Smooth
Summary: Axel thinks his new neighbor is pretty smooth. (Akuroku. Duh.)
Notes: Songfic, UBER long, x-posted on my lj, soon to be on my DA. Song is "Smooth", by Santana.
Rating: M for Axel's language, thoughts... yanno, Axel being Axel. XD
Commentary: All right, so here's the thing. Yes, I did post this on my lj, BUT! I had to split it into parts because this story is so freaking long. But here's the thing: I told it as I felt it needed to be told, so I won't apologize for the length... though I do marvel at how I got, no joke, 15 pages out of a five minute song. I wanted to write it in first person since I don't write that often at all, and quite a bit of it made me wonder what I was on. But I am, overall, pleased with how it turned out. Unfortunately, shortly after finishing it and posting it on lj, my computer committed hara-kiri (I'm currently borrowing my mother's comp). I managed to rescue everything (still gotta get my FFVII game off there because I don't want to have to watch the Niebelheim spiel again), but I didn't get to finish editing this on lj. So if you read it there and it looks familiar, please just check it out here again, and see how it's really supposed to look. Anyhow, please enjoy!
Written January 3, 2009
Another hot day. Another hot, humid day. Another hot, humid day in the middle of this P.O.S town's excuse for Little Havana. Not that I'm missing the real deal. Just more crying kids to ignore. And everyone knows what's going on. At least out here, they don't care. Hell, no one cares in the city. So long as they can get their next meal, their next high, their next fuck, you could kill the neighbors if you wanted. And with the way I look, they probably think I did.
Which I didn't. I just look fierce, like Demyx says. But then, he doesn't know that much. Hell, he thinks that bookworm boyfriend of his looks like a 'kitten'. I think he looks 'emo'. But it's me we're talking about, not Zexy. Little, old, flame-headed (ugh, another reference to the heat…), acid-eyed, tattooed me. I'm not a danger at all.
Unless I get hold of a lighter, but we all promised not to talk about that time with the drapes and the vodka again, didn't we? Damned if that wasn't fun, though.
Hey, what's that truck there? Huh. Well, fuck me running. Newbies! Ooh… and blondie! Looks like kiddo missed the boat on dorm funding. Heh, well, won't he be surprised to meet the neighbors?
Man, it's a hot one
Like seven inches from the midday sun
I hear you whisper and the words melt everyone
But you stay so cool
"Axel, don't torture the new guy," my roomie tells me from the center of the kitchen floor, plucking lazily away at the sitar string. Where the fuck did he get that thing anyway?
"Demyx, didn't I tell you not to bring that damn kiddie pool in here? You're gonna drip through the floor and the landlady's gonna be pissed. Again."
"It's too damn hot to sit on the walkway in it. And the kids kill my sitar."
"Then fill the fucking bathtub with ice water and play there."
"Too little room. Can you dump some more water in here?" He asks me this. When I already told him not to bring the fucker in here. Fuck water, he gets ice. And if it gets on his precious baby, well, shit happens.
"SHIT, AXEL! THAT'S COLD!"
Well, you asked. I have come to the conclusion once again that my roommate is, indeed, a dumbass. Don't get me wrong, Dem and I go way back; hell, we're only here because we decided to move out here together to start a band. Then he got a boyfriend and that indie-ass sitar, and now all he does is compose shit for that and take up my kitchen floor with his kiddie pool and ice water while he waits for Zexy to get off work. Give him a couple more summers if I don't break down and buy a fan or an air conditioner or something, that kid will be a shoo-in for the polar bear club's annual swim for charity.
Again, I digress. This is about meeting the new neighbor, not how much of a fuck-off my roomie is. I'm close enough to hear him talking to the movers; hey, the calle's not that wide. I'm not even out of my building. I wonder… should I have put on a shirt or something, other than the old shorts I'm in?
"'Ey! Cual es la temperatura ahora?" I call up to the senora watching her kids, praying it will have gone down some since the last time I asked.
