fume and fret. (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} feraldolce) wrote,@ 2009-06-01 04:21:00 |
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Potentialities [fic]
Title: Potentialities
Author: Versace Frolic
Rating: M
Pairings: Axel/Roxas
Warnings: Sex, swearing, and slutty blondes
Word Count: 3,455
Summary: What better way to procrastinate during finals than to have some random promiscuous sex with an anonymous blonde?
A/N: Prompt supplied bytsubasa_yume. Happy Graduation~!
The middle of the night tasted different on his tongue. There was that, loosely followed by the high potency of nicotine laced with the aftertaste of the sweat rolling down the exact center of the gyrating back in front of him. He’d been accused of many, many things, but moderation had never been one of them. Procrastinating for the neuroscience midterm worth half his grade in his fourteen person upper division seminar had never been a question, as if a choice between approximately nine hours of grueling, tedious study on the eighth floor of the library could ever trump Thursday night debauchery on the University loop that ran through downtown. Bar hopping was an excellent way to not study. His sixth two dollar mixer—cranberry cocktail and the world’s shittiest vodka—in hand, hips participating in a highly questionable exercise on friction, Axel tried to remember what it was like to not be drunk, novel proteins with absurd names flying through his cerebrum. It was like grasping for daisies or unicorns underwater. They were simply not there. The back, though, was very present, golden skin slicked with perspiration. A blonde. And so short. When the short, blonde, shirtless, sweaty boy twirled against him, plucking the drink from his hand and downing it in one, Axel found it hard to be properly disgruntled.
“Are you, y’know, old enough to be in here?” The boy was clearly twelve.
A dart of pink tongue, lips glistening in the aftermath (cataclysmic at this point; Axel was already eying the exits, planning the quickest escape route back to his university-owned off campus apartment with said short, blonde, shirtless, sweaty twelve year old in hand), and the boy grinned deliciously. “Old enough to know what I like.”
The glass had disappeared, and then there were shooters in his hand, pink and not unlike the vomit of very small children. Had he even paid for these? It seemed important to drink, regardless, and then the boy was all over him and the music was gone because they weren’t inside anymore, the night air cool against his cheeks.
“I think I’m… drunk.” His brain. It worked sometimes. For a neuroscience major, he was surprisingly daft.
“Roxas,” the blonde said, giggling in a horrifically attractive manner with his hand extended. Axel thought he might disintegrate.
“You go to Spence?” They were walking, his arm slung around the blonde’s shoulders naturally, like he wasn’t drunk and nearly blacking out.
“Sure.” The boy was chewing gum, arrogant little smile on his mouth. There was something disconcerting at the sight, like he had been divested of his charm and power, and here it was residing in this little boy next to him. The hopes and dreams of his sixteen year old self, thwarted. Put to rest by a little fucking kid. Insouciance that had taken him years to cultivate, paraded about for all to see in the form of a now fully clothed slut. Well, apparently a slut from the weird way the kid kept grabbing at him, licking suggestively at exposed parts of his skin. A kid or a kitten, and why were they at the liquor store? Roxas was wrinkling his nose at a bottle of Jack, and there was a handle of Malibu in his hand. When, Axel wondered, had he become a chick?
“And these,” Roxas was saying, pushing a pack of Camel Crushes on the counter toward the clerk. There was a twenty in his wallet, two dimes at the bottom of his right pocket, just past the condom and single stick of gum. Axel had learned to leave his cell at the apartment so as to save himself the embarrassing banter of potential bedmates asking him to call their hastily scribbled number on his hand so they could “make sure it works.” It’s your fucking number, why wouldn’t you be sure? But now he was broke, handle of rum in one hand, short blonde in the other. Penniless but chipper, Axel chattered idly, drunkenly, and steered the blonde to his place, coughing intermittently on the putrid cigarettes the kid hard strong-armed him into buying.
“They put fiberglass in that shit.” Slurring and, oh god, swigging from the open bottle. Open container tickets were just shy of $400, and with not even a single penny to call his own, Axel was sure this couldn’t be the most spectacular idea he’d ever had.
“So?” Roxas taking the bottle from him, licking the rim suggestively, mouth sliding down over the neck and back up until he was drinking like a normal person. A series of sevens sliding home flashed behind Axel’s eyes. The jackpot, walking along beside him, showing him where to press on the filter to crush the little ball of menthol. The jackpot, and he had one fucking condom.
It became apparent, however, clothes an impressionistic portrait of delayed gratification strewn all over the floor of his apartment, that more than one condom wouldn’t be necessary. The head had been atrocious. For all the lip-licking, eye-winking, bottle-fellating going on, the blonde left much to be desired.
