx’s mumbled something under his breath. Zexion turned to gape at him.
“What did you just say?”
“Nothing. I said nothing.”
“Because I could have sworn you just called me a-”
“Haha, what a funny guy. Please. As if I’d really call you a bitch-ass jerk-off who couldn’t fish the metal pole outta his ass if he had a magnetic rod. Hahaha. I’d never be so rude to someone who didn’t deserve it. Ha ha. Ahem. The next folder, please?”
“So, I’ve got this huge essay to write.”
“And this is my problem?”
“Shut up. I’m just saying that I’m taking tomorrow off.”
“Oh. Well, I’ll remember to thank the Lord for small mercies.”
“The tapping. You’re doing it again.”
“It’s just tapping.”
“It’s annoying. Stop.”
“Well, excuse me if Mr. Prissy-Priss-” tap tap taptaptap “-needs complete and total silence while he’s working, but some of us do better with a bit of background noise.”
“Background noise doesn’t sound nearly as irritating as your poor excuse for a rhythm does. So stop.”
“How about no?”
Silence, tap-tap-tap, then: “Look, do you hate me or something?”
Zexion glanced up from his desktop for the first time in an hour, honestly surprised. He turned to stare at the blond sitting beside him, who was slouching in his seat, fingers twisting across the air in strange patterns.
“No,” he answered, truthfully.
“Oh, good,” Demyx sighed, sounding almost relieved. “For a while there, I thought-”
“No,” Zexion continued. “I don’t care enough about you to hate you.”
Silence.
“You have realized that you’re a big fat bitch, right?” Demyx muttered finally.
“Well, you are an idiot, so I suppose that makes us even.”
The blond growled, slumping in his char. “Y’know,” he grumbled. “Sometimes I kinda maybe think I don’t want to work with you anymore.”
“Demyx, you have no idea how happy that would make me.”
“Oh, keep typing, geek.”
Demyx didn’t show up for work.
He didn’t show up the next day, either.
“So, you finally scared the poor kid off?” Riku drawled, walking up to Zexion’s station and leaning against the desk. “Too bad. I kind of liked him.”
“He spent the entire time talking,” Zexion said calmly, even as his fingers spasmed on the keyboard. “It was distracting. Quite frankly, I don’t see what there is to like.”
“That’s because you don’t have a heart,” Riku smirked. He pushed off of the desk and sauntered away. “It really is a shame. He was cool. He called you names. It did wonders for the atmosphere.”
Zexion stifled a grimace and continued working.
But…
It was a bit of a shame. Without Demyx, he was falling a bit behind in his work. He had to do both labeling and inputting all by himself.
And he was starting to find it a bit difficult to work without some sort of background noise.
Demyx was in his usual seat when Zexion showed up for work the next day. Sora was sitting in Zexion’s chair, eyes wide and eager, lips moving a mile a minute. Demyx nodded at him, grinning, then caught sight of Zexion, who had paused in the doorway. Sora glanced over his shoulder at the quiet junior and stood up, whispering a few more words to the blond before he hop-skipped back to his own cubicle.
Zexion walked forward, sliding elegantly into his seat. Demyx grinned at him, his hands already reaching for a stamp.
“I thought you’d made good on your promise and left,” Zexion said suddenly, almost unaware of the words before they’d escaped his mouth. He scooted towards the computer and booted the machine up.
“Huh? Oh, that,” Demyx said, glancing up from his work. “Yeah, my Arabic professor scheduled a huge exam yesterday, so I asked Ansem for a few days off to study for it. Sorry I didn’t tell you.”
Zexion muffled a scoff, fingers already flying on the keyboard. “Why would I need you to tell me?”
Demyx turned back towards his papers, but Zexion caught the smallest smirk tilting his lips up before they disappeared behind blond bangs. “No reason, I guess. You didn’t get much work done while I was gone, did you?”
Zexion snorted, hunched over the typeset, and shoved another stack of folders in the idiot’s general’s direction.
Zexion woke up to the sound of muffled groans echoing through the wall he shared with his as-yet-unknown neighbors. He sat up, glaring at the plaster. Perfect. Just the way he wanted to begin the morning: listening to the jack-asses next door try to drill a hole through the floor. Again. Like they’d been doing every single fucking day since the beginning of school.
He lifted his hand to his head and blinked down blearily at his clock. Six in the morning. Six in the morning. Who the hell had sex at six in the morning? God dammit! What the fuck was wrong with these nymphomaniacs?!
He groaned irritably and resisted the rather manic urge to hurl his pillow at the wall. Instead, he pulled the covers over his head and prepared to fall back asleep.
“Ah!”
He shot a glare at the wall. Low, masculine gasps were growing progressively louder and more frenzied, rising in pitch with each passing moment. Zexion rolled over and buried his face in the cushions.
“Oh…fuck. Ah! Ohhh…”
He sighed. The guy was probably inexperienced. That’s why he couldn’t keep his voice down. He couldn’t have had his girlfriend long if he was still making those types of noises. Not that Zexion would know, seeing as how he’d never found much use in dating, but the internet was a marvelous tool, and one of the things Zexion had learned from its vast annals was that boys just didn’t make those kinds of noises. Not unless they were being dominated.
Almost despite himself, Zexion lifted his head slightly. Is that what it was? Was the guy next door dating a dominatrix? Hah. Vexen would surely get a bit of a laugh out of that.
“Ohhh…please. Oh, c’mon, c’mon, please!”
Zexion almost snorted, pressing his face a bit further into his pillow. Dating a dominatrix, indeed. The guy was practically begging.