"Es ciento diez grados, el mismo a la dos horas hace!" she calls back. Well, at least it hasn't gotten hotter. Thank God for small favors. I think she knows what I'm up to, because she calls out to me again.
"Paras! Tus Rosario!" I look down and turn the thing right- it's more for show now, since I haven't been to Mass since I turned fourteen and saw that I was kinda screwed by way of the church. It makes me feel better to wear it, though.
"Gracias!" I call back. She just smiles and sits back in her chair, occasionally chattering at her kids to stop whatever the hell they're doing. She's nice enough, sure, she feeds me sometimes when rent takes the grocery money, but I don't have to like her kids. All right, showtime, Axel my man. And stroll casually; don't act like you're too eager to meet him. And be smooth, the way you KNOW you are.
"That box goes in the kitchen, be careful with it, it's the plates and stuff…"
"Hey, blondie." What's that? Is that… attraction? No, wait, looks like aggravation maybe… "Name's Axel. A-X-E-L. Got it memorized?"
"Roxas. R-O-X-A-S. Don't give a fuck." He says in return, directing another mover where to put a box and to caution another. Yeah, I think I was seeing aggravation, but dammit! I can't give up! That senora went out of her way to help me!
"I noticed you moving in, and I was wondering if you needed any help, or you wanted a guide around…"
"Store's down that way half a block, fifth on the left, cinema's right by it, pharmacy is a block up the street, Tex-Mex restaurant is just on the outskirts, authentic cooking is just about anywhere you care to look, walk five minutes in any direction and you'll be in front of it. Did I miss anything?" he asks caustically, and I see definite annoyance shimmering in those blue eyes. I can barely manage to shake my head no. "Great, then if you'll excuse me, I've got moving in to do… Christ, why did it have to be so hot today?"
"It could get hotter, if you'd let it." That was it, the patented 'sexy-do-me™' voice, complete with face. If that doesn't work, the kid's dead, got a glacier for a heart, or is completely and incurably straight.
"Perhaps you didn't get it the first time. No. Fuck off. Get lost. Goodbye." And with that, he's gone. I retreat back into the apartment to lick my wounds and plan for my next attack.
"¿El no le gusta?" the senora asks. I sigh and put on my most dejected face.
"No, el no le gusta. Pienso que él es asexual."
"¡PUEDO OIR Y COMPRENDO QUE TU DICES!" Well, shit. There goes the neighborhood. I slink back in as the senora calls out her welcomes to the kid, and hear Demyx plinking away at that sitar.
"Dude, scoot over." I sigh as I come in.
"No way. My pool."
"My damn kitchen, now scoot the fuck over." I say angrily. It's been a shit day. He's making it worse. And now Roxas! I gotta get to that kid. But how…
My mu-equita, my Spanish Harlem Mona Lisa
You're my reason for reason
The step in my groove
"Shit, Axel, it's been a week already." Demyx sighs from the couch. Turns out he cracked first. Got a fan. It's been on full blast since it came out of the damn box and it still does nothing for the heat. Fuck, when will this heat wave break? "You don't mope. You don't write emo-ass love songs to the caustic blond in our building. Do you even know his name?"
"Roxas." I counter, the guitar wailing away like I'd like to. I haven't seen my sweet Roxy since that day, though I hear him conversing with the senora across the hall occasionally. I don't fucking get it. How does he live in the same building as me and I never see him? It's psycho and wrong!
"Well, there's a first." Zexion says. Emo boy doesn't like this heat, but he loves Demyx… and his roommate's got his psycho-bitch of a girlfriend over right now. He likes his roomie, they're friends from work or something, but that woman of his… well, Zexy's told us some stories.
If I ever run into Larxene in a dark alley I'm taking off in the opposite direction. Fuck courage. He who turns and runs away lives to sing another day. I never wanna meet her. Ever. But I think you get my point.
"Shut up, Periwinkle." I can just see the vein over his forehead as he gets up to aim a well-placed kick at my thigh. Shrimp kicks high, dammit!