“Easy with the teeth, babe.” But he was arching up into that hot, wet mouth anyway, teeth sliding away like uniforms over a pitch, sliding home and dirt ground into skin. He’d have road rash by the time the kid was done. Roxas giggled, vibrating against him, and he lost it in the back of his throat, throwing a hand up over his eyes so he didn’t have to watch the kid gag and gag on his dick.
“You okay?” The kid was turned away, coughing, one hand still wrapped around the base of his twitching erection. Axel couldn’t figure out why it turned him on.
“Yeah,” Roxas spluttered, wiping his mouth with one hand, jacking him off slowly with the other. Come and spit and one fucking condom. “I want to fuck you.”
No pretense, his hand still wrapped around Axel, and red flags littering the playing field. “Are you sure you’ve done this before?” Because the kid was a freshman or something, right? Hadn’t he said he went to Spence?
Slow smile spreading over that gorgeous mouth. “Yeah. Loads.”
“Look. A pun.”
“Ha ha,” Roxas said, syllabic emphasis on each upstroke. At least the kid knew how to give a handjob. The sex, though, was… well, it was scary. So tight, and his face, and those sounds, and why did this feel like he was fucking a virgin? Virgins are great, yay for virgins, but Roxas was the jackpot specifically because he was not a virgin. No, he was a sex crazed cockslut who wanted him bad, who would fuck him until he saw stars, who, on his better days, solved quadratic equations or talked a lot about manifolds because that’s what it seemed like Math majors did, and who the fuck majors in Math?
Virgins, his mind supplied.
When Roxas came, it was with a tiny gasp, eyes closed, back arching up with a swift intake of breath. Axel watched the entire time, watched the blonde rock again him once, twice, and then the gasp, his admittedly cute, slightly curved cock dipping down, spilling over his stomach. Axel came in his ass, annoyed at the way the condom felt like fucking a carpet, but for the space of one wondrous, breathless second, Axel imagined coming inside the kid, some place deep within the recess of his body. It was the only moment of clarity in the mess of hazy drunken blurs. That, and the blood on the condom when he pulled out.
“Fuck.” And he’d used so much lube, too. That couldn’t be right. The kid was so tight. Kid kid kid, the kid. Roxas look sated, collapsed on the couch, fingers dancing idly in the come smeared across his abdomen.
“Doesn’t hurt.”
“Are you a virgin?” He was in the kitchenette, picking the bloody condom out of the sink where he’d tossed it before he realized the trash was a much better option.
“I’m so drunk,” Roxas said, licking a finger languidly.
“Hey, how old are you?” Coconut in his mouth, and he was passing the bottle to Roxas, shoving the boy’s legs apart so he could inspect the damage under the guise of licking up residual ejaculate, mind hovering somewhere between cytoplasm and mitochondria while his tongue lapped at the golden skin and his finger probed, feeling out potential damage.
“Does it matter?” Roxas hissed, legs twitching as he bumped against his prostate, tongue swirling over the head of his dick. It’s a cute dick. I didn’t know dicks could be cute.
“I would really like to not go to jail.” And despite what his mouth was saying, his finger was pressing with abandon, followed shortly by his mouth. Tasted like blood and lube, thank god, though he could do without the blood. This was when Roxas bolted up, hand over his mouth. Axel pointed reflexively at the bathroom, and Roxas scampered away, heaving into his hand. Somehow, this was not what he’d envisioned when he thought of taking home a hot, blonde, nympho. Sex numerous times, lazy, delicious, head, showering together and fucking him against the shower tile. It was all very elaborate in Axel’s head. Instead of countless hours paying tribute to the perfected male form, he was supplied with pathetic retching coming from behind his bathroom door. He found the noise oddly erotic. Axel stumbled over, shocked to find that he’d forgotten he was still drunk, and knocked on the door. “You okay in there? Do I need to call a medic?”
The door opened almost immediately, toilet swirling away behind Roxas’ flushed, petulant face. Axel knew the threat of vomit mouth should’ve acted as a deterrent, that he shouldn’t have felt like shoving his tongue into the kid’s mouth, but the desire was there, animalistic in his chest. Roxas briefly eyed him, unfocused, before meandering toward the bottle of rum and knocking back a shot.
Even drunk, Axel knew this didn’t make a hell of a lot of sense. “Should you be doing that?” Roxas, mouth around the bottle, shrugged. It was a righteous, infuriating, little movement that made Axel feel like shaking him. “How old are you, again?”
