Oi! Yeah, it's me . . . that girl who never writes anything anymore. *is shot*

This is a burfdai gift for my sweet friend, Babs~ :3 Happy 16th, sweetie!

Summary: Demyx/Zexion fluff.

Rated: T

Warnings: Lime, yaoi, cross-dressing, OOC (seme) Demyx, heavily implied AkuRoku.

A/N What fun this was! Unrealistic, I know, but fun indeed. :D

Yes, I am aware of the fact that Demyx is very, very OOC. It's the only way to make these two work with Zexy on bottom.

Yes, I know that there are probably a multitude of font/style errors in here because of the fact that is not HTML compatible. Please don't bitch about it -- I have a life and devote as much time to these sorts of things as I can find.

Dun like the boy love? It's called the back button. ;)

Any and all con-crit is welcomed (aside from glaringly obvious things that I have already mentioned); however, flames are not appreciated. . .

Disclaimer: I don't own KH. . . If I did, you can bet the games would be rated AO for obvious reasons. XD

Looking in the mirror I made a few small mental notes:

Shorten the hem – there ought to be more frill showing.
There's no sparkle here. Add some metal loops around the cuffs, perhaps?
Pouf the bow on the hip up; it needs to be larger.
Adjust the stockings to the new hem. They need to be just long enough to almost meet the frill, but short enough to see a strip of skin.
More teal stitching on the edges.
No hooker heels. Try it with the flats.
And one more thing. . .

For a second, I just glared at myself. Yes, this dress was a masterpiece. Yes, I had spent days – nay, weeks -- drawing it up and sewing it down. And YES, I – Zexion, number VI in the elite Organization XIII – was wearing a dress. Before you make any snide comments about my personal life, allow me to inform you that I am not a cross dresser. I only wore the projects I was particularly excited about or immensely proud of. There's just something about seeing clothing on a human being instead of a mannequin. It's like the difference between a sketch and a painting, or between hearing instruments play separately and hearing them play together. It's fine to look at, and you can see all of the potential in disconnected little compartments . . . but therein lies the problem! In order to see the full effect of the creation, you have to see it in its final form.

A voice popped into the back of my head, Kind of like Sora, ne? He had quite a few tricks stuffed up those puffy sleeves of his. . .
Outwardly, I cringed. Sora. Oooh, that little coward! How he gnawed at my very last nerve with his mission to "save his friends" and "rid the universe of heartless". If there was one person on all of the planets that could irk me to the point of a juvenile, whiney impersonation, it was that one. Not even that boy. He was something that was completely beyond me and I was fine with that because he wasn't beyond me as much as he was below me – at an intellectual level so low, just trying to think like him made brain cells atrophy. I crossed my arms and smirked. All of this bashing, immature as it may be, was making me feel a little better. . .
Besides, Sora hadn't had an outbreak in several months. Outbreak . . . like he was a case of herpes or something. I snorted a little at that one. No, Sora stayed dormant for most of the time, hidden safely away somewhere inside Roxas. Good old, stable Roxas. Sure, the kid had been ambitious at one time, and rightly so, but he knew his place in the pecking order now – demoted to number I. But hey, that's the price of disappearance, betrayal, death, rebirth, and an attempt at mending the wounds that had been left.

Gaping wounds.

It had taken several months to bring our numbers back up. I tell you, regrowing Nobodies is a messy business, especially when there's all of that "past life" crap to sift through, keep in order, and code back up for safe-keeping. I mean, why the hell should I even have to take care of it? It's not like Axel really needs to have memories of GeoStigma, Cloud, high explosives, and some bald guy named Rude, when he's not even going to use them! And what of Xemnas' memories? They guy had some sick thoughts going through his head before he was a Nobody, was I seriously going to leave those buried somewhere in his brain so he could find them again? Like hell, I was. So I did some editing – so what? It's not like any of us are planning to get in touch with our "true" selves anytime soon.
I frowned into the mirror, realizing how distressing this trip down memory lane was. Shaking the thoughts, I remembered my original point. Roxas. Right, well, there wasn't really much to say on that matter, was there? Axel had sacrificed himself to save Roxas, I had sacrificed my time to save Axel. Now the two were living the in the delusional fantasy we call love. I don't say "fantasy" because they're Nobodies, but because I'm not entirely convinced that it exists at all. There's just companionship and good sex.

Oi, there's lots of the second going around, isn't there?
I shuddered. Indeed there was. Not only was my room only one door down from Axel's, but the two had taken to doing nasty things in the hallway. The goddamned hallway. We all stayed away as best as we knew how, but let me let you in on a little secret, marble echoes like you wouldn't believe. In fact, I've looked at the floor plans of the castle and some tests done on (nearly) the same type of marble used here (it's essentially The Mineral That Never Was, so I'll take what I can get specifics-wise) and, as it turns out, sounds are amplified. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy for the guys and everything, but . . . there's something about trying to concentrate on research that just doesn't mix with loud, lustful vocalizations. Same thing with sewing.
Trying to shake the images out of my head, I focused on the project again.