"It's. Slate." He reminds me none-too-gently for the millionth time. "And. It's. Natural." Wow, have I made that joke that many times? Damn. Need new material. "And now that you and your stupid crush have made me get up off the couch, I'm getting a drink. Demyx?"
"Nah thanks. I think I hydrated myself for the rest of the week in that pool yesterday." Zexion raises an eyebrow but says nothing. Nevertheless he still gets Demyx a soda. On the way back by, he looks at me from my seat on the amp.
"You're almost out of food. You need to go shopping."
"Demyx's turn." I groan.
"No way! I did it the last two times because you had a date and work, respectively!" Shit, when did he get a brain? I was sure I could milk five or six more trips out of him! "You owe me."
"Besides, we have plans." Zexion says calmly.
"Oh, plans? Really? What are they and can I be included?" I ask, pretty sure I know what they're planning. It's another old joke.
"How many times do I have to tell you I don't do threesomes? Especially not with my best friend?" Demyx sighs. Zexion nods, and this is the part where he'd normally put an arm over Dem's shoulders, but it's so damn hot in here that even Demyx would snap, and Demyx is usually pretty even tempered.
Again, we won't mention the time with the lighter, the vodka, and the drapes, but I will say this: not in front of him. It was only fun before he realized what happened.
"You need more mango soda." Zexion throws in helpfully from the couch, getting to his feet and getting ready to leave.
"Hey, you and Dem are the only ones who drink it here. You want it, you pitch in the cash for it." I say from the kitchen- gotta make a list, right?
"How much?" My head snaps back like something out of The Exorcist. Zexy say what? He has never, ever offered to pitch in for groceries, and I think this even shocks Demyx.
"Say what?"
"How. Much."
"Uh… tell ya what." I say, still in shock. "I'll take down the price and pitch in most of it, but you pay me back."
"Okay." Zexion's pretty mild about this… what the hell happened?
"What brought this on?" Demyx asks, eyes as wide as saucers.
"I got a raise. Apparently I'm a valuable waiter in that damned café." He says, rolling his dark gray eyes. "More like those damned teenage girls think I'm hot and I have to be polite instead of telling them what I really think of them."
"Yeah. My Sexy Zexy." Demyx smiles, and gets over the heat long enough to cuddle him.
"Damn… yanno what, dude, fuck… I'll cover the whole price this time. Next time, it's you, man." I sigh, writing down 'mango soda' on the list. "Dealing with teenage girls, hell, you deserve a case of this shit."
"Thanks for the generosity," he says, rolling his eyes, but I just shrug it off. Hey, I know how dealing with teenagers is. I work at the theater. I'm just lucky they only show Friday through Sunday, even in the summer. At least it pays good. The other days I work in a doughnut shop, and that's only open from six to eleven. And in both of them, you get teens. Hell, there are days I wish someone would buy me a case of beer. And, yanno, just let me drink it on the job. "Dem and I are off."
"Preaching to the choir," I quip with a smirk. "So, can I expect my roomie back tonight or am I gonna be lonely?"
"Hm… lonely, I should think." Zexion says, which cues Demyx to pack the sitar. One thing about Zexion: he's smart. The boy's in college, and on scholarships out the ears. He's a fucking genius. He has enough money left over that he doesn't have to work, but he does anyway. 'Employment experience', he says. What I'm getting at is he has recording equipment in his room that he bought after he heard Demyx playing in a park one day. When Dem goes there, you can bet one of two things: he's gonna come home happy and with a new track churned out for me to hear, or he's gonna come home happy for reasons you and me don't wanna get into.
Maybe a reason I'd want to get into with Roxas, but that doesn't look like it's gonna happen.
So I finish up my list (enchiladas sound good tonight, and I'll make tamales tomorrow; Demyx likes them and the senora across the hall enjoys when I make some for her, my way of paying her back for the times she has to cook for me) and set out. I get Zexy and Dem the biggest damn case of mango soda I can find (hey, it's on sale this week, I can afford it), and I'm on my way to get the stuff for my enchiladas when I see a familiar head of blond hair.