“You ever get tired of repeating yourself?” Roxas slurred, gesturing grandly with the bottle in his hand. Axel made his way back to the couch and watched the blonde spin around like a satellite, staring at his record collection, his DVD towers, his mounds of laundry. “How old are you?”
“Twenty,” Axel said, watching Roxas bend over to inspect the bottom row of his movies, apparently looking for something. It might be worthy to note that Roxas was still completely naked, Axel’s body aching at the sight of his balls between his legs, ass up in the air.
“Twenty?” Roxas, looking back at him over his shoulder, ass swaying.
“God,” Axel whispered.
“They didn’t card you for this.” Roxas shook the bottle, took another shot.
“This is a college town. You want to do business, you don’t card the kids. Unless they look like you.”
“Blonde?”
“Twelve.”
“Where’s your porn at?” Roxas on all fours now, his body looking like a four course meal. The things Axel wanted to do to—wait, porn?
“You want to watch porn?” The incredulity exploded out of him. “We’re not… done for the night?”
Roxas, stumbling toward the couch with Axel’s laptop, taking another swig of the rum, looked ravenous. “We can play copycat.”
Well this was certainly more like it, but considering the bad sex they’d already had, it was only a matter of time before the blonde was smearing blood and excrement all over his dick and, inevitably, his bathroom floor. Quick, deft movements navigating toward his movie folder, Axel tried to think up a suitable, sober-sounding excuse. “You sure you want to do this? Pornstars are practically contortionists, and I threw my back out in a… boating incident last week. I almost died, actually, right after I speared the four-eyed shark with eight rows of teeth. Ever see Jaws? It was just like that, except I’m much better looking than that guy…”
Roxas watched him with a dazed, unfocused look. “Will you suck my cock?”
Waldo Does Washington—a 90-minute concept porn his friend, Demyx, starred in, chronicling Demyx dressed as Waldo, glasses and red and white sweater intact, having sex in wildly conspicuous places throughout Washington—was under the cursor. “Uhhh, yeah,” he said lamely. Maybe the four-eyed shark was too much?
“The only way to shut you up is by shoving my dick in,” Roxas said thickly, slurring noticeably now. “Your voice is so annoying.”
“My voice is like choirs of angels, kiddo.” Roxas giggled and leaned in for a kiss… with his ear. “You’re, uh, making out with my ear. You know that, right?”
“I don’t even know your name,” Roxas breathed into his ear, hand sliding over his erection. Wasn’t alcohol supposed to deflate his libido?
“A-Axel,” he shuddered. He was clearly drunker than he felt, letting a twelve year old boss him into watching cheesy porn, probably giving him a potential ear infection what with vomit-infused saliva and all.
“Axel, I want you to suck my cock,” Roxas whined in his ear, hand lacing with his and clicking on the… “You have Wall-E? Can we watch it?” The blonde clicked the file without waiting for Axel to voice his dissent, cuddling closer and separating a sizeable portion of Axel’s hair for him to wind his fingers through. “I love this movie,” Roxas slurred in hushed tones, almost reverent as he brought the bottle to his lips again. The sacramental rum. Axel felt faintly nauseous, watching the little robot roll around on a desiccated earth. Somewhere inside him, somewhere far, far below his blood alcohol level, Axel bemoaned what was now almost certainly his dissent into pedophilia. Because, really, Wall-E?
Roxas was giggling somewhere around his ribs. Then everything went very, very still.
“And I tried to quit. I stuffed a turkey under my shirt and walked out the front doors, but they just let me!” Roxas’ voice rose up from the depths of Axel’s unconscious. Attacking, somehow, from within, and pushing toward the surface. “But it’s free food, at least. I eat like five yogurts a day.” A slick drag of something against his forearm, the chemical bite of a Sharpie undercutting sweat and rum. He opened his eyes a fraction of an inch, focusing on the laptop screen where robots were chasing around a plant in a boot.
“This is the second time through. You slept forever,” Roxas said, dotting his arm with the pen Axel used for taking notes while beheading test rats with a guillotine. It sounded more interesting than it was, and there was only so much French Revolution he could channel before giving up to draw ducks in permanent ink, pens conveniently finer than typical Sharpies. They still smelled like shit.
“That’s my pen.”
“Dur,” Roxas said, sketching away on his arm. If Axel squinted, it kinda looked like an octopus. “Anyway, my dad’s a total asshole. I swear he’d put bars on my windows if it wouldn’t trip out the neighbors. Did you know we can’t even park our cars outside? We have to put them in the garage, otherwise we can get a ticket. My neighbors are total assholes.”
