The Trouble With Sunlight [fic]
Title: The Trouble With Sunlight
Author: Versace Frolic
Rating: PG-13ish
Pairings: light Axel/Roxas
Warnings: Random cursing, humor drier than the Sahara
Word Count: 2,165
Summary: There is no sunlight on The World That Never Was. Isn't that weird? Axel and Roxas go on a "mission" where they don't really do anything except exchange innuendo and flirt all over each other. Also, magic carpets and magic lamps!
A/N: A tiny oneshot for pouikee, who is unfairly awesome and commands a troubling armada of creative skills. This is merely a simple, uncomplicated scene that fulfills her prompt of "Axel and Roxas just hanging out."




It had something to do with how the sky was always dark. Ten in the morning, ten at night: the same oozing pitch obstructing the space where the sun should’ve been. It wasn’t that Roxas wasn’t a morning person—look at him, bleeding blonde and light all over the place—how could he not be? He was a morning person, but the ever-present absent sun did a number on his internal clock. The trouble with sunlight is that, without it, daytime doesn’t theoretically exist. Without the sun to set his life to, Roxas was tired all the time. Tired and late all the time. This is why Axel—with nothing but the purest intentions, of course—decided to be Roxas’ surrogate daybreak. The first time he’d done it, the redhead barely dodged the keyblade sailing for his cranium in time. There had to be a bribe of waffles, and later, those 3-D Doritos that could only be found off world. Roxas was one stubborn, fussy sonofabitch, but things had progressed from that first failed substitute sun. Axel had loosened—ahem—Roxas up, and bribes were as uncomplicated as lunch at that great taquito stand off the corner of Main St. and Bloody Entrails Dr., or a promise to stargaze for no less than thirty minutes. After awhile, of course, Axel stopped thinking of them as bribes. He suspected Roxas had stopped, too.

It wasn’t very often that the Organization members had a day off (read: never), but Axel, always a fan of treacherous insubordination, and Roxas, who didn’t give a fuck either way, found ways to sidestep the agonizing and, let’s face it, pointless recon missions the “Superior” (air quotes and highly affected, dropped-jaw voice required) sent them on. Really, nine hour shifts sitting in the middle of a desert on the watch for suspicious activity? Well, those fifty fucking trillion pieces of sand seem to be minding their own business, and Axel was salivating at the thought of Roxas in a kinky little Arabian princess get up. Veils and mystique, he was thinking. He had the habit of staring down Number XIII, eyes fond and far away. Roxas endured his moments of dazed unresponsiveness. He figured it was some form of epileptic seizure Number VIII was clearly too ashamed (read: arrogant) to reveal.

“If you try one on, I promise to make your bed for a week.” So close. So close to getting Roxas to surrender his dignity.

“A week? Try an eternity! I’m a boy, in case you haven’t noticed.” Axel gave a shocked gasp (“What?! Nooo!”). “I look horrible in peasant tops, and turquoise washes my skin out.”

“Au contraire, XIII. Turquoise brings out the color of your eyes, and I’m going to pretend it’s not fucking hilarious that you know they’re called peasant tops.” Axel was looking pointedly at the looming spires of Agrabah being all pompous and unnecessary in the distance. “Besides. They come in fuchsia.” Roxas made a strangled noise behind him as he strolled down the sand dune they were posted at. The problem with sand dunes is that they aren’t stroll-down-able. By the time Axel was finished somersaulting down the rest of the way, sand pouring in coarse rivers from every crevice of his body and clothes, Roxas was tumbling out of a portal, laughing so hard he was on the ground, beating the sand with one of his dainty gloved fists.

“Laugh now, pretty boy. We’ll see who’s laughing when you’re dressed as a genie and my cock is in your… oh. I’m speaking aloud, aren’t I?” Roxas, no longer laughing, was staring at him with an odd look on his face. Scowling and getting to his feet, Roxas turned toward the city. Axel didn’t know whether to feel delighted or horrified.

---

“And this,” Axel said, brandishing an ornately woven rug, “is a magic carpet.”

