In the early days of their acquaintance, before Demyx had gotten the nerve to kiss him, Zexion had spent an awful lot of time focusing on Demyx's hands. At first glance, there wasn't much special about them. They were average. Pale with long, slender fingers. Nails mostly trimmed, but a few broken from the guitar he was always plucking at. A few scars that looked like more than one guitar string had broken over his career of playing and snapped against the taut skin of his hand. No jewelry, no tattoos, occasionally a scribble on the palm of what looked like a grocery list. Sometimes a particularly bold patron at the bar would flounce their way up after Demyx (with or without his band) played a song or two, jotting their name and number across the blond's skin- not that he ever bothered to call them anymore.
For everything average about Demyx's hands, Zexion could name twice as many amazing things they could do. Hands that could delicately strum guitar strings, making sweet melodies float through the crowded bar, silencing men and women alike as they stopped conversations to focus on the talented male on stage. Fingers that could dance their way across the bar top, tapping rhythmically to a song that only Demyx could hear. A grip that could, in one breath, balance a glass of liquor far above his head while making his way through a crowded floor and, in the next breath, slam a shot glass back down on the counter, curling two fingers at Zexion (or whichever bartender was available) for another, please. Always please after a request. Demyx was nothing if not polite.
Over time, Zexion learned more about Demyx's hands. How softly his fingers moved when they sank into the slate hair, brushing the fringe out of Zexion's face. "Such a shame to cover up such a cute face," Demyx would say, which would inevitably cause Zexion to roll his eyes while hiding a smile of satisfaction. How his thumb would constantly brush across Zexion's knuckles- back and forth, back and forth- when they held hands… whenever they held hands. The more he learned, the more he loved. He learned to love the way Demyx's hands would instinctively reach out while he was asleep, curling his fingers into the fabric of Zexion's shirt to pull him closer. He learned to love the way Demyx had to fidget with everything, as if he couldn't go on with his day without knowing what every object that crossed his path felt like.
It was tonight, however, that Zexion learned his favorite thing about Demyx's hands. Calloused and smooth at the same time, those musical hands moved over Zexion's back in long, smooth strokes, gliding easily over the skin with the aid of the lotion that sat on the bedside table. A soft moan of approval slipped past the bartender's lips, eyes closed in relaxation. Demyx smiled fondly, dipping his head down to nose the hair off the nape of Zexion's neck and plant a featherlight kiss to the skin there.
"Hey now," Zexion murmured, opening one eye and glancing up at his boyfriend. "That's not what we're doing tonight. You're being punished."
Demyx responded with a soft whine, hands still massaging the other's back. "You can't punish me for this. It's not my fault." As if to convince Zexion to change his mind, the blond wriggled his hips seductively, the placement making him move right against Zexion's backside. There was a sharp inhale from below him, and Demyx smiled to himself, resuming the massage and whistling.
Silence fell between them as Demyx continued, occasionally reaching over to add more lotion to his hands. His touch stayed light and gently, never pressing too hard out of fear of causing pain, but he couldn't help but to notice how much tension Zexion carried in his shoulders and lower back. Biting his lips, he debated mentioning it, knowing full well that Zexion wouldn't appreciate being coddled, but knowing just as much that he couldn't not point it out. "I can practically hear you arguing with yourself, Dem," came a quiet voice. Zexion's eye peeked open once more, azure hue locking with turquoise. "What's going on?"
In his mind, Demyx recited his words, ensuring they would come across eloquently- concerned, but not intrusive. Of course, when he opened his mouth to speak, everything suddenly vanished from thought, leaving him to stumble through his response alone. "You just seem stressed. You're tense here," the blond explained, brushing his fingers over Zexion's shoulders before sliding them down to touch his lower back, "and here. Like, I can't believe how tense you are. Haven't you ever had a massage before?"
Zexion scoffed. "Have I ever paid a complete stranger to put their hands all over my body while I'm lying beneath them, naked and vulnerable and completely at their will? No, thank you, that has never been on my to-do list," he pointed out, wrinkling his nose in distaste. A pause and then: "Have you?"
"Nah, I don't have the patience to lie still long enough to get one," Demyx reassured the other. "I give good ones, though. All those years of playing string instruments, I guess. Nimble fingers." Straightening up, Demyx reached over for the towel beside them, gently running it over Zexion's back to clean up any residual lotion before wiping his hands off. He flopped to the side, crashing against the mattress obnoxiously and causing Zexion to flail in mid-air for a second or two. "Feel any better?"
The smaller male strained to glance over his shoulder at his back but gave up after a minute's struggle. "A bit. Although I get the feeling it will be worse in the next day or two."
Demyx shifted, carefully putting his arm over Zexion's lower back and tugging his boyfriend closer. "I'm happy to do this again for you tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day…," he murmured, closing his lips around Zexion's earlobe and nipping lightly. "I meant what I said before about you being stressed. And it just so happens that I know a perfect way to relieve some stress."
Zexion chuckled, turning onto his back with slow movements and curling himself against Demyx's chest, listening to the blond's heartbeat for a moment before responding. "You're still being punished."
Demyx's lower lip jutted out in a pout, and a tuft of Zexion's hair shifted as the other huffed his displeasure. "You're still not allowed to blame me for that," he countered.
Soft lips trailed beneath Demyx's jaw, making their way up to that particularly pouty lip. "We wouldn't have been there had you not insisted we take the day off," Zexion argued playfully. It was strange, the level of playfulness and teasing he fell into when he was with the blond. Such a change from his typical, antisocial behavior. "Of course it's your fault."
"Could argue that it's your own fault." The pout hadn't entirely disappeared, but it lessened slightly with the promise of a kiss coming toward it. "You forgot to remind me to bri-"
His words were cut off suddenly when lips pressed against his, and one of Zexion's hands raised to cup the side of Demyx's face. The musician responded enthusiastically, hands moving to his boyfriend's waist to roll him onto his back.
Whoops.
Zexion was already gasping, arching and rolling back over before Demyx's mind fully processed the situation. "Oh, oh! I'm sorry! I forgot! Your face, and your lips, and your stupidly perfect kiss distracted me. Are you okay?"
The slate-haired male whined weakly but waved a dismissive hand. "I'll be okay. But Dem?" Demyx shifted closer, making a small sound of encouragement for Zexion to continue. "I'm never going to the beach with you again."
Laughter floated through the room as the couple descended into another playful argument about whose fault Zexion's sunburn was, into more promises that Demyx would rub aloe on his back, and into another long rehash of just whose fault it was that the sunblock was left behind.