“What time is it?” Squinting at the screen of his laptop, the rum—fuck—in his hand, tilting back against his lips. “What about that blowjob I promised you?”
“Don’t turn it off!” Roxas swatted at his hand and then restarted the film, extracting the bottle from Axel and shooting him a scathing look. Axel gaped at him for a full ten seconds, annoyed (read: aroused), then turned toward the screen. Same robot rolling over a desiccated earth. “Look at that.”
“Hmm?” What time was it? Did this kid ever go home?
“You think you could live like that?” Roxas brought the bottle to his mouth; the liquid slide, a wet smack against Roxas’ mouth, signaling the end of the rum.
“Like what?” Roxas passed the bottle over and Axel finished it off, recoiling slightly at the bubbly backwash.
“Alone.”
Reading the label on the bottle, eying the proof, Axel sighed. “We are alone.”
Roxas made a small noise beside him, shifted, then unzipped the pants he must’ve thrown on while Axel was out. “I’ll have the blowjob now, thanks.”
Axel shrugged and leaned over, swallowing and swallowing while Roxas gripped his hair. Unsurprisingly, the kid didn’t last long. Roxas had potential, though, tongue trembling in Axel’s mouth after he reached down and pulled Axel up for a kiss, mouth still awash with come. It was… nice. Soft. Tasted faintly of yogurt, Boston Cream Pie, or maybe he was imagining things. The last thing Axel felt before passing out again was a small kiss against his jugular, fluttering there as his eyelids opened to darkness.
The problem with blacking out is that, until you wake up the next morning without a fucking clue where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing, you don’t even know it’s happening. You wake up, naked, next to someone you’d never touch with a ten-foot pole if you were sober. You wake up, naked, in a jail cell sleeping next to someone who smells like jalapeños and raw meat. You wake up, naked, tied to a sink in a girl’s restroom at a middle school three cities away. Or, in Axel’s case, you wake up, naked, with an empty wallet, an empty bottle of Malibu, a tattoo in ink—thank god; two unexplainable tattoos are enough for one lifetime—on your right arm, and, maybe most disconcerting of all, Wall-E is playing on your laptop, repeating for the last seven hours. There was a moment of distraught paranoia—did he have a dick scrawled in Sharpie on his forehead, and where were his fucking pants?—before he shrugged and sat up. Frowning, Axel added “smell like bad sex” to his shopping list of strange obscenities, the metallic clang of blood just under the low, heavy smell of come and sweat. What’s worse is that he was hard, a clear indicator of what had probably been a lackluster performance on behalf of whatever sweet young thing he’d picked up last night. Laughing at his horrible luck, he kicked off his pants and picked up his phone, sending off a mass text while jacking off.
One shit, shower, and shave later (and at least two orgasms, the second of which took an inordinate amount of time, his fingers wrinkling under the heat of the shower) Axel was a new man. According to Demyx, he was last seen leaving the bar with a blonde boy. Certainly an interesting development, and now he really had to remember that he should never call Tifa back, drunk or not, re-naming her entry in his phone as, “HELL NO.” According to Lux, he ambled up the stairs at one in the morning, bottle of now empty Malibu sloshing about as he barged into Luxord’s apartment, sucking face with “some blonde whore, can I get his number?” after mistaking it for his own, located a floor above. According to Larxene, he was pathetic and should try fucking himself. Altogether satisfied, Axel headed toward the corner liquor store.
The boy was easy to pick out in the sea of high school students emerging from the front doors, bell chiming at 3:01pm. It was his third high school this week, and he’d been beginning to think that he wouldn’t recognize the kid when he saw him. But that blonde hair, frowning mouth, and dejected slant of shoulders… it snapped home in his brain like the last piece of a puzzle. Rockford, his mind supplied. Rockford? That definitely could not be right.
The blonde walked right up to him, eyes slit against the sunlight. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Axel said, remembering how his come tasted. Like water and piss.
Roxas stared at him, immobile, probably wondering what sick fuck actively searches out lying high school kids. Axel could only think of one word, a repeating loop like that goddamn lonely robot for seven hours: potential.
“Can I walk you home?” He winked at the end of the question, leaned up against the fence in a way that he hoped looked badass. Really, he looked like someone’s older brother picking a fight with some kid half his size. Roxas scowled and walked away, pulling a pack of Camel Crushes from the front pocket of his backpack. Eyes lingering briefly on the spot where Roxas stood, grinning hard in the afternoon sunlight, Axel turned and followed.