Roxas, a sizzling plate of shawarma in his lap, looked skeptical. “It’s an ugly rug. Very unmagical.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Axel countered, laying the rug on the floor in their momentarily commandeered Arabic abode, the lady of the house bound and gagged in a bedroom, left to watch re-runs of comically dated Arabic-dubbed episodes of the Smurfs. “I traded 1/16th of my sex appeal for this thing, so you better be grateful. We can fly around like heroes and you will no longer be so distracted by my lean physique and charming good looks.”

“You have sex appeal?” Mouth full of meat, Roxas was clearly void of any smug sarcasm. His question was honest, politely curious. The little bastard.

“You wound me, Roxas,” Axel said, clutching a hand to his chest as he situated himself on the rug.

Roxas rolled his eyes, dipping a strip of meat in hummus and dangling it into his mouth. Watching Number XIII eat was like watching porn, Axel had discovered. Extremely stimulating, ultimately unfulfilling. The dazed, epileptic look settled over Axel’s face, and Roxas sighed as a lecherous smile spread over the redhead’s mouth. He should really get that checked out. “You should try this.”

“I tried. You almost tore my hand off. Didn’t you ever learn that sharing is caring?”

Roxas looked thoughtful for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip, before carefully dipping another strip of meat in the hummus, setting the plate aside and walking over to where Axel was reclining on the rug. In one swift movement Roxas was straddling the redhead’s hips, piece of meat positioned over Axel’s slightly agape mouth. “I can share. Open; it’s going to drip on you.”

Axel’s mouth opened slowly, eyes on the small blonde in his lap as hummus dotted his tongue. When Roxas finally lowered the strip of spiced meat into his mouth, his fingers lingered on Axel’s lips, slicking them with grease. “Messy,” Roxas said, almost accusing.

“Why don’t you clean me up.” It was like a line from a bad porn, a non-question that would lead to him slamming Roxas against him, watching the light spill out of him. Oh, this was torture.

Roxas leaned close, little sparks of joy in his eyes. Axel was surprised at XIII, his hands on Roxas’ hips and just barely fighting off the desire to grind himself upward. Maybe it had something to do with the weather—absurdly hot, even for Agrabah—the heat going to their heads, or something. Well, going to Roxas’ head; Axel was ready to fuck in snowfall, in a frozen tundra. His eyes fell shut as he leaned forward, ready to break a fundamental unspoken rule of the Organization (BUSINESS AND PLEASURE. DON’T MIX THEM.) when he felt what was undeniably Roxas’ sleeve running across his mouth.

“There you go,” Roxas said, smirking all over his stupid face. Axel could only growl barely concealed obscenities in response. “What’s that? I don’t speak Thwarted Pervert.”

Feigning nonchalance, Axel offered his best unruffled shrug. “Well, I was going to give you this magic lamp I bought off some legit black market guy with a glowing turban, but I guess that wouldn’t interest you at all. Since you’re more concerned with,” Axel rambled, gesturing wildly, “following rules and shit.”

“My ass.”

“Your ass what? Is hot?”

“Off world lingo. Means ‘bullshit.’”

“Oh, bringing out the big guns now, are we? Well, listen up, kiddo.” Axel produced a small lamp from a pocket. “Three wishes. This cost me a year’s salary and the last shred of self-restraint I was saving up. That probably explains my cheesy porn line a couple minutes ago. Inhibitions dropped like a bad habit… not that I drop those, and wow, I’m still speaking aloud, aren’t I?” Shoving the lamp at Roxas, Axel shook his head, laughing at himself. “Here ya go. Knock yourself out.”

Roxas eyed the dull lamp wearily. “Why are you doing this for me?”

“You’re my friend,” Axel said lamely.

“You sell your sex appeal and self-restraint for your friends?”

Axel grinned. “Every goddamn day, baby.”

Roxas breathed deeply, rubbing at the lamp. “Don’t call me baby.” After a minute of rubbing, a genie yet to materialize, Roxas shrugged, setting the lamp in his lap. “You might want to think about tracking the glowing turban guy down.”

“He told me this would happen, actually.” Axel produced a wad of paper from his pocket. Unfolding it, he read the text to Roxas. “See? ‘Magic Lamp: Genie Not Included.’ I think you’re just supposed to wish, anyway.”