No fucking way, he shops here too? I would have thought he'd take the bus and go shopping in one of the better stores out of here. I mean, there's a damn superstore not even ten minutes' ride away! Does he have to be an ass to me and then invade my store?!
Wow, do I really sound that gay in my own head? Shit. Bitching and moaning like a little girl when I have the chance to do something about it! "Hey there, blondie." I smirk as I go over to him. He shoots me one of the worst glares I've seen in a while.
"Don't you have something to do besides forget my name?"
"Oh, I remember your name, Roxas. Question is, do you remember mine?" And, oh God, I hope you do, because with any luck you'll be screaming it soon enough.
"I remember it, Axel. Can't imagine why, I make a habit of forgetting rude-ass morons' names as soon as I can." He quips. Acid tongue and rapier wit, just what I like in a person.
"That's part of my charm. I'm a damn hard act to forget." I'm only kidding with the kid, but he does give me a small smile. That's better than the look he was shooting me before. I notice that he's fallen in step with me, so I gotta ask… "Enchilada night for you too?"
"How'd you guess?" he asks.
"Same place, same list," I say, pointing at his own list. The top stuff on there is the same as mine. "Wanna save some cash, I'll cook for you."
"No thanks." He says, quickly. Too quickly.
"You know, I don't put crack in the enchiladas. I'm a good cook. I'd tell you to ask my roommate but he's out tonight." I wheedle.
"Your roommate… oh, the guy who plays that funky-ass guitar?"
"Sitar, and yeah. He'd skin you if he heard you call it a guitar." I laugh. "Trust me, I made that mistake once. I still hurt." Finally, I get a laugh out of him. "So… you rooming with anyone?"
"No, thank God." He sighs. "I just moved out, start classes after the summer. I wanted to live alone."
"Damn. Tough kid." I smirk. "Well, if you don't wanna just eat with me for my cooking's sake, call it a welcome to the barrio party." He shoots me a strange look, and finally asks a question.
"You've lived here all your life, haven't you?"
"Nope. Lived in a little border town in another state up until a year or so ago. Came here with Dem to make our fortunes in music. Heh. He picked up the sitar and since then I haven't gotten a decent bassist piece out of him. I rent myself out to musicians who can't play when I can." Just haven't been able to lately, but I don't tell him that.
"All this between the theater and the doughnut shop?" I shoot him an incredulous look. "I hear you leaving at five in the morning and you come back smelling like oil, sugar, and coffee. And I saw you going into the theater when I went shopping last weekend, and saw you in the ticket booth when I was coming home."
"Observant little thing, aren't you?" I ask a little acidly.
"I try." He smirks at me. "Anyway, I kinda figured you'd lived either here or some variation thereof all your life. You don't look Spanish, but you speak it fluently, with an accent like you've been in it forever."
"Well, the 'not Spanish' is where you're wrong. I'm three-quarters Hispanic, buddy." I smirk. "Don't ask about the bloodline, it confuses the hell out of me. I think a grandpa or something married a gringa."
"Oh."
"What gets me is how you know it. High school education?"
"Nope. Lived in Little Havana for half my life." It's his turn to smirk at me, again. "That's why I know where everything is here, and why I know the language. I had to learn it fast."
"We'll go into that another day. For now, I need an answer. Do you accept my offer to cook dinner for you, or am I gonna be one lonely boy tonight?" Roxas makes a show of thinking about it, then sighs.
"I accept the offer on one condition: teach me how to cook enchiladas. I'll admit, I suck at it."
"Accepted!" I smile, and finish getting the stuff, protesting when he offers to pay for half of the bill. As we're walking home, he shoots a look at the case of mango soda. "Dem and his boyfriend love this stuff. I can't stand it, too sweet. But Dem's boyfriend told him he was out, so I had to get it." Glossing over the truth, really, but that's all right.
"Oh. Would he care if I stole a few? I haven't had them since last year. They stopped carrying them near where I used to live."
"I bet Dem would love it; he's been the only reason they keep carrying them for a while."