Title: Potentialities
Author: Versace Frolic
Rating: M
Pairings: Axel/Roxas
Warnings: Sex, swearing, and slutty blondes
Word Count: 3,455
Summary: What better way to procrastinate during finals than to have some random promiscuous sex with an anonymous blonde?
A/N: Prompt supplied by
tsubasa_yume. Happy Graduation~!The middle of the night tasted different on his tongue. There was that, loosely followed by the high potency of nicotine laced with the aftertaste of the sweat rolling down the exact center of the gyrating back in front of him. He’d been accused of many, many things, but moderation had never been one of them. Procrastinating for the neuroscience midterm worth half his grade in his fourteen person upper division seminar had never been a question, as if a choice between approximately nine hours of grueling, tedious study on the eighth floor of the library could ever trump Thursday night debauchery on the University loop that ran through downtown. Bar hopping was an excellent way to not study. His sixth two dollar mixer—cranberry cocktail and the world’s shittiest vodka—in hand, hips participating in a highly questionable exercise on friction, Axel tried to remember what it was like to not be drunk, novel proteins with absurd names flying through his cerebrum. It was like grasping for daisies or unicorns underwater. They were simply not there. The back, though, was very present, golden skin slicked with perspiration. A blonde. And so short. When the short, blonde, shirtless, sweaty boy twirled against him, plucking the drink from his hand and downing it in one, Axel found it hard to be properly disgruntled.
“Are you, y’know, old enough to be in here?” The boy was clearly twelve.
A dart of pink tongue, lips glistening in the aftermath (cataclysmic at this point; Axel was already eying the exits, planning the quickest escape route back to his university-owned off campus apartment with said short, blonde, shirtless, sweaty twelve year old in hand), and the boy grinned deliciously. “Old enough to know what I like.”
The glass had disappeared, and then there were shooters in his hand, pink and not unlike the vomit of very small children. Had he even paid for these? It seemed important to drink, regardless, and then the boy was all over him and the music was gone because they weren’t inside anymore, the night air cool against his cheeks.
“I think I’m… drunk.” His brain. It worked sometimes. For a neuroscience major, he was surprisingly daft.
“Roxas,” the blonde said, giggling in a horrifically attractive manner with his hand extended. Axel thought he might disintegrate.
“You go to Spence?” They were walking, his arm slung around the blonde’s shoulders naturally, like he wasn’t drunk and nearly blacking out.
“Sure.” The boy was chewing gum, arrogant little smile on his mouth. There was something disconcerting at the sight, like he had been divested of his charm and power, and here it was residing in this little boy next to him. The hopes and dreams of his sixteen year old self, thwarted. Put to rest by a little fucking kid. Insouciance that had taken him years to cultivate, paraded about for all to see in the form of a now fully clothed slut. Well, apparently a slut from the weird way the kid kept grabbing at him, licking suggestively at exposed parts of his skin. A kid or a kitten, and why were they at the liquor store? Roxas was wrinkling his nose at a bottle of Jack, and there was a handle of Malibu in his hand. When, Axel wondered, had he become a chick?
“And these,” Roxas was saying, pushing a pack of Camel Crushes on the counter toward the clerk. There was a twenty in his wallet, two dimes at the bottom of his right pocket, just past the condom and single stick of gum. Axel had learned to leave his cell at the apartment so as to save himself the embarrassing banter of potential bedmates asking him to call their hastily scribbled number on his hand so they could “make sure it works.” It’s your fucking number, why wouldn’t you be sure? But now he was broke, handle of rum in one hand, short blonde in the other. Penniless but chipper, Axel chattered idly, drunkenly, and steered the blonde to his place, coughing intermittently on the putrid cigarettes the kid hard strong-armed him into buying.
“They put fiberglass in that shit.” Slurring and, oh god, swigging from the open bottle. Open container tickets were just shy of $400, and with not even a single penny to call his own, Axel was sure this couldn’t be the most spectacular idea he’d ever had.
“So?” Roxas taking the bottle from him, licking the rim suggestively, mouth sliding down over the neck and back up until he was drinking like a normal person. A series of sevens sliding home flashed behind Axel’s eyes. The jackpot, walking along beside him, showing him where to press on the filter to crush the little ball of menthol. The jackpot, and he had one fucking condom.
It became apparent, however, clothes an impressionistic portrait of delayed gratification strewn all over the floor of his apartment, that more than one condom wouldn’t be necessary. The head had been atrocious. For all the lip-licking, eye-winking, bottle-fellating going on, the blonde left much to be desired.