Right. Time to get on those adjustments.

Hours passed; the meager light that passed for day slowly fading into an even more meager excuse for twilight. Still I worked fastidiously away. The over-hem had been shortened, revealing more frill and more leg; grommets and rings had been added for shine and a little bit of naughtiness; I'd made the bright blue bow larger and dipped it in a black polymer around the edges for effect; I'd made the stockings just the tiniest bit shorter and switched out the white garter straps for black ones that were slightly more prominent; ribbons and stitching to match the turquoise bow had been threaded, added, and sewn down the corset and on the petticoats for a brighter accent. I was now in the process of lacing up the black pleather, round-toed flats with little black bows that should complete the outfit. As for the very last adjustment . . . it wasn't going to happen. Honestly, where would I find a girl to do that for me? Namine didn't trust me as far as she could throw me. Kairi just . . . bringing Kairi back meant risking a visit from Sora. And Larxene? That would be just plain stupid. Besides, the dress was tailored exactly to my measurements – lack of chest and all.
"Gah," I breathed in frustration. "Damn these stupid shoes." Why of course I mutter to myself while I work – it helps me concentrate.


I froze. What in God's name--?


Oh no. Oh hell no. This was so not hap-
The door opened silently as always (what? I like to keep the hinges well-oiled) and a voice started as it did. "Hey, Zex," Demyx said. I prayed he wouldn't look at me – still bent over, lacing the last shoe, probably baring my entire ass thanks to this cursed short skirt. "I was wondering if I—" Here it comes. "I . . . could . . ." Shockingly, he didn't seem to be screaming, laughing, or crying. He just sounded a little more . . . distracted.

Quickly, I looked over my shoulder (more like around my behind) and was utterly, horribly surprised. He was staring. But it was so much more than a stare. He was enjoying the view. I looked away fast, hiding my blush. I tried to focus on the shoe, but my fingers started shaking. I gulped, mustering up as much courage as I could to speak. "What?" It came out sounding overly sharp so I tried again. "I mean, wha-what did you, uh, want to know?" Hah! Finally, the shoe was tied and I was free to stand up. As soon as I did, though, I regretted it. Demyx had gone a little red in the face and he was still looking at me. His stare was intense and sharp. It looked like he was hungry for something. But don't let the goth-loli fool you, I'm not so naïve as to be oblivious to the meaning of his look and to the fact that it wasn't food he was hungry for.

I shivered a little bit, now pointedly aware of the fact that I was pretty scantily clothed.
"I was going to ask," the words came out sluggishly and far between as he looked me up and down, taking in the details of my craft. "If I could have a book." He looked me in the eye that time, and started to walk across the room to me. "I need one on classical symphony. . ." He trailed off, still looking at my face.

I kept blushing and felt stupid about it. "Classical?" I attempted to say it in a teasing manner, but failed miserably. "And here I thought you hated Bach." I took a step towards him, then let the horror of my own actions consume me (without being visible, of course). Was I honestly, WILLINGLY getting closer to him? Please God, shoot me now.

He just shrugged in that nonchalant way that made me want to smack him. He had no right to be so cool while my composure unraveled itself.
Dear God, Zexion, remember yourself! You do not get flustered by little taunts from someone so below your level of intellect.
So I just fumed silently. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks and color flared from the top of my chest, up my neck past the ribbon tied tightly across it.

"Um . . . Zexion?"
My eyes flickered dangerously when I looked back at him. "WHAT?" It was supposed to be the subdued kind of "what" – a simple reply in question form – but I snapped. Just a little . . . right? Ok, so it was more of a yell. But he didn't notice the desperation, did he?

"Can I have that book?"

Apparently not.

"I mean . . . I don't want to bother you or anything."

Oh, that thick-headed fool.
Fine. If he wouldn't face the awkwardness himself (the little coward), I would face it for him. Aiming to disarm the blonde man, I closed the shrinking space between us and put on a pout. "You're not bothering me," I looked up into his eyes (damn my genetics and the vertical impairment they brought upon me), still pouting. "In fact, I'm kind of glad you came," here I bit my lip as coyly as I could manage. "I've been meaning to . . . ah, talk to you." I batted my heavy eyelashes and smirked – revoking my earlier curse in place of praise for the girlish looks I was afforded in tradeoff.

For a moment he stood stock-still and I suppressed the urge to grin as meanly as I knew how – he was about to crack, I could feel it. Only a second longer and I would see a hot flush break out on his face and crawling up his neck, from under the heavy black cloack. I knew that was what was going to happen. It was the only logical reaction from him. Easy-going personality – oftentimes a little overly friendly; clueless when it came to anything above fourth-grade level intelligence, especially humor; severe optimism, the kind that can crush you when it fails; sweeter than a jar of honey. Demyx was a naïve little one, that was for sure.
But a reaction never came. He just stood there, stonily, staring at me disinterestedly. What nerve! Here I was practically throwing myself at him, and he did nothing! Not even a girlish flail or self-conscious swallow. He'd done it now. . .