I gotta admit, the kid's a quick study when it comes to cooking. He paid closer attention than I normally do, and promised to bring some over the next time he cooks. At least I think I got him to trust me. Step one of my brilliant plan, accomplished! Operation Get-Roxy-In-My-Bed is a go!
--
And if you say 'this life ain't good enough'
I would give my world to lift you up
I could change my life to better suit your mood
Because you're so smooth
"So, what's with the tats?" he asks, idle conversation one afternoon. He doesn't have work today, and the theater doesn't open until later. He said something about coming to see the movie showing this weekend, since it's supposed to be good. It's been about two months since he moved here, and he's been busy every weekend until now… though I have managed to get him to eat with me at least once every couple of days.
He says it's because I'm a good cook. I think my plan is going perfectly.
"Hm… It's just something I wanted to do." I say as I strum the guitar idly, a new song in the works.
"So you wanted to look like a demented clown?"
"No, I wanted to piss my folks off. As if my leaving the church didn't."
"Why'd you leave the church?"
"Couldn't stand it anymore." I shrug.
"So why keep the rosary?"
"Makes me feel better having it. Like someone's watching over my hide." I look at him, and smile. "So why so many questions?"
"Curious." Roxas shrugs back. "Can't a person be curious about a friend?"
"We're… friends?" I ask, stopping my playing immediately. This is going spectacularly, but Roxy…
I want us to be more. Much more.
"Well, you cook for me, you taught me how to make enchiladas and some of the best damn tacos I've ever had, and I shared my sea-salt ice cream recipe with you… I'd say we are." Yeah, I forgot to mention the kid's weird tastes extend past that horrid mango soda. He made this weird ice cream once as a kid, calls it 'Sea-Salt' for obvious reasons. It's like eating the ocean in the middle of winter…
Strangely enough it's delicious. I've got a batch in my freezer right now, in attempts to stave off this heat wave that just won't fucking stop. We sit there watching some telenovela on mute, making fun of it even as I play- usually a soundtrack to the thing- and I think.
Why won't you see, Roxas? Somewhere along the line it became more than just a plan to get you in my bed. It became a genuine like for you, kid, and that's nothing any of my other one-night-stands can boast. So come on, kid, see it, get with it. If you asked me to go back to school I'd do it, and I hate the educational system. I barely managed to get out of high school, but for you I'd take the tests and go to college. You call me asking for something to eat and I'll go get the stuff for it if I don't have it, just to see you smile. You and Dem are the only people I like enough to do that for. Hell, I keep that mango soda in the fridge for you now. But I can't say this, as much as I want to. So I'll just settle for my own question, cutting off his impersonation of Roberto, who is apparently pissed because Juan-dearest is trying to take his girlfriend (or his chicken, in Roxas's version).
"What about you?"
"What about me what?" he asks.
"Any tats? You look like the type to get some kind of bird or something." He scowls, and pulls off his tank top, the first time he's ever stripped like that in front of me. Damn if that's not hot… then I see his tattoo. It's his lower back, stretches across it, just above the waistline of his pants, two weird-ass looking keys that look sharp as fuck crossed like there are two invisible warriors battling with them on his back.
Damn it, when did I get poetic?
"Oblivion and Oathkeeper. It's my own design. I got drunk one night and got it, but my parents don't know. I've never been one to walk around shirtless, even at home, so some of my best friends don't even know. Now it's your turn. Why'd you get the clown marks?"
"Drunk. And on a dare." I smile. "Demyx's got one too, that I've only seen good once… and Zexy sees all the damn time, I bet."
"Ew." That's all Roxas has to say about that, but I feel like I need to tell him.
"It's not bad, really. It's artistic. It's a koi fish and some water. On his hip."
"And you saw it because…" he trails off and do I detect a hint of jealousy there, Roxy? Hell, you know Dem and Zex. There's no way in hell they'd cheat on each other.
"Because he's who I got drunk with and got the tat with. I've actually been thinking of getting another." I admit. "Just waiting for the right time."
"Oh. Hey, keep playing. You're good." He says, and that ends that discussion.