“Ahh…”
He rolled his eyes. This was becoming progressively more and more pathetic with each passing moment. Seriously. If he was going to have to bear with sex-sounds at six o’clock in the fucking morning, they could at least make it interesting. They could say something blackmail-worthy, for example. Screaming out another person’s name. Using terrible, un-sexy euphemisms. Calling each other Mommy and Daddy, oh, that would be perfect.
Anything, really, as long as it wasn’t this boring, monotonous, repetitive-
“Oh God, Marluxia, give it to me harder!”
Zexion rolled off the bed.
Now, there comes a time in every man’s life where he must make a decision: to breathe, or not to breathe. Zexion, currently, was having quite a bit of a hard time breathing. For two reasons, really.
Reason Number One: Marluxia.
Marluxia.
As in, Marluxia, the stuck-up, bastard of a TA who delighted in making Zexion’s life miserable every time he stepped into Bio Lab. And who was - ha ha ha - male. And apparently gay. Which, really, did not match up with Zexion’s estimation of the arrogant fucker at all, but ‘Oh God, Marluxia, give it to me harder,’ did not leave much room for doubt.
And Reason Two. Oh, Reason Number Two: The voice.
The really, really familiar voice.
The really, really familiar voice that had, not a minute earlier, been screaming Marluxia’s name for the world to hear.
The really, really familiar voice that sounded oddly like the guy Zexion spent his every morning, eight to twelve, working with before he head off to - ha ha ha - Biology.
“Ohh, yes. Oh, God, you’re so good, you’re so good. Please, right there, there there there, oh-”
Zexion had to stifle a sudden, unexpected surge of hysterical laughter. Demyx! Demyx and-and Marluxia and Demyx, and they’d been living next to him this entire time, they’d been keeping him up at all hours of the night, moaning and groaning and thumping against the wall and-
“Ah!”
-and suddenly the noises weren’t boring, not at all, because just the knowledge that it was Demyx issuing them, Demyx, Demyx who was gonna walk into work two hours from now, that huge grin on his face, maybe limping a little - and here Zexion paused to go through his memory; had Demyx ever walked in limping before? Had he ever tumbled into his chair a bit too quickly, as if his legs weren’t enough to support himself? Had he ever hopped inside the room, grin a bit too bright for eight o’clock in the morning? Zexion scoffed. Only every day - waving a happy hello to Sora and Namine and Kairi and the rest before he plopped down in his seat and starting going through folders…no, the noises weren’t boring at all, now, and Zexion-
Zexion-
-didn’t quite know what to do about that. He climbed back into bed, quietly. The sounds on the other side of the wall kept increasing in volume. Demyx’s hoarse cries; Demyx’s abrupt, almost surprised, gasps; the occasional soft intake of breath, too deep to be his co-worker’s, too smooth.
Zexion stared up at the ceiling, eyes unseeing. Demyx was on the other side of that wall. It was…strange to think of it that way. Strange to picture his dark blond hair splayed on a pillow, strange to envision the muscles in his necks and arms stretched taut, strange to imagine ocean-green eyes wide and hazy, fingers clutching at the bed sheets as Marluxia bent him in half, plunging deeper and deeper inside that body.
Or maybe Demyx would be on his hands and knees. Or on his side. Straddling him. Riding him. Up and down and up and down, fingers digging rivulets into his skin, head tossed back, moaning and wailing and shouting Zexion, oh, oh, Zexion and-
There comes a time in every man’s life where he must make a decision: to breathe or not to breathe.
Zexion forced his pillow over his nose, closed his eyes, and opted for the latter.
Zexion stumbled into Special Collections a full seven minutes late. Riku took one look at him and burst into laughter.
“Dude,” he gasped through his hearty guffaws. “What,” wheeze, “the hell,” choke, “happened to you?!”
Zexion graced him with the most deadpan glare he could muster, which, being the reigning king of deadpan glares, was something of a marvel. Riku was too busy laughing to notice.
“You look like a fucking raccoon!” the platinum-haired boy rasped.
Sora came to a halt beside his best friend, blinking curiously up at Zexion. “I dunno,” he said, contemplating. “I’m seeing porcupine. Look at the way his hair’s sticking up.”
“Would you two imbeciles kindly remove yourselves from my presence?” Zexion snarled - quite uncharacteristically, really. “Last I heard, you weren’t being paid to gossip about what my hair-”
“Or your dark circles,” Riku interrupted.
“-looks like on any given day,” Zexion finished, glaring as hard as he could possibly glare. “Go away.”
Riku and Sora glanced at each other.
“So, like, I could lend you my hairbrush, if you wanted?”
Let it be known that Riku owes Demyx his life, because if the shapely young blond hadn’t sauntered in at precisely that moment, a monstrous hickey adorning his neck and a noticeable limp in his gait, Riku would have been a dead man. As it was, Zexion took one look at the softly whistling junior and all-but-sprinted to his seat.
Dimly, he could hear Namine and Kairi making a big fuss over the hickey-to-end-all-hickeys, could hear Sora’s soft murmur of awe, could hear the startled yelp Demyx made when Riku poked it. Dimly, of course, because Zexion was so not paying attention, and he definitely didn’t notice when Demyx waved them all away and plopped into the cubicle they shared.
“Hey, what’s up?” Demyx asked, grinning brightly.
Zexion mumbled something under his breath. Demyx blinked at him.
“Did you just say-?”
“No. I didn’t.”
“You did. You just said-”
“You’re hearing things.”
“No, really. You just said ‘you damn well know what’s up.’ I heard you.”
“…I think you’re lying.”
