RP-based. Axel has just confessed all his sins to Roxas. They're in a confessional.
For my Roxas.
He holds him close, because it's all he can think to do--all he really wants to do at the moment. The words he's repeated so many times linger on the edge of his lips but it's unnecessary and so necessary at the same time and everything about them is a paradox that he has to laugh, just a little, into the kiss.
"You're bleeding."
Roxas' voice is soft, like always, like cotton against his skin, worn and familiar. Axel reaches long fingers up to his own face, to his broken nose, and feels the dried blood there.
"So I am," he says matter-of-factly, a roguish grin on his face (erasing, always running, but it's all out in the open now, split open like your face) as he tilts his head to the side, "but so are you." His hand squeezes the cut on Roxas' leg tighter and the blond groans, tries to hide it but fails. Axel covers for him with another kiss.
He pulls away slowly, his movements languid and he realizes that the little confession booth is actually unbearably hot, at least when two males with fully functioning libidos are sitting on its floor. He takes off his gloves, his coat, his shirt, all in lightning-quick movements now, because they can't be off soon enough. He rolls up Roxas' pant leg and ties his shirt around the wound like a tourniquet. "Is that better?" he asks, liquid green eyes catching heavy, heady blue as the lids half-close and his hands find their way into deep red locks like they do every time. Axel kisses the skin above the wound, kisses Roxas' lips, kisses Roxas' neck, pulls him up under his arms and sets him in the lonely chair there. He's on his knees before him again, but not to beg, not show his brokeness. This time he's there to worship.
Long fingers drag down clothed torso and back up again, catching on the familiar cross-shaped pendant. Expertly they drag it down, unclasping the bottom, leaving the blond's shirt open and his skin exposed to the sweltering heat. The situation isn't helped by Axel's tongue working its way across his chest, painting its own confession of every moment Axel has thought of this, dreamed of this, hoped for this. Roxas gasps his forgiveness, tangling his fingers in fire red hair and wrapping his uninjured leg around his lover's--his fiance's--back. For a moment Axel is grateful of his many sins.
It's getting hotter. Pale fingers dance along a paler torso, finding the button of black-and-tan pants and nimbly working it open, pulling down the zipper, and reaching inside to scratch gently at the golden curls hidden beneath. Axel lifts narrow hips just high enough to pull the clothing down past his knees, leaving his younger lover further exposed; further prepared for his ritual to display how much the blond truly means to him. He sings his hymns with lips and tongue curled around his lover's cock, fingers moving on his hips as practiced as they would on organ keys. Higher, higher, until it's almost too much, and he stops, and Roxas tries to protest but Axel's silencing him with his lips again, on the inside of his thigh this time, and then the back of his hand, and each one of his fingertips, finally resting on his mouth. He's shifting them, and Roxas doesn't care to notice as he's lowered onto the floor or brought to his knees until the kiss is broken and Axel's bent in front of him, stretching himself with his fingers and waiting for the blond to forgive him again. Roxas doesn't hesitate long.
It's slow and quick at the same time, the booth melting around them to nothing but sound and touch oh God, it feels so good. I feel... Axel whispers hurried pleas and Roxas complies every time, showing the extent of Axel's resolution his eagerness to prove them on equal footing; that Axel is worthy of him no matter what he may think. And then it's over, in a blinding white flash of intense heat and pain in Axel's nose and Roxas' leg and hip.
When they collapse against each other, Axel is stroking pale skin delicately, marred by a moment of lost control. "Sorry," he says, following Roxas' gaze to the finger marks burned into his hip. "Sorry," he says again, kissing the offending digits and bringing them to the scorches they've left. Roxas only smiles, hand trailing over Axel's cheek, turning his face toward him for a loving kiss.
"It's okay," he says against flushed lips, "nothing to be sorry for." He affords the pink ovals another glance. "Think I might like them," he adds mischievously, then kisses him deeply, more solidly. Axel laughs.
"Fires of hell will not keep me from you, and my own will bind me to you."