Title: Maybe Tomorrow
Author: Ever1
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts II
Summary: Because taking isn’t half as much fun when it’s actually receiving.
Genre: Angst/Romance
Length: One-off.
Rating: NC-17? I don’t really know. Here be handjob! Not very explicit though.
Pairing/Characters: Axel/Roxas
Warnings: Slash. Bad sekshual descriptions. Axel being a prick. Underage!Roxas and Paedophile!Axel.

A/N: UH. First of all, I apologize for the title. But the fact that it is also a Stereophonics song that I’m extremely fond of wins it enough points for me to leave it. Second of all, this was written as an attempt to get my mind off the Maths exam I will be forced to endure in, uh, 10 hours…and, as such, could quite possibly be awful. I apologize if this is the case.

***

“I entered a plane of being where nothing mattered, save the infusion of joy brewed within my body. […] Lolita had been safely solipsized.”

— 60, Vladimir Nabokov: Lolita

***

In retrospect, Axel’s been waiting for this moment forever, from the first moment he saw the kid. To be fair, he gets other moments of it, too, fake ones, times where he has to mouth endearments that cannot mean anything; times where he has to hold Roxas after and pretend it is not a hedonistic impulse that is prompting him. But this time, this time it’s the real thing, because it happens after he stumbles across Roxas with tears on his cheeks and doesn’t feel a fucking thing.

Roxas is outside, in the dimming afternoon glare, under a tree on Sunset Hill. There’s no one around, because the Dusks are around, instead. When Axel finds him, his first instinct is to wonder why the kid is crying, and his second instinct is to not care. If he had a Heart, he might hate himself for it…but today is one of the few days Axel likes being a Nobody.

There are perks, after all. The perks are not in pretending. The perks are not in feigning emotions, as Roxas insists he do, but in being free of all their complications. It’s not that he doesn’t want a heart—he does, but some things are simply better without one. Like sex, for instance. And Roxas.

The two, in Axel’s experience, tend to go together. And today, he is determined that they do so. If he had a Heart, Axel might be ashamed that he thinks Roxas looks so much more attractive broken than he does usually, but luckily, Axel is not burdened with this organ. He is free to think it all he likes, and want it all he likes, and take it—guiltlessly. And today, dammit, today,he is determined to do so.

Roxas looks up as he approaches, a string of fake emotions flashing across his face in quick succession: shock, embarrassment, misery, anger. Axel takes them all in with a Nobody’s cynicism. He wonders when Roxas will realize that there is nothing to cry about. That there is, indeed, nothing to feel.

“What do you want?” the blonde hisses, a perfect imitation of fury as Axel hunkers down to his level. His crying, the redhead is pleased to notice, has stopped, stemmed, caught behind indignation.

Axel decided not to answer with words. Instead, he surges toward him and kisses him on the mouth, fully, taking advantage of Roxas’s initial surprise to slip past a barrage of teeth. After a moment, the blonde reacts a little, moving his lips, unenthusiastic but familiar with this ritual. Axel, meanwhile, does not even consider explaining the situation: he is far too busy relishing the fact that Roxas’s teeth are sticky and his tongue tastes sweet. Such a kid, such a kid, Axel thinks, he tastes of sea-salt ice-cream, just like any other kid—but this time, he doesn’t feel any guilt, only lust. He’s determined not to feel any fabricated guilt. He’s no stranger, after all, to this little kink of his: he knows how much he loves it when Roxas acts his age.

As if to emphasize this, Roxas has somehow ended up in his lap. When Axel deepens the kiss, the kid squirms uncomfortably, obviously wanting to break apart for air, and Axel snakes an arm around his waist, holding him in place. Roxas isn’t fighting him, exactly, but he isn’t participating much either: his mouth is limp and loose as Axel pries it open, and if anything, that only makes it better. Such a kid, Axel thinks again, shamelessly, and in one quick movement, slides a hand under Roxas’s oversized shirt and topples him over. Roxas falls back from him and hits the grass and tree roots with a pained, surprised yelp.