“Easy with the teeth, babe.” But he was arching up into that hot, wet mouth anyway, teeth sliding away like uniforms over a pitch, sliding home and dirt ground into skin. He’d have road rash by the time the kid was done. Roxas giggled, vibrating against him, and he lost it in the back of his throat, throwing a hand up over his eyes so he didn’t have to watch the kid gag and gag on his dick.
“You okay?” The kid was turned away, coughing, one hand still wrapped around the base of his twitching erection. Axel couldn’t figure out why it turned him on.
“Yeah,” Roxas spluttered, wiping his mouth with one hand, jacking him off slowly with the other. Come and spit and one fucking condom. “I want to fuck you.”
No pretense, his hand still wrapped around Axel, and red flags littering the playing field. “Are you sure you’ve done this before?” Because the kid was a freshman or something, right? Hadn’t he said he went to Spence?
Slow smile spreading over that gorgeous mouth. “Yeah. Loads.”
“Look. A pun.”
“Ha ha,” Roxas said, syllabic emphasis on each upstroke. At least the kid knew how to give a handjob. The sex, though, was… well, it was scary. So tight, and his face, and those sounds, and why did this feel like he was fucking a virgin? Virgins are great, yay for virgins, but Roxas was the jackpot specifically because he was not a virgin. No, he was a sex crazed cockslut who wanted him bad, who would fuck him until he saw stars, who, on his better days, solved quadratic equations or talked a lot about manifolds because that’s what it seemed like Math majors did, and who the fuck majors in Math?
Virgins, his mind supplied.
When Roxas came, it was with a tiny gasp, eyes closed, back arching up with a swift intake of breath. Axel watched the entire time, watched the blonde rock again him once, twice, and then the gasp, his admittedly cute, slightly curved cock dipping down, spilling over his stomach. Axel came in his ass, annoyed at the way the condom felt like fucking a carpet, but for the space of one wondrous, breathless second, Axel imagined coming inside the kid, some place deep within the recess of his body. It was the only moment of clarity in the mess of hazy drunken blurs. That, and the blood on the condom when he pulled out.
“Fuck.” And he’d used so much lube, too. That couldn’t be right. The kid was so tight. Kid kid kid, the kid. Roxas look sated, collapsed on the couch, fingers dancing idly in the come smeared across his abdomen.
“Doesn’t hurt.”
“Are you a virgin?” He was in the kitchenette, picking the bloody condom out of the sink where he’d tossed it before he realized the trash was a much better option.
“I’m so drunk,” Roxas said, licking a finger languidly.
“Hey, how old are you?” Coconut in his mouth, and he was passing the bottle to Roxas, shoving the boy’s legs apart so he could inspect the damage under the guise of licking up residual ejaculate, mind hovering somewhere between cytoplasm and mitochondria while his tongue lapped at the golden skin and his finger probed, feeling out potential damage.
“Does it matter?” Roxas hissed, legs twitching as he bumped against his prostate, tongue swirling over the head of his dick. It’s a cute dick. I didn’t know dicks could be cute.
“I would really like to not go to jail.” And despite what his mouth was saying, his finger was pressing with abandon, followed shortly by his mouth. Tasted like blood and lube, thank god, though he could do without the blood. This was when Roxas bolted up, hand over his mouth. Axel pointed reflexively at the bathroom, and Roxas scampered away, heaving into his hand. Somehow, this was not what he’d envisioned when he thought of taking home a hot, blonde, nympho. Sex numerous times, lazy, delicious, head, showering together and fucking him against the shower tile. It was all very elaborate in Axel’s head. Instead of countless hours paying tribute to the perfected male form, he was supplied with pathetic retching coming from behind his bathroom door. He found the noise oddly erotic. Axel stumbled over, shocked to find that he’d forgotten he was still drunk, and knocked on the door. “You okay in there? Do I need to call a medic?”
The door opened almost immediately, toilet swirling away behind Roxas’ flushed, petulant face. Axel knew the threat of vomit mouth should’ve acted as a deterrent, that he shouldn’t have felt like shoving his tongue into the kid’s mouth, but the desire was there, animalistic in his chest. Roxas briefly eyed him, unfocused, before meandering toward the bottle of rum and knocking back a shot.
Even drunk, Axel knew this didn’t make a hell of a lot of sense. “Should you be doing that?” Roxas, mouth around the bottle, shrugged. It was a righteous, infuriating, little movement that made Axel feel like shaking him. “How old are you, again?”