I do end up seeing him at the movies that night, all on his lonesome. I wanna ditch and watch with him, but it's my night for snack counter duties. I'm hopping all night.
--
And it's just like the ocean under the moon
It's the same as the emotion that I get from you
You got the kinda loving that can be so smooth
Gimme your heart, make it real or else forget about it
I can't help but wonder what he'd look like in bed. Would he be sprawled out asleep, or does he curl up like a cat? What does he wear to sleep? Does he keep the radio going like I do? Except in my case, it's to drown out the stupid ass fuckers who like to go at it like bunnies when PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO SLEEP!
I can hear the soft Spanish words that Dem uses on Zexy all the time, except there's a difference: they're from upstairs and someone's replying. Plus Dem doesn't bring Zexy here all the time, unless he knows I don't have work in the morning. It's his consideration to me. The few times he has, it's been unavoidable. Marly had his Larx there. And neither of them like her. I believe I've said this before. And word time is over, and it's back to the sound of someone getting it on. Damn, that is not even hot. How, in the hell, in this heat, can ANYONE stand to even sleep by anyone? I grab the walking stick I got for a Halloween costume one year (I had to keep it, it had skulls on it. My mom loved it as a Dia de los Muertos prop) and beat on the ceiling.
"Hey! I'm trying to sleep!" I shout, but they don't care. I bet they can't even hear. I get up, throw on some pants, grab my pillow and keys, and head out. As I pass Dem's door, I can hear the same damn words… fuck! Is everybody getting some but me?! I guess Larx was over tonight, can't say I blame them. Well, at least now I might get an answer to my question.
"Roxy! Open up, will ya?!" I call, a little grouchier than intended. Hey, I just walked down to the first floor… not a long walk, really… in my pajamas, all because I could hear the assholes on the top floor going at it. I'm tired, it's hot, and I'm pissed. Suffice to say I don't like life right now. Roxas opens the door, shirtless and hair messier than usual, moonlight and the neighbor's porch light shining down on a toned abdomen… shit, how's this kid in such good shape? He almost looks like he's gaping for a second, then he speaks up.
"Axel. It's the middle of the fucking night."
"I know."
"You just beat on my door."
"I know."
"Why the fu-u-uck?" he asks, with a yawn.
"Because everyone around me seems to have decided tonight's the night to get some." I'm lonely, I want you, I need you, I want you so much it fucking hurts but you don't see it. "I can't sleep with all that noise."
"Don't you keep your radio on?"
"Yeah, but if I turn it up any louder, the landlady will pitch a fit, if the Senora across the hall doesn't come asking me to turn it down first. And Dem and Zex will kill me if that happens." I think Roxas gets the picture now. He moves out of the way and lets me in.
"Come on, you can have my bed. I'll take the couch." I look over at the thing and shake my head.
"Nah, I'm imposing, I'll take the couch." Even though my back will hurt like a bitch when I have to wake up tomorrow; I can see the springs in that thing sagging.
"Okay… deal. Since you're a tall fucker, and you won't let me take the couch, we'll both take my bed. Just keep to your side." He yawns. He's too tired to really argue it, and I'm too tired and too happy to fight.
"I might accidentally cuddle in my sleep." He turns those icy blues on to me and says two words I think he thinks will scare me.
"I kick."
"So? I cuddle. If I wake up with bruises, I know what happened." I shrug, and lie down. Roxas just sighs and lies back down, passing out immediately. I can hear the noises of the city from the open window, the babies crying, the sirens ringing out far in the distance, but those are just a back track to what I hear clearest.
Roxas's breathing, even and deep, the breath of the sleeper. And seriously, when the fuck did I get so damn poetic? Anyway, I see him, I hear his breath even over the fan he has going, I feel so damn euphoric right now that I could play the worst gig in the world and feel as high as a kite.
I can't sleep most of the night, I'm too caught up in watching him, until he turns over and inadvertently cuddles me. Strangest thing is, I don't care. The contact actually settles me down, and I fall asleep easily.
I call in for the first time ever the next morning, not wanting to leave. They understand when I say I didn't get any sleep… though I don't tell them it was because I was watching my crush sleep. I tell them I was sick all night from a bad batch of Chinese food.