“And I think,” Demyx said slowly, eyes wide, “That you just made a sexual innuendo.” He blinked once, his right hand going up to stroke at the large purple blotch on his neck. The fingers were curled in on themselves. “Look, if it bothers you, I’m sorry for not wearing a scarf or something. It’s not like I’m flaunting this, I just-”
“You act as if I care,” Zexion said flatly. And truthfully. ‘Cause, like, he didn’t care. Really. “And that line wasn’t innuendo. When I said You damn well know what’s up, I was referring to the fact that you were ten minutes late. Again.” And hooray for being able to think on his feet. Because that line? Had so been innuendo. In fact, it had been the first perverted comment Zexion had ever made in his entire life. Years later, he would look back on this day and burn in shame, because for a first-sex-joke, it was sort of lame. But that is neither here nor there.
“Oh,” Demyx said slowly. His ears turned pink, and he dipped his head. “Sorry. It was just…you know, Riku and the rest. They were talking about it, so-”
“After over a month of acquaintanceship,” Zexion muttered, “I’d have thought you’d know better than to ever compare me with Riku.”
“Right,” Demyx murmured. “Yeah. So. Um. Where did we leave off yesterday?”
They worked in silence for a while, but Zexion could feel the muscles in his back winding themselves tighter and tighter with each passing moment. Every single tap of Demyx’s fingers on the desk magnified until they started sounding like the thump thumps of a bed against the wall. Which sort of sucked when one was trying to get work done. So really, you couldn’t quite blame Zexion for breaking the silence. Awkwardly.
“Look, I don’t care,” he muttered, interrupting Demyx’s rat-a-tat on the counter. The blond turned to look at him curiously, and Zexion sighed. “That you’re dating a man, I mean,” he clarified. “I don’t care. It doesn’t matter to me in the slightest that you’re having intercourse with a male.”
Demyx’s eyes widened, and he slumped down a bit in his seat. His mouth opened, worked uselessly for a bit, and then: “How did you know I was-”
“You’re limping,” Zexion interrupted brusquely. “Not much, but when you sit, you place most of your weight on your legs, as opposed to your posterior.” And you live right next to me and I can hear you going at it at six in the morning, but Zexion was so not going to say that. As far as he was concerned, doing so would be tantamount to admitting that he’d spent an hour listening to them screwing like bunnies, which probably counted as some sort of auditory voyeurism - something Zexion was in no way guilty of, thank you very much.
“Oh,” Demyx said. His mouth opened, then closed. “Oh. So. It doesn’t…bother you?”
“Not in the least,” Zexion declared. “What you do in your free time is none of my concern.”
“Oh,” Demyx repeated. His eyes darted to the sides, and his hands tangled themselves together. “That’s cool. I’m…glad. That you don’t care. I. I guess it would…sort of…suck. If you did. Us being co-workers an' all.”
“You’re right,” Zexion nodded. “It would.” And, feeling much more lighthearted, he turned back to his computer.
It was a good thing he didn’t care.
Not emotionally, of course. It was just that every morning he was waking up to the sound of laughter and moans and lusty shouts, and the audio track was doing a number on his sleeping habits. Because now, for some reason every time he closed his eyes he’d see Demyx on his back, or on his front, or on his knees, and he’d hear those same cries echoing through his head, and…
And, to borrow Demyx’s words, it sort of sucked. Except he couldn’t even think about that word anymore, because every time he did he’d remember that one day a while ago when the laughter in the other room had reached a crescendo and had suddenly stopped, muffled, and instead of Demyx’s shouts working their way through the air, Marluxia’s voice had risen in pleasure, and Zexion could just see it in his mind’s eye: Demyx, on his knees, worshipping his body with that pink mouth, nose coming to rest in pale gray curls, tongue flicking and swirling and-
-and at that moment, Zexion decided that he was, in a word, screwed.
The sad part was that it was only metaphorically.
Zexion’s obsession, however, did not begin innocently. It began with Demyx and Marluxia being quite obscene in the next room over.
And it ended-
Well.
Who says it ended?
“Do the two of you honestly need to have intercourse every single night?” Zexion snapped suddenly, his fingers coming to rest a bit harder than necessary on the keyboard. Beside him, Demyx jumped in his seat, eyes wide.
“Excuse m-”
“Don’t play coy,” Zexion snarled, deliberately working his fingers along the keys. “You come in every day hobbling like you’ve sprained your ankle. Your neck looks like you’ve tattooed a permanent collar onto it. Your wrists have been rubbed raw. It’s quite distracting.”
Demyx looked shocked for a moment, before his eyebrows furrowed. For a moment Zexion was sure the idiot was going to scream, but instead his lips tilted upwards, eyebrows dropping that slight fraction lower. “I thought you said you didn’t care,” he said, voice challenging. Zexion glared at his monitor.
“I don’t,” he agreed, the words a thousand times more calm than he really felt. “I’m just curious as to why.”
“Sounds like you’re more than curious,” Demyx muttered. He shrugged irritably. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. It’s not like you’d understand anyway. You know, seeing as how you’re probably still a virgin.”
Zexion stamped down angrily on the flush fighting its way up his neck and refused to deign the comment with an answer. A few moments later, Demyx sighed.
“It’s just good, alright?” he mumbled, shrugging again, the gesture decidedly casual. “We’re both consenting adults, and we’re roommates, so fooling around with each other’s convenient. And it’s not like we’re dating or anything, so-”
“You’re not dating?”
Demyx blinked, and Zexion thanked God for skin a few shades too dark to blush well. That hadn’t been too obvious. Insert copious amounts of sarcasm here.