Now, anyone who knows me knows I'm stubborn beyond reason. Many mistake me for aloof, but this just isn't true. They just don't always know or understand exactly what has my interest at the moment. You see, when I am presented with a problem, my mind is wholly consumed in the tasks said problem provides. Most people just assume I don't care because they can't see the gears turning so feverishly in my head. But I digress. The point is that I won't let a topic rest until I know it inside-out, upside-down, and backwards. I pursue answers like a hungry snake pursues a meal – unyieldingly and with absolute conviction. And today, my meal of choice was seeing Demyx embarrassed.

In one last (and very trampy, if you ask me) attempt to get to Demyx, I reached out a partially gloved finger and touched one of the cords lying on his chest. I trailed the finger down his front, following the zipper until I reached about where his navel was. I looked up from the finger and caught his eyes in a way that was more than lightly suggestive. I stared into his questioning turquoise eyes.

Yes! He was losing it! I could see his calm crumbling and waited eagerly for the reward. I think I smiled a little, egging him on.
He blinked a few times, very rapidly, and his cluelessness all but dissolved. A hand came up from his side and landed on my waist. I was struck absolutely frozen, still staring up at his face. The thin line that had been his lips was gone and the blank glaze coating his eyes seemed to have melted away. Sure enough, I had cracked him. But what surprised me was the layer underneath. His lips spread into a menacing grin and his eyes were sparking with irritation and excitement.
The hand on my waist moved again.

Ooooh, "Shit," I breathed in a gasp. He was touching my ass. Nay, he was gripping it. He leaned over fast and wrapped the other arm around the small of my back. "D-demyx. . ." I said in cautionary tone.

His breath was hot in my ear and he whispered in a far more sultry tone than I thought possible. "Oh, enough of this innocent crap."

He gave me a squeeze and I yelped slightly. At the same time, he stepped forward, guiding me backwards . . . towards my very large glass window. My mostly bare back hit the frigid glass and I gasped again. "What the f—?"

Demyx pressed me against the smooth surface, moving his hands to pin me by my hips. "You," he said pausing for emphasis, "are," he planted a kiss under my ear, making me shiver, "such," he licked the spot and I fairly melted, "a . . . tease." He started to suck on the skin he had previously licked and kissed.

My hands moved up his arms and held onto his shoulders. "Why are you . . ." he nipped at my neck and I (to my own horror and embarrassment) squealed in surprise. "Why are you doing this?"

"Oh please," he scoffed lightly and I could feel his smile against my collar bone. "You can't pretend that you didn't set yourself up for this one." I felt one of his legs come between my own and spread them apart a little.

"Oh my god," I panted. The knee came up even higher and started to move around in a circular motion. My head rolled back and I breathed harder and louder than before. Demyx quickly claimed the now exposed flesh with his lips and something suddenly dawned on me. I had absolutely no control over the situation . . .and I didn't care.

I never knew giving up my control-freakishness (and my intelligence, as you can probably tell by the sudden drop in vocabulary) could feel so damn good. By now, the glass around us was fogging and wasn't nearly as cold as before, however, every minor shift caused me to touch or brush another section of cold glass, raising goose bumps on my skin. I tilted my head forward again and caught Demyx's lips with my own hungrily. There was no hesitation or requesting on either side, it just happened – the whole hot, wet deal. We broke for air only when we needed to and avoided any type of separation as best we could. I think that's about where the groping started. . .

Demyx's hands shifted from my hips down to grasp the underside of my thighs. At first, I did nothing but delight in the touch. But in an instant he was pulling my feet off the ground and bringing my legs up onto his hips. So he was not quite as naïve as I had assumed. The kisses I could understand – they were sloppy and passion accounted for the fervor and boldness. But this . . . this spoke of experience.

From that dizzying lift onwards, I don't remember much. I know ribbons were loosened, bows were untied and dropped, petticoats (and cloaks) were shed. I think there may have been sheets involved, but I can never be quite sure. All I really remember was a lot of noises coming from him and coming from me. . . After that, I remember waking up draped across the naked chest of my new favorite musician. I know there are a few things that I learned, though:
1)Logic sometimes fails – beware of unseen personalities.
And 2) those long fingers are very good at things other than playing a sitar.

A/N Oh, I am downright ashamed of that ending. D: I did it at maybe 1 in the morning trying in vain to get it done on time and I lost all control over my writing. On the bright side, though, this is the closest thing to a lemon I have ever written. *cheers* I guess we'll just see if I ever make it there. XD

R&R plz? Kthnxbai :)