--
I'll tell you one thing
If you would leave it'd be a crying shame
In every breath and every word, I hear your name, calling me out
Out from the barrio you hear my rhythm on your radio
You feel the turning of the world, so soft and slow
Turning you round and round
"Roxas, Roxas! Come here! You gotta hear this!" I call. Roxas comes in from the walkway, where he'd had his feet in Dem's kiddie pool, while Dem played and Zex (yes, Sexy Zexy in the pool, call the media!) listened.
"I wanna hear too!" Demyx calls in, lazily holding the sitar but not playing. Zexion just perks up an eyebrow, his way of saying 'me too'. I think they know what's going on. Roxas just hops up on the counter, and I turn the radio up. A Latin beat starts playing and then, suddenly, the guitar kicks in, and Roxas realizes what it sounds like.
"It's that song you were playing the other night…" he says. Since that night a month ago when I slept over at his place, when we can't sleep we'll go hang out with the other and invariably fall asleep in their bed. I've gotten some good cuddles that way. It's weird, but it's like that one friend in high school you'd sneak out to see just to talk with and end up having a sleepover. It's that comfortable. "But I thought you said you wrote that." He says quietly.
"I did. You even saw the sheets with my notes." I can't write music for shit, but Dem can. He tried teaching me, and that's when I wrote that song down and decided I'd rather just keep my melodies in my head, unless he was willing to write them down for me. "I got asked to come in and play something for a group needing a tune to some lyrics a few weeks ago. They made this single… I just got the check in the mail this morning. I called the radio station to request it to see how well it had turned out, they already had five people asking for it."
"That's good… right?" Roxas asks quietly, watching Demyx cheer and whoop and holler up a storm, jumping out of the pool to dance with the Senora and her youngest baby.
"I may well have a future in music now." I reply, just as quiet. "The station's a college station, or at least affiliated with it. They only play local talent, and hey, this is the music capitol of the world. There's local talent all around. They called me back and asked me to play a gig with them tomorrow night."
"What'd you say?" he asked, knowing I had the theater job tomorrow night.
"I called the theater and took the night off. I'm playing at Paopu tomorrow night, and I wondered… if you'd want to come see it?" I hand him a backstage pass, smiling as he looks up in blue-eyed wonder at me. Finally, he smiles and drapes it over his neck.
"Sure. I want to see what attracts you so much." He smirks. I grin and get even closer to him, trying to get him to dance with me, even as we hear the rare sound of Zexion's laughter- apparently Dem is still dancing with the baby, and the kid likes it. I press my hips to Roxas's own, getting him to move with me. Apparently the kid does know how to dance.
"Could I convince you to be my first groupie? I always said I wanted my first one to be a blond-headed, blue-eyed kid with a sarcastic wit and great smile." I quip, getting him to laugh softly and say, just barely audible over the music:
"I always wanted my first backstage experience to be with a hot, red haired, green eyed guitarist from Spanish Harlem with maniacal clown tattoos." I don't know precisely what he meant by 'experience', that can mean a million and one things, but I do know he called me hot.
"So I'm hot?" I ask, a husk to my voice that I never heard before. He just smirks and tugs me closer by my hair.
"Axel, shut the fuck up and kiss me already." Well, when he asks me like that, what choice do I have? It'd be the sweetest kiss I'd ever had… if Dem hadn't chosen that time to stop dancing and look in on us.
"Aw, Zexy, look! Axel and Roxas got together!"
"Demyx, I don't think…"
"That's right," says someone I never thought would say that- Roxas himself. He looks at me, smirking. "Unless Mister Obviously-I'm-Crushing-On-My-Groupie has something to say about it?"
"Heh. Who says I'm complaining?" I ask. Hey, it's a great day all around. I'm on the radio, I've got a gig tomorrow night, and I got the hottest groupie/boyfriend in existence. Life is fucking sweet.