“No,” the blond answered slowly, the words sounding almost flustered. “Course not. That’d be stupid. Dating your roommate, I mean. If you break up, it’d be royally awkward, huh? And anyway, he’s hopelessly infatuated with this psycho-bitch cousin of mine. You might have heard of her. She’s the one who electrocuted Professor Pervert last semester.”
Zexion blinked. “You’re referring to Larxene?”
“Uh. Yeah.”
“The one who somehow managed to accidentally bump Professor Frollo into a puddle of dishwater at the precise moment an electrical power cord severed itself from the ceiling and landed directly into the pool of water?”
Demyx coughed. “Yeah. Power cord. Dish…water. Accident. Fizzle.”
“The coincidental union of water and electricity proved near fatal for our poor professor.”
“Poor?! The lecher should’ve been locked up years ago!”
Zexion stared at him. “They say she was acquitted only because there was no way she could have manufactured such an elaborate deathtrap single-handedly, and no accomplice was ever found. ”
Demyx turned an interesting shade of puce and shrugged oddly. “Yeah. Well. It’s a good thing it was an accident! Hah hah. Hah. Heh.”
The slate-haired boy blinked at him, just once, then shrugged, his mind wandering back to more important matters. “And…Marluxia likes this schizophrenic madwoman.”
Demyx laughed weakly. “He thinks she’s funny.”
“Funny,” Zexion said flatly.
Demyx shrugged again, uncomfortably. “Well, yeah. He’s a bit of a freak, too, if you hadn’t noticed. So. Yeah. He likes my cousin. I’m just practice so that when he finally manages to tumble her, she’ll be all impressed with how suave and debonair he is in the sack.”
Zexion really had to put a halt to all of this shocked gaping. He closed his mouth slowly, mind attempting to process this new piece information. So…Marluxia and Demyx weren’t…dating?
He frowned, doing his level best to come up with a way to phrase that question so that he wouldn’t sound like a desperate loser.
“So…you’re not…dating?”
Demyx fidgeted, eyes darting away. His fingers curved through the air. “No.”
Zexion’s mouth opened, then closed. “Ah.”
Demyx twitched, hands clasping and unclasping against each other. “So, do I have your approval now?” he muttered, almost childishly. “Now that you’ve managed to embarrass the hell out of me, am I allowed to screw around with my roommate?”
No.
“I’ve told you, I don’t care whom you sleep with,” Zexion lied. “I just find it strange that you choose to do so everyday.” Twice a day. At all hours of the night. While I listen from next door and try not to masturbate to your voice.
“It’s sex,” Demyx said, staring at Zexion as if he were crazy. “If I could do nothing else all day, every day, for the rest of my life, I would be a happy, happy man. Nothing strange about that.”
Zexion sighed, closed his eyes, imagined sex with Demyx all day, every day, for the rest of his life, and realized that he was inclined to agree.
Except, now that he knew that his next-door neighbors weren’t actually romantically involved, sitting aside and doing nothing while Marluxia banged Demyx like a Salvation Army drum at odd intervals of the day was becoming more and more difficult.
One can see where Zexion might find himself in a difficult position. On the one hand, he’d just discovered that Demyx and Marluxia weren’t hopelessly in love with each other, which was only the best piece of news he’d received in five plus years. On the other hand…
Thump. Thump.
Zexion’s eye twitched. On the other hand…
“You know you want it, Demyx. Go on, ride it. Harder. Move your hips…yes. Just like that, you’re getting so good at this.”
Zexion shot a not-quite impassive glare at their joint wall, his fingers fisting in the bed sheets. That right there was the other hand. Romantically or not, Demyx and Marly-kins were still involved, and - if the mindless moans and gasps and pleas for more were any indication - Demyx was quite happy with their arrangement. Even if Zexion were the sort to interfere with the ‘relationships’ - and Zexion used the term loosely, because, as he had made it a habit of reminding himself every hour on the hour, Demyx and Marluxia were hardly in a relationship - of others, he’d still find himself hard-pressed to come up with a logical argument in favor of Demyx leaving Marluxia for him. Marluxia, after all, was a sure thing, and if those noises Demyx couldn’t seem to stifle - Zexion blinked. Had the idiot just gurgled?! - meant anything, they probably meant that Marluxia was very good at what they did.
And as much as it killed his pride to admit it, Zexion probably wasn’t.
You see, Zexion - being the sort who’d never really found much use in romance - was as virgin as the day he was born. Sex had always held little appeal for him; what was the point? It certainly wasn’t conducive to the memorization of random historical dates or chemical formulas, and thus was of no interest. Now, if sex could somehow be harnessed as a scholastic tool, well, that would be another story. But as it was, he just didn’t quite see the point to it, reproduction aside.
He’d tried to explain his thoughts to Vexen once. Hell, he’d created a presentation and everything. It had been a pretty cool presentation, complete with a slide show, pie graphs, and flow charts, all color coded. The bottom line was that his right hand was more than enough girlfriend for him, and, unlike any given member of the human race, required neither sustenance nor poor attempts at flirtation, and never bitched him out for forgetting their favorite color/song/day of the week.
(He’d actually been tempted to submit said presentation to his math teacher for extra credit, having managed to create an algorithm that calculated the exact amount of time and money he’d be able to save if he never had a relationship, ever, but had finally succumbed to Lexaeus, who insisted that, cool, groundbreaking algorithm aside, his teacher probably wouldn’t want to know how often Zexion masturbated a week.)
The point was, Zexion had never harbored much interest in sex-with-another-person, and so had never gone out of his way to research it. And oh, how he was regretting it now. If he could do high school all over again, he’d have paid more attention in the locker room. Or, you know. Learned how to have sex properly. Porn sites could only teach you so much. He’d probably have to practice quite a bit if he wanted to please Demyx as well as Marluxia (“Ah! Harder! Please, harder!“) apparently could.