Briefly, Axel wonders how he can treat something so badly all the while worshipping it. Because he does, he does worship Roxas; the kid’s a fucking dream, pliant and gorgeous and unbearably broken, and on his better days Axel even loves him a little, but today Axel doesn’t want that emotion to get anywhere near him. He is too busy with sensation, too busy wanting and taking and enjoying…He is exultant—helplessly, unrepentantly exultant, and right now he wouldn’t give a damn if Roxas’s back was broken and the kid was begging him to stop.

Neither of these things, however, is the case. Roxas, despite hitting the ground with a cry of pain, sits up a moment later, disoriented and hurting slightly, but alright. Axel tells himself he doesn’t care, either way, and pushes him back down again with an outstretched hand.

Grass frames Roxas’s face. Axel moves over to him on hands and knees and holds onto his shoulders. The blonde’s expression recovers of shock is instantly replaced with one of pain, and after a moment Axel realizes there must be a bruise on his back that the rough terrain is pressing against. This thought is accompanied with the sudden pressing need to see it. One handed, Axel flips Roxas onto his stomach, ignoring the blonde’s soft whine of protest, and yanks his shirt up. There are bruises alright, and some part of Axel is surprised by how many and how dark they are—are there sharp rocks lurking the tree roots?—but the surprise is fleeting. Carefully, reverently, he lines two thumbs up and pushes, gently. Roxas hisses and flinches away from him, and the sound makes Axel shudder. Moving closer, he clumsily pushes the blonde’s shirt over his head, catching the kid at the collar and helping him wrestle if off with biting impatience.

“That fucking hurt,” Roxas mutters as Axel turns him back over, and the redhead can’t help but smile. He doesn’t doubt that the kid’s in pain, but he can also hear a challenging ring to the whined complaint. This time, when Axel leans over him, Roxas lifts his head and brings their mouths together. Axel likes this; he likes it a lot, but he pushes himself away with Roxas’s shoulders. Because taking isn’t half as much fun when it’s actually receiving.

Around them, late afternoon has slowly turned into evening. The bright grass on the ground is shadowed darker and the trees are beginning to take on a menacing aspect that is invisible in the sunlight. It is a testament to how much time has passed, and a testament to Axel’s newfound patience. In the past, Axel has been anything but. Restraint is not one of his qualities. But this, what he is doing now, drawing it out, feels nothing like restraint. If anything, it is a self-indulgence, an extension of pleasure at another’s expense.

Because there is no doubt it is at another’s expense: Roxas’s, to be precise. The blonde might be complaining, might be in pain, but he is equally aroused. Axel can feel it between them, and he guesses that, by now, it must be contributing as much pain as pleasure. Though, when it comes to Roxas, it is a fatal mistake to assume the two are mutually exclusive.

With this thought in mind, Axel slides up the blonde’s body to pull a nipple between his teeth. Roxas is so young, and his chest is one of the youngest things about him: pale, skinny, and taut between them. Abruptly, Axel is frustrated with the material hindering his sensation, and he sits back and removes his own shirt with rough movements. Beneath him, Roxas’s eyes sparkle. The blonde moves his hands up, against Axel’s chest, but Axel pries them off without even looking and pins them on either side, against the grass. Roxas’s expression is one of surprise and a little dismay, but Axel ignores him, moving their skin together again and placing savage kisses along Roxas’s ribs, ones that leave behind little red teeth marks.

“What are you—?” Roxas protests in between moans. His wrists, trapped beneath Axel’s fingers, struggle briefly. “I can’t—”

Here, Roxas breaks off, but only because Axel slips a hand over his mouth. Of course, this leaves one of his arms free, and Roxas uses this to tug at Axel’s wrist, angrily. Axel merely continues his trail of painful kisses, exhilarated, as he waits for Roxas to stop fighting him, stop trying to bite his palm. It doesn’t take too long, and when the blonde stops, Axel pulls back and looks down at him.

“Don’t ruin this,” he orders calmly, voice low. “Play along. Not too much, just a little.” Because taking isn’t half as much fun when the other person’s giving. Roxas’s eyes, staring up at him, are blank and blue. “I’m taking my hand away now, Rox.” Kid. “Think you can shut up and hold still?”

Without waiting for those eyes to glitter assent, Axel sits back, on the kid’s waist, lifting his hand in the process. Roxas, mouth free, suddenly smiles and licks his lips. It goes through Axel like a lightning bolt and he rocks forward a little bit, involuntarily. “I think I like you pinning me better.”