“You ever get tired of repeating yourself?” Roxas slurred, gesturing grandly with the bottle in his hand. Axel made his way back to the couch and watched the blonde spin around like a satellite, staring at his record collection, his DVD towers, his mounds of laundry. “How old are you?”
“Twenty,” Axel said, watching Roxas bend over to inspect the bottom row of his movies, apparently looking for something. It might be worthy to note that Roxas was still completely naked, Axel’s body aching at the sight of his balls between his legs, ass up in the air.
“Twenty?” Roxas, looking back at him over his shoulder, ass swaying.
“God,” Axel whispered.
“They didn’t card you for this.” Roxas shook the bottle, took another shot.
“This is a college town. You want to do business, you don’t card the kids. Unless they look like you.”
“Blonde?”
“Twelve.”
“Where’s your porn at?” Roxas on all fours now, his body looking like a four course meal. The things Axel wanted to do to—wait, porn?
“You want to watch porn?” The incredulity exploded out of him. “We’re not… done for the night?”
Roxas, stumbling toward the couch with Axel’s laptop, taking another swig of the rum, looked ravenous. “We can play copycat.”
Well this was certainly more like it, but considering the bad sex they’d already had, it was only a matter of time before the blonde was smearing blood and excrement all over his dick and, inevitably, his bathroom floor. Quick, deft movements navigating toward his movie folder, Axel tried to think up a suitable, sober-sounding excuse. “You sure you want to do this? Pornstars are practically contortionists, and I threw my back out in a… boating incident last week. I almost died, actually, right after I speared the four-eyed shark with eight rows of teeth. Ever see Jaws? It was just like that, except I’m much better looking than that guy…”
Roxas watched him with a dazed, unfocused look. “Will you suck my cock?”
Waldo Does Washington—a 90-minute concept porn his friend, Demyx, starred in, chronicling Demyx dressed as Waldo, glasses and red and white sweater intact, having sex in wildly conspicuous places throughout Washington—was under the cursor. “Uhhh, yeah,” he said lamely. Maybe the four-eyed shark was too much?
“The only way to shut you up is by shoving my dick in,” Roxas said thickly, slurring noticeably now. “Your voice is so annoying.”
“My voice is like choirs of angels, kiddo.” Roxas giggled and leaned in for a kiss… with his ear. “You’re, uh, making out with my ear. You know that, right?”
“I don’t even know your name,” Roxas breathed into his ear, hand sliding over his erection. Wasn’t alcohol supposed to deflate his libido?
“A-Axel,” he shuddered. He was clearly drunker than he felt, letting a twelve year old boss him into watching cheesy porn, probably giving him a potential ear infection what with vomit-infused saliva and all.
“Axel, I want you to suck my cock,” Roxas whined in his ear, hand lacing with his and clicking on the… “You have Wall-E? Can we watch it?” The blonde clicked the file without waiting for Axel to voice his dissent, cuddling closer and separating a sizeable portion of Axel’s hair for him to wind his fingers through. “I love this movie,” Roxas slurred in hushed tones, almost reverent as he brought the bottle to his lips again. The sacramental rum. Axel felt faintly nauseous, watching the little robot roll around on a desiccated earth. Somewhere inside him, somewhere far, far below his blood alcohol level, Axel bemoaned what was now almost certainly his dissent into pedophilia. Because, really, Wall-E?
Roxas was giggling somewhere around his ribs. Then everything went very, very still.
“And I tried to quit. I stuffed a turkey under my shirt and walked out the front doors, but they just let me!” Roxas’ voice rose up from the depths of Axel’s unconscious. Attacking, somehow, from within, and pushing toward the surface. “But it’s free food, at least. I eat like five yogurts a day.” A slick drag of something against his forearm, the chemical bite of a Sharpie undercutting sweat and rum. He opened his eyes a fraction of an inch, focusing on the laptop screen where robots were chasing around a plant in a boot.
“This is the second time through. You slept forever,” Roxas said, dotting his arm with the pen Axel used for taking notes while beheading test rats with a guillotine. It sounded more interesting than it was, and there was only so much French Revolution he could channel before giving up to draw ducks in permanent ink, pens conveniently finer than typical Sharpies. They still smelled like shit.
“That’s my pen.”
“Dur,” Roxas said, sketching away on his arm. If Axel squinted, it kinda looked like an octopus. “Anyway, my dad’s a total asshole. I swear he’d put bars on my windows if it wouldn’t trip out the neighbors. Did you know we can’t even park our cars outside? We have to put them in the garage, otherwise we can get a ticket. My neighbors are total assholes.”