He frowned petulantly. That, of course, was assuming he ever actually had a chance to prove himself sexually. Which wasn’t looking very likely, seeing as how Marluxia…you know. Existed. He sighed, and wondered if it would be at all within his budget to hire a hit man. A professional. Someone who had a Swiss account to which Zexion could wire a few thousand munny into. And when Demyx realized that his poor, unfortunate roommate had been lost to the cruelties of the world, Zexion would enter the scene stage-left, playing the comforting friend with absolutely no ulterior motives, who would, of course, eventually end up taking advantage of Demyx in his moment of need.
Heh.
Or, you know. He could just hook up Marluxia with Larxene.
Zexion sat up straight in his bed, the noises next door for once taking second place to the thoughts whirling in his head.
That was…really, the…the perfect solution. Death, after all, was a bit extreme. Not by much, of course, but if he could do without it, he would - and really, there was no guarantee Demyx would put out so soon after the death of his roommate.
(Plus, he felt sorta-kinda weird about taking advantage of Demyx like that. Just a little bit. Fucking conscience.)
However, if Larxene were to hypothetically respond to Marluxia’s advances, Demyx would hypothetically find himself without a fuck buddy. Which would, hypothetically, open up room for Zexion to insinuate himself into the idiot’s good graces.
Of course, the idea of playing matchmaker kind of rankled his masculine pride, but Zexion had always prided himself on his logic. What use was pride if he ended up losing?
(Though, really, the term ‘losing,’ when used in reference to another human being, was beginning to nip at his conscience, also. What a time to grow one, huh? Demyx was proving to be something of a - shudder - good influence on him. How troublesome.)
And so, Zexion came to a decision.
In the room next door, Demyx orgasmed.
Zexion, being Zexion, found little use in procrastination. When he plotted, he liked using the first available opportunity . This left him time to regroup if said plots didn’t pan out quite the way he wanted them to.
(Zexion’s plots, being Zexion’s plots, always panned out the way he wanted them to.)
And so, a confident Zexion strolled into Trinity Café at two in the afternoon, fifteen minutes after Bio Lab ended. (Marluxia had been particularly smug today. Bastard.) He walked up to the register, crossed his arms calmly, and said, “I’d like a Honeydew Bubble Tea with tapioca, and a chocolate chip muffin. Oh. And your cousin.”
From behind the counter, a petite woman with slicked-back blond hair and odd looking bangs blinked at him. She did this for a moment before her lips quirked up in a nasty smile and her fingers began flying across the color-coded cash register. “I’m sorry, sir,” she smirked, shrugging offhandedly. “But we don’t have a button for Demyx on the register. Otherwise, your total comes out to 4.58 munny. How will you be paying?”
Zexion smirked right back at her, lifting an eyebrow delicately. “Food points. And yes,” he sighed, slipping a laminated I.D. card out of his wallet and placing it in Larxene’s outstretched hand, “I am aware of the fact that your cousin is not available on the menu. Pity. That, however, is why I came here. I have a proposition for you.”
Larxene swiped his card on the register, but did not hand it back to him. Instead, she cocked her hips, placing one arm akimbo and used the other one to hold Zexion’s card aloft, twirling it lazily through the air. “Oh?”
Zexion’s smirk widened. “Do you like the color pink?”
Demyx stumbled into work sixteen minutes late and blearily made his way to his chair. Zexion hid a smirk behind the curtain of dark hair falling over his face and inclined his head slightly towards the dazed blond. “You’re late again.”
Demyx blinked at him. “Wha?”
“I said, you’re late,” Zexion murmured, his fingers resuming their motion on the keyboard. “Sixteen minutes.”
“Oh,” Demyx said blankly. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” And then: “I didn’t have sex last night.”
I know, Zexion smirked internally. I slept eight entire hours without once being woken up. Aloud, he said, “And you think I care, why?”
“I…I don’t.” Demyx said. He looked so confused it was almost cute. “My cousin. And my roommate. They’re monsters. Beasts. They’re going to bring about Ragnarok. Armageddon. The end of the world. She skipped work yesterday. They haven’t left her room in forty-eight hours. He never fucked me like that,” he muttered petulantly.
Zexion bowed his head and pressed his fingers to his lips. Underneath his palm, his mouth stretched into a triumphant grin. “So, no sex?”
Demyx groaned, thumping his head against the counter. “Oh, God.”
Demyx was twitchy. He spilled coffee all over the day’s work.
Zexion was in such a good mood that he only bitched him out for half an hour, instead of the usual two.
Zexion got ten entire hours of sleep. Marluxia, apparently, had moved into Larxene’s room.
Demyx, on the other hand, had taken to masturbating at random intervals throughout the entire day. Zexion almost walked in on him in the library restroom, but had recognized the noises coming from within just in time. Demyx emerged five minutes later, started when he realized Zexion was waiting outside, turned bright red, and wouldn’t look him in the eye for the next hour.
And Zexion was quite pleased.
Fucking Marluxia.
Anyway. Yes, he’d succeeded in his nefarious plot to remove Marluxia from the picture. But Zexion was still Demyx-less. Which kind of defeated the purpose of said nefarious plot.
Hypothetically, he could ask the idiot out. Hell, hypothetically, Demyx might even say yes. But straightforwardness wasn’t quite Zexion’s style. No, subtle manipulation was more Zexion’s style.
So, subtle manipulation it would be.
“-so, in the end, Myde discovered that his one true love had actually been right under his nose the whole time.”
Demyx stared at him, brow furrowed. “I never woulda pegged you as a romantic.”