“I don’t know who is more retarded in this situation.”

“You, by far,” Axel quipped, lacing his fingers behind his head and leaning back against the rug. “Wake me up when we’re filthy rich or something.”

Roxas frowned. “We don’t need money.”

“We don’t need lots of things, Roxas. We still want them. Sex, for example. I don’t need… well, yeah, maybe I do need sex. But I’m having a dry spell, and you don’t see me withering up, hitting on anything with legs, do you?” Roxas glared at him. “Maybe it’s best if you don’t answer that strictly rhetorical question. Just ask for what you want.”

Roxas watched Axel’s chest rise and fall for awhile. The redhead wasn’t really sleeping, and more likely than not he knew he was being observed, the smug fuck, but Roxas didn’t mind the ego service. He liked looking at Axel. Picking the lamp back up, Roxas closed his eyes and focused on his wishes. I wish, I wish, I wish. Please.

Axel sat up with a started, “Oh,” eyes over bright. “What did you…”

Instead of responding like a normal, sane person, Roxas tackled Axel back onto the rug, hauling up the redhead’s coat and pulling down on his pants at the same time. “Whoa, whoaaa, what the hell are you doing? Not that I don’t like where this is headed, but if you’re checking to see if my dick got bigger, I can assure you, it was already of excellent size.” When Roxas’ thumbs pressed into the flesh at the dip in his hips, Axel hissed, grabbing the blonde’s wrists. The pain, though, was only anticipation and memory. The wound, the magical remains of fucking with Maleficent, had been diagnosed by Number IV as “a lasting reminder of your exhausting mouth and laughable battle skill.” A wound untouchable by potions and time, left jagged, blackened. Axel didn’t have a heart, but if he did, it would be exploding.

“It worked,” Roxas breathed.

“Those wishes were supposed to be for you,” Axel said quietly.

“This is for me.”

“Ah, a twelve-year-old’s logic. So endearing.”

Roxas smiled hugely and Axel was momentarily dazzled, blinking away a surge of something in his chest, which is why he didn’t see Roxas tackling him again, pressing their chests together in a way that might have been homicidal had the blonde not been laughing against him.

“This is a little sociopathic for me, Rox,” Axel exhaled. It was easy to forget Roxas could more than hold his own in battle.

“Listen,” Roxas said. And there, underneath their breathing, was a sound that Axel had only memories of. Memories that didn’t really belong to him. “It’s not real,” Roxas said. “It’s just the sound, but it’s fun to pretend, right?”

Axel didn’t know if he could speak. “Yeah,” he managed, hearing the beat of Roxas’ heartbeat against his. Memory supplied the feeling, a gentle pulse in his fingertips and at his neck; a phantom heart. This was certainly unexpected. Axel had anticipated a blowjob, either receiving one or giving one. But see, the trouble with sunlight is the trouble with Roxas: without it, things stop existing. With it, they can exist again. Plants die, hearts wither, but Roxas counters with a smile, and one fucked up attempt at scoring some blonde ass later, organic cells knit together and new life happens. Hearts, even phantom, beat again.

“What was the third one?” Axel was stroking down the length of Roxas’ back.

Nuzzling his chest like a particularly affectionate kitten, Roxas yawned. “I don’t think that one worked.”

“No way. It worked. Look at this, at us. It worked.”

Roxas pushed up against Axel’s chest, meeting the redhead’s eyes. “Did it?”

“Am I supposed to know the answer?”

“I think so.”

While it would have pleased Axel greatly to spend the rest of his unnatural life staring Roxas in the face, he decided he’d risk decapitation for one kiss. Roxas was already leaning forward, eyes closed and lips slightly parted, so why wouldn’t he oblige the kid a kiss? Just one kiss. When he felt the phantom of Roxas’ heartbeat at his lips, his own staged heartbeat pounding away in his mouth, Axel thought it felt like the universe was unfurling. Not unravel, not unwind. Unfurl.

“Hmm,” Roxas said, licking at Axel’s lips. Each lap made the room spin. “I might have wasted one.”

“What?” Dizzied, out of breath, Axel could only hold on to the light spilling out over his hands.

“That wish. It had already come true.”