“What time is it?” Squinting at the screen of his laptop, the rum—fuck—in his hand, tilting back against his lips. “What about that blowjob I promised you?”
“Don’t turn it off!” Roxas swatted at his hand and then restarted the film, extracting the bottle from Axel and shooting him a scathing look. Axel gaped at him for a full ten seconds, annoyed (read: aroused), then turned toward the screen. Same robot rolling over a desiccated earth. “Look at that.”
“Hmm?” What time was it? Did this kid ever go home?
“You think you could live like that?” Roxas brought the bottle to his mouth; the liquid slide, a wet smack against Roxas’ mouth, signaling the end of the rum.
“Like what?” Roxas passed the bottle over and Axel finished it off, recoiling slightly at the bubbly backwash.
“Alone.”
Reading the label on the bottle, eying the proof, Axel sighed. “We are alone.”
Roxas made a small noise beside him, shifted, then unzipped the pants he must’ve thrown on while Axel was out. “I’ll have the blowjob now, thanks.”
Axel shrugged and leaned over, swallowing and swallowing while Roxas gripped his hair. Unsurprisingly, the kid didn’t last long. Roxas had potential, though, tongue trembling in Axel’s mouth after he reached down and pulled Axel up for a kiss, mouth still awash with come. It was… nice. Soft. Tasted faintly of yogurt, Boston Cream Pie, or maybe he was imagining things. The last thing Axel felt before passing out again was a small kiss against his jugular, fluttering there as his eyelids opened to darkness.
The problem with blacking out is that, until you wake up the next morning without a fucking clue where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing, you don’t even know it’s happening. You wake up, naked, next to someone you’d never touch with a ten-foot pole if you were sober. You wake up, naked, in a jail cell sleeping next to someone who smells like jalapeños and raw meat. You wake up, naked, tied to a sink in a girl’s restroom at a middle school three cities away. Or, in Axel’s case, you wake up, naked, with an empty wallet, an empty bottle of Malibu, a tattoo in ink—thank god; two unexplainable tattoos are enough for one lifetime—on your right arm, and, maybe most disconcerting of all, Wall-E is playing on your laptop, repeating for the last seven hours. There was a moment of distraught paranoia—did he have a dick scrawled in Sharpie on his forehead, and where were his fucking pants?—before he shrugged and sat up. Frowning, Axel added “smell like bad sex” to his shopping list of strange obscenities, the metallic clang of blood just under the low, heavy smell of come and sweat. What’s worse is that he was hard, a clear indicator of what had probably been a lackluster performance on behalf of whatever sweet young thing he’d picked up last night. Laughing at his horrible luck, he kicked off his pants and picked up his phone, sending off a mass text while jacking off.
One shit, shower, and shave later (and at least two orgasms, the second of which took an inordinate amount of time, his fingers wrinkling under the heat of the shower) Axel was a new man. According to Demyx, he was last seen leaving the bar with a blonde boy. Certainly an interesting development, and now he really had to remember that he should never call Tifa back, drunk or not, re-naming her entry in his phone as, “HELL NO.” According to Lux, he ambled up the stairs at one in the morning, bottle of now empty Malibu sloshing about as he barged into Luxord’s apartment, sucking face with “some blonde whore, can I get his number?” after mistaking it for his own, located a floor above. According to Larxene, he was pathetic and should try fucking himself. Altogether satisfied, Axel headed toward the corner liquor store.
The boy was easy to pick out in the sea of high school students emerging from the front doors, bell chiming at 3:01pm. It was his third high school this week, and he’d been beginning to think that he wouldn’t recognize the kid when he saw him. But that blonde hair, frowning mouth, and dejected slant of shoulders… it snapped home in his brain like the last piece of a puzzle. Rockford, his mind supplied. Rockford? That definitely could not be right.
The blonde walked right up to him, eyes slit against the sunlight. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Axel said, remembering how his come tasted. Like water and piss.
Roxas stared at him, immobile, probably wondering what sick fuck actively searches out lying high school kids. Axel could only think of one word, a repeating loop like that goddamn lonely robot for seven hours: potential.
“Can I walk you home?” He winked at the end of the question, leaned up against the fence in a way that he hoped looked badass. Really, he looked like someone’s older brother picking a fight with some kid half his size. Roxas scowled and walked away, pulling a pack of Camel Crushes from the front pocket of his backpack. Eyes lingering briefly on the spot where Roxas stood, grinning hard in the afternoon sunlight, Axel turned and followed.