“The Tale of Organization XIII is hardly a romance, Demyx,” Zexion said stiffly. “It is a tragic story of betrayal, darkness, and the ill-fated quest to regain the one thing that matters most in life.”
“Uh huh,” Demyx said, voice flat. “Which is why you spent the last five minutes telling me how Ienzo and Myde finally found happiness in each other, despite the twisted machinations of the sinister Lamuria, and how, despite their every endeavor to the contrary and the unmitigated love they shared, they finally met with death at the hands of their enemies.”
“Yeah,” Zexion said. “Tragic.”
“-but contrary to what most will tell you, the most successful relationships actually do begin in the workplace. The synergy inherent in their romance will translate into an infallible ruthlessness at work, which will benefit both their career and their love. Similar to the way the fiercest armies were those ancient ones constructed wholly of male paramours, office relationships are among the most productive and satisfactory in existence.”
“Zexion.”
“Yes?”
“All I wanted was a pencil.”
Pause. “And your point is?”
“My point is, what the hell are you talking about?”
“You know, Demyx, you’re making this very difficult.”
“You know, Zexion, I wish you came with a translator. ‘Cause all I’ve been hearing this past month is blah blah blah.”
“I’ve been thinking, Zexion,” Larxene drawled, lazily spooning three scoops of Honeydew powder into the blender. “I’m not quite sure this whole ‘subtle manipulation’ thing is gonna work on Demyx. Just saying.”
“I came here for Bubble Tea and a chocolate chip muffin,” Zexion said stiffly. “Not for love advice.”
“Careful, darling, before I stick your face in the blender and hit liquefy. Two teaspoons of sugar?”
“Please.”
“As I was saying,” Larxene said, lazily leaning against the counter. “The problem, Zexion, is your absolute refusal to admit that there just might exist anyone in the world as intelligent as you yourself are. Which, if the last month and a half is any indication, isn’t really saying much, but hey, what can you do?”
“My Bubble Tea, please?” Zexion said tightly. Larxene, of course, ignored him, but her smile grew decidedly mischievous.
“You’re fairly intelligent, Zexion,” she smirked. “But your sin is hubris. Master manipulator you may believe yourself to be, but you’re really not as opaque as you’d like to think you are, and you always neglect to factor outside stimulus into your equations.”
Zexion sighed and resigned himself to the fact that he’d probably have to see this conversation through to the end. “I’m not quite sure I understand what you mean.”
“What I mean, Zexion, is that Demyx isn’t quite the idiot you think he is. His mind just follows more straightforward paths. So while he may not have drawn the conclusion you wanted him to from your idiotic psychobabble and obscure literary references, he definitely has drawn a conclusion.”
“Oh, really?” Zexion asked, almost curious but mostly irritated. “And just what might that be?”
Larxene smirked happily. “Demyx thinks you’re a complete and total psycho!”
“I would like to apologize for how I’ve been acting this past month, Demyx,” Zexion said. “I’m sure I’ve been confusing you quite a bit. I’d like to blame it on stress, but truth be told I actually did have a point I was attempting to make.”
“Oh,” Demyx said. He frowned in some odd mix of confusion and curiosity, and shrugged. “A point? You mean there was a method to your madness? Okay. Shoot.”
Zexion sighed. Alright. He could do this. He was intelligent, and poised, and confident. His sin was hubris, dammit. He could so muster up the guts to do this. “You see, Demyx,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully, every bit the master wordsmith he knew himself to be. “Truth be told, I was the one who cajoled your cousin into seducing Marluxia. I was trying to-”
“Wait,” Demyx interrupted. His mouth opened once, then closed. Then opened again. “You mean. You. Are the one. Who, like. Cut me off from sex. For over a fucking month?!”
“Please remove your hands from my neck, Demyx. We’ll never get the Yen Sid project completed if you strangle me.”
“You heartless bastard, I haven’t been celibate for so long since Lent! Of five years ago!”
“Ow. You might want to cut your nails sometime this century.”
“Do you know the torture you’ve inflicted upon my penis, you virgin idiot? You don’t mess with a man’s libido! You just don’t!”
“You know,” Zexion sighed, rubbing his temple irritably. “I must admit, this isn’t quite how I expected our conversation to go.”
Demyx wailed, burying his head in his hands. “I haven’t masturbated so much since high school,” he sobbed. “And it’s not even doing me any good! I need a person, dammit!” He thumped his head against the desk. “Stupid, stupid Marluxia. I can’t go an hour without wanting to feel someone inside me, wanting someone else’s hands on my dick, someone’s cock pounding my ass-”
Zexion gulped and fidgeted slightly in his seat.
“-it’s driving me crazy!” Demyx shouted. “Goddammit, at this point I’d be willing to fuck anyone who propositioned me! Hell, I’d even screw you!”
Zexion choked and did his level best not to fall out of his chair. He closed his eyes, and for the first time since this ordeal began, knew exactly what he was going to say. This was it. The moment of truth. What had slowly been building up in his head and heart for ninety five days, plus weekends. He opened his mouth, and spoke.
“I acce-”
“Uh, guys?” a small, tentative voice interrupted from the cubicle five feet away. “Umm…just so you know, you’re still at work. We can all, umm, hear you.”
“Shit,” Demyx muttered.
“Fuck,” Zexion snarled.
“Oh, if only.”
Word of Demyx’s desperate plea for sex spread like wildfire throughout the school. Within hours, Zexion was fending off the blond’s suitors like the plague, male and female alike. His methods were vast, but mostly involved cutting off the power in the entire apartment, pouring slippery water into the hallways, posting creepy Do Not Enter signs on every entrance to the second floor, and - here he patted his checkbook forlornly - hiring Larxene to run interference, which basically meant that she followed her cousin around for a few hours and smiled creepily at anyone who approached them.