“Whatever you want,” Axel answers, because he likes pinning Roxas better, too, and the kid gives a short laugh that reminds Axel of just how recently the blonde was crying. But he doesn’t care; right now, all he cares about is getting Roxas’s trousers off. The kid’s so skinny Axel doesn’t even have to undo his belt to yank them down, so he doesn’t, even though Roxas yelps a few times as the material jerks against what must be an extremely painful erection. Finally, though, finally, they’re off and Axel resumes pinning Roxas’s wrists by his sides and presses his lips against the kid’s hipbones. The body beneath him squirms, resisting beautifully, soundless but for ragged breathing. Good boy, Axel thinks, and then he says it out loud, too, because he knows how much a comment like that will piss Roxas off. And he’s right; Roxas hisses between his teeth and tries to buck his hips. Axel, however is having none of it. He releases one wrist to hold Roxas in place, and then the other to pull down the blonde’s boxers.

Suddenly, Roxas stiffens, and when Axel closes a hand around his arousal, he bursts into tears. For an instant, Axel stops, disoriented by the sound, but then he shoulders it aside. This feels good, and it feels good for Roxas, too, even if the kid won’t admit it right now. Axel doesn’t want to stop. So he doesn’t.

In an odd way, it works. Roxas doesn’t stop crying, and Axel doesn’t stop touching him. The sound is actually slightly arousing, because it is so very Roxas, so very damaged. Beyond that, however, Axel refuses to feel anything: he is Humbert Humbert with his ‘Lo, self-deluded to the point of cruelty, and even when Roxas shudders, stutters, shakes out, “S-stop!” he doesn’t, and somewhere, deep down, he truly believes Roxas doesn’t really want him to. And on the surface, he doesn’t care.

After a moment, Axel slides up the blonde’s body, hand still moving, back to placing kisses in a path to Roxas’s chin. His trousers are ridiculously tight now, and after a moment, he breaks off to sit up and undo his belt. Once it’s undone he pulls Roxas upright too and holds the blonde against him with one hand on the small of his bruised back while he searches for Roxas’s limp fingers with the other. When he finds them, he seizes Roxas’s hand by the wrist and guides the boy’s fingers, ghosting, over their arousals.

With a hiccup, Roxas looks up at him. There are tears coursing down his cheeks, and he presses his forehead to Axel’s, gasping, moaning, trembling a little helplessly.

“I fucking love you,” he says, and Axel squeezes a little too tightly in response. “Can’t you…?”

Can’t you…? Axel knows the question Roxas is asking. Love me too?

“Not today,” he answers, moving a filthy thumb up and over that beautiful bottom lip. His hips resume what his hand has stopped doing, and this time he can feel Roxas’s small, nimble, adolescent fingers against him too, of their own accord, and moans. “Not tonight. Not even one little bit.”

Roxas stares at him in silence until Axel’s hand suddenly dips downward again, palming between them, when his eyes shutter closed and a sharp inhalation gets stuck in his throat. Charitably, Axel tries to free it with his tongue, and Roxas goes from trembling to shaking in his arms.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Axel suggests softly, and at these words, Roxas stiffens, finally, and Axel finds himself following suit. The blonde drops his head onto Axel’s shoulder and his body sighs, going limp, breathing ragged from sobbing while Axel squeezes his eyes shut and hums happily at his own release.

The stay like that for some time afterward, even when stickiness and stiffness and the temperature are beginning to make it uncomfortable. Before letting Roxas pull away, however, Axel tugs him toward him, and plants a kiss on the blonde’s hair, because he can tell the kid really wants it and it doesn’t hurt him any.

“Not today,” he repeats, unsentimental and factual and unable to be otherwise. “But let’s try again tomorrow, okay, kid? We’ll try again.”

He holds a hand out to help Roxas up, and after a moment, the kid takes it.

“Okay, Axel,” he says, tear stains tracked down his cheeks and a soft, wan smile on his lips.

“Maybe tomorrow.”

***

A/N: I DON’T KNOW WHAT THIS IS. But it made me write it. ;_;