And if you said 'this life ain't good enough'
I would give my world to lift you up
I would change my life to better suit your mood
Because you're so smooth
And it's just like the ocean under the moon
It's the same as the emotion that I get from you
You've got the kinda loving that can be so smooth
Give me your heart, make it real, or else forget about it
EPILOGUE:
"Damn, it's hot." Roxas sighs as we all sit in my living room- and by 'all', I mean Dem, Zex, Roxy, and yours truly.
"The heat wave's supposed to break tomorrow." Zexion says idly, half his attention focused on the telenovela playing today. They started a new one, and I think it's right up his alley. Subterfuge and attraction and stuff you have to be super intelligent to get. I wonder how long this one will last. "I'm getting some soda."
"Nah, I got it, I want to get some ice cream," I offer, looking at Roxas, who quirks his eyebrow in that way that means 'bring me a spoon too'. Since no one but us touches the Sea-Salt ice cream, we just eat it out of whatever I froze it in-I make it by hand, since we don't want to buy an ice cream mixer. I get up and hear Demyx gasp, then feel him grab my shoulder to hold me still.
"What the hell and when did you get this?" he asks. By 'this', he means the new tattoo I got. He pokes at the design across my shoulders, trying to figure it out.
"I got it a couple of weeks ago, before Roxas went back to classes. It's his design." I smirk. "With a couple of changes." The 'couple of changes' I refer to is that it's his keyblades (what he called them), with a pair of chakram holding them together. I have to go back and get the shading done soon, I've been going back on the weekends- I can do that now since I quit at the theater so I could play gigs- to get it finished. I don't feel like explaining and Dem doesn't feel like asking more- I blame the heat- so he sits down and I get the stuff. I leave the apartment to Demyx and Zexion's capable hands tonight to stay at Roxy's; he broke down and got another fan and now it's tolerable there, if you leave the window open. As we lie there in his bed, I trace the design on his back, the newest one stretching across his shoulders. It's a new keyblade design (he told me he's enjoyed drawing these strange weapons since high school), one he calls "Bond of Flame". It looks like my chakram design on a key… sword… thing. He says he calls it that because of this stupid-ass heat and my hair. I think it's less to do with that, and more to do with how hot we are in bed. But that's my (unspoken) opinion anyway.
"Why didn't you tell them about mine?" he asks. It was a joint thing we decided to go in and get done, to celebrate a month as a couple… and hoping for many more months.
Okay, so once again we were drunk. I'm surprised they let us get them at all. But since then we've gone in sober. And apparently Roxy planned for it, because he had the designs in his pocket after the gig.
"Because I figure you'll stumble out of my room one morning in front of them, messy-headed and completely rolled, not even thinking, Dem will see and pounce you, and Zexion will put two and two together and explain it to Dem. Or you'll tell them first." I smirk at him. "Though I like the first option best."
"Axel…" he sighs. I look at him, smiling as he kisses me, tugging me down to the bed over him. "Shut up."
"Of course," I laugh, and start kissing wherever I can find exposed skin. I've got him gasping, writhing, begging for me to just stop teasing and do him. I pause for a second and sit up. "Hey, Roxas, do you hear that?"
"What, the sirens, the crying kids, or me asking you to just hurry the fuck up?" he gasps out.
"No… that." I say, sticking my hand out the window to see if it's what I think it really is. I put my hand to his face, trailing it down his chest, and he calms down a bit, eyes wide as he realizes what it is.
"It's… it's rain." He says in quiet shock. It hasn't rained here for almost three months, since before he moved in. It's been hot, dry, there have been wildfires within spitting distance of the city, we've been fortunate to not catch fire ourselves… finally we get some rain, some relief from the heat. "The heat wave's breaking…" I can't help it, I've suffered so much through this heat that I just kiss him in celebration. One kiss leads to another, and another kiss leads to us finally getting some satisfaction. And as we lie there together, basking in the afterglow, listening to the rain, he speaks the words I have wanted to hear since the day he moved in, since we got together, the words I want to hear every night for the rest of my life.
"I love you…"
"Love you too, Roxas." I smile. Always love you too.