Demyx, of course, did not notice the mob of hungry college students following him around, kept at bay only by Larxene’s fearsome giggles and Zexion’s nefarious plots. He was too busy trying to sneak off to the local sex shop to buy himself a vibrator.
By the end of the day, no one had gotten any.
One would be hard pressed to say who was more angry about this.
“So, Zexion,” Riku said, smirking widely. “You were really upset about the whole Demyx free-for-all yesterday, weren’t you?”
Zexion ignored him. Quite pointedly, actually.
“I’m surprised he hasn’t noticed yet,” the cocky underclassman grinned. “You’ve only been making it completely obvious.”
Zexion stoically continued typing at the computer, thankful for once that Demyx would never make it to work on time in his life, because this was seriously not a conversation the idiot needed to hear. Ever.
“Though I guess I can see why,” Riku laughed. “Demyx has probably been getting laid every day for years. There’s no way you’d actually believe that your virgin dick could satisfy him.”
Zexion fingers spasmed, and he accidentally misspelled ‘the.’ He glared at the screen in vexation.
Riku tossed his carefully-layered coif over his shoulder, his grin reaching his ears. “Now that I think about it, he’s really not that bad looking. Huh. You know, I think I just might ask the kid out. I wonder what those legs would look like all spread and trembling and-”
“Sora,” Zexion called, leaning towards his computer screen and calmly correcting the error. “Riku has been hopelessly in love with you since middle school.”
Sora slowly poked his head above the cubicle, eyes wide in surprise. Riku took one look at him, squawked, spluttered, and sprinted towards the door.
Zexion smirked.
Riku walked into work, a broad smile on his face. “So,” he drawled, waggling his eyebrows. “Guess what I did last night.”
Zexion muffled a groan and stabbed at the keyboard.
“I just don’t get it!” Zexion cried, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “I do everything in my power to seduce the one person whom I’ve ever desired a relationship with, and nothing I do works. Meanwhile, Riku somehow manages to nail Sora in the space of a single night!”
Larxene raised an eyebrow, her omnipresent smirk growing a bit. “To be fair, Zexion, your version of seduction comes straight out of The Idiot’s Guide To Remaining a Virgin for the Rest of Your Life.”
“You made that book up,” Zexion muttered.
“And anyway,” Larxene continued, ignoring the interruption. “You have it the other way around. Sora nailed Riku last night.”
Zexion’s head shot up. “How do you-”
“Riku lives two doors down. They were pretty loud. He started crying.”
The slate-haired junior perked up, looking for the world like Christmas had come early. “Really?”
“Really,” Larxene grinned. “The entire dorm heard it. And Sora! My goodness, I’m proud of the little guy. Listen, the next time you wanna shut Riku up, just say Take it, bitch. He’ll shut up. Guaranteed.”
Zexion took a bite from his muffin. “You know, the thought that Riku’s humiliation will soon be greater than mine actually makes me feel better,” he said thoughtfully.
“I thought it might.”
Zexion canted his head to the side at her words, peering up at her in interest. “You’re being oddly nice today,” he said, voice curious. “Why?”
Larxene aimed an incredulous look at him. “Um, honestly? Because I’ve gotten to see you suffer sex-deprivation every day for months, and that’s more than enough for me. Duh.”
Zexion glowered at her. “I hope you’ll excuse my language, but you’re an utter bitch.”
“A bitch who’s getting laid every night by the guy who stole Demyx’s virginity. And, again: duh.”
“You’re fairly intelligent, Zexion. But your sin is hubris. Master manipulator you may believe yourself to be, but you’re really not as opaque as you’d like to think you are, and you always neglect to factor outside stimulus into your equations.”
Well, she was right. On all counts.
But especially the one about outside stimulus.
Zexion woke up to the sound of moans. Moans from the-room-next-door. Demyx’s moans from the-room-next door.
He sat up, instantly alert, and was out of bed with his ear pressed to the wall almost immediately. Unintelligible cries pierced the still early morning air, mindless and incoherent. And then:
“Ahhh…” There was a breathless pause, a hitch of breath, and then Demyx’s bed began groaning in protest against the abuse it was obviously undergoing. “Oh…My Go…please…”
Zexion’s face slackened for a moment, before the realization hit him like a sledgehammer. Someone was there, someone had managed to make it through his and Larxene’s impenetrable defense. After all the work they’d put in, after the power outage and the flooding of the hallways and the creepy girly giggles, after all the pain and suffering, after his complete and total humiliation as he realized that Riku had managed to succeed where he’d failed…after all that Demyx had found a new lover, and Zexion was left where he’d begun.
He was across the room and halfway out the door before his ears finally managed to pick up a third noise, one distinctly separate from the creaks and Demyx’s inarticulate cries.
Buzzing.
Zexion’s face flamed. He closed the door quietly and made his way back to the wall. Slowly, he leaned forward, pressing his ear against the plaster.
Demyx’s voice was the only one he could hear. A soft, steady vibration was echoing across the room, louder, then softer, and Demyx’s wails rose and hitched in direct synchrony. The bed squeaked angrily, and Zexion took a step away from the wall, closing his eyes.
He could picture it. He really could. Now that Marluxia was gone, now that it was only Demyx…only Demyx, taking pleasure in his own body…he could picture it now. Chest pressed to the mattress, ass in the air, hands thrusting the plastic wand inside himself.
Squeak squeak thump.
Inanely, he wondered what color the vibrator was. Blue, probably.
“Oh, God!”
Demyx liked blue.
“Ah!”
And it would probably look so good against the flushed red of his skin…pumping it in and out, adding a vicious twist every time he slid it in-
“Oh, please…please!”
-while his spare hand crept under his body, eager and ready and-
“Oh…Zexion!”
Zexion tipped sideways.
Wait.
What?!
“Ze…ah! Zexio…”
Zexion blinked, glanced down, and pinched himself hard on the thigh.
“Oh, God…pl-please.…I’ll do anything, please, just give it to me harder! Ah! Z-zexion!”
Um. No. Still awake.
“Oh…”
Zexion took a step back. And another. And just for good measure, another. Because…ah. Um.
So. Demyx. Was, like. Apparently fucking himself on a vibrator. While thinking of him.
Oh.
On some strange, metaphysical blackboard, Speedy Gonzalez and the Roadrunner were both bunked down a place as Zexion set a universal record for the fastest anyone has ever sprinted out of their room before.
He ran outside, chest heaving, and slid ten feet across the tiles, his socked feet slipping for a moment before he caught hold of Demyx’s door handle and pushed down in an effort to regain his balance.
And the door opened.
Zexion stumbled inside the room, hands still clutching at the handle. He righted himself, blinked, and stared.
Sitting atop his carefully-made bed, a very clothed Demyx grinned at him, waved, and turned the vibrator off. “Hey, Zexion,” he chirped cheerily. “What’s up?”
This whole ‘finding-himself-speechless’ thing was happening a bit too much lately, Zexion thought numbly. A thousand thoughts rushed through his head, most of them reading along the lines of Why is he smiling at me like that, why is he twirling a vibrator, and why the hell isn’t he naked?
Instead, he said: “You. Were moaning. My name. And…the vibrator. Was vibrating. I could hear it. I could…”
“Wow, you’re eloquent.” Demyx smiled, though the expression seemed a bit more feral than Zexion probably would have liked. He lazily began tossing the sex toy from one hand to the other. “So, when were you going to tell me that you lived next door?”
Zexion’s mouth opened, then closed. Sorry, he thought, I’m still trying to work through the whole ’why aren’t you naked’ thing.’ “What?”
“I had no idea until Larxene told me a few days ago,” Demyx continued, eyes narrowing with the force of his - can that thing get any faker?! - smile. “You wouldn’t believe all she’s told me.”
“I…” Zexion swallowed, and wet his lips nervously. Nope, still don’t understand why he’s not naked. “Larxene. Ah.”
Demyx smiled, climbed slowly to his feet, and began walking towards the dumbstruck junior. Dimly, Zexion realized that he was still fondling the vibrator.
“She said the two of you met about two months ago,” Demyx murmured. His voice was lowering with every step he took. “She said you paid her to date Marluxia. He says thanks, by the way, ‘cause apparently Larxene’s all he ever wished for and more, and dude, I did not need to think about my cousin that way .”
“Larxene,” Zexion repeated. Still not naked. But now his mind was slowly processing that bit of information, and was beginning to realize what was going on. It did not look like it boded quite well for him. “She…said…”
“She also said you did it for one very special reason,” Demyx continued, ignoring the other man’s outburst. “A personal reason. A private reason.”
“Um,” Zexion said. Dimly, he wondered if he could find another job this late in the semester. And another apartment.
“A reason,” Demyx murmured, voice lowering now that only a few inches separated them. He lifted the vibrator and tabbed Zexion delicately on the nose with its head. “That maybe has to do with me?”
Now, there comes a time in a man’s life where he realizes that he’s struck rock bottom. For Zexion, getting bopped on the nose with a sex-toy was that moment.
He opened his mouth to deny everything. Then closed it, because Zexion, being Zexion, knew when he was backed into a corner.
“So,” he said, struggling to grab at even the smallest bit of his lost dignity and stamping down angrily on the odd feeling of hurt bubbling in the pit of his stomach. “Before. You… weren’t actually masturbating with me in mind. That was all a…a-”
“A show?” Demyx volunteered. “A scam?”
Zexion closed his eyes. “Ah.”
“-A transparent ruse to lure you over here so I can finally demonstrate what I’ve been wanting to do to you for a hundred days, plus weekends, plus the entire year it took me to get up the guts to apply for a job at Special Collections despite all the shit I’d heard about it, just because I knew you worked here?” Demyx smiled, and this time the malice was gone, leaving an expression that was distinctly amused. “Yup. Pretty much.”
Zexion blinked. And if he maybe gurgled a little bit in the back of his throat…well. He had good reason. “Um. Would you please mind repeating that last bit?”
Demyx sighed, shook his head, and smiled. “You know,” he murmured quietly, closing the last remaining bit of distance between them. He tilted his head downwards, shoulders slouched. Their chests brushed. “For someone who fancies himself an uber-genius, you’re really slow, Zexion.” His lips tilted up another fraction, and something in his eyes softened. Zexion could scarcely breathe.
“There’s a reason I didn’t quit after that first day, you know,” Demyx continued, and his voice was so soft Zexion could barely hear him. “Or the second. Or the third. Or the ninety-ninth.”
Zexion stared at him, for a very long time. And then, all of a sudden, the world shuddered and clicked into place.
“A year and a hundred days,” he murmured. He blinked slowly, and glanced down. Demyx’s hands were still. “You…”
In the early morning of the hundredth day, Demyx leant forward and kissed him.
Demyx walked into work, a broad smile on his face and a slight limp in his walk. “So,” he drawled, waggling his eyebrows and smirking at everyone in the room. “Guess what I did last night.”
And in his small seat inside his small cubicle, Zexion smiled.
Fin.
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