"If you think I'd enjoy something like this," he intercepts what would be a compulsory mouthful of sweet, "then you're sadly mistaken."
Ill placed humor froths from giddy lips, staining Marluxia's cheek a tone of frosting to match his silky bedhead. "You'd be so rude as to spurn something I baked just so specially for you?"
"I'm spurning being woken up pinned to the bed by the likes of you, with a damn cupcake shoved in my face."
"A cupcake for my cupcake," Zexion grins brighter than the early morning sheen billowing through the curtains aside them. "Well- a dozen cupcakes, actually."
"Hell, no, Zexion. At least let me wake up before you start trying to force that mess of saccharine down my throat."
His hips wiggle deviously. "No. Open up."
If his glower weren't so alluring, Zexion might consider relenting. "I'm much too good for this," Marluxia lilts around a bite he's much too good for, and the flavor, he finds, is much too good. The next is almost voluntary, until there's nothing but the evidence of vanilla crumbles dotting Zexion's fingertips.
"Good?" comes his purr, to which he receives a correcting, "...Fair."
The one atop swivels his lithe waist to, presumably, slink his way off and out, and Marluxia makes himself to sit up; he's a shifting of tired muscle before the weight returns to his abdomen, and the tip of his nose is dotted in icing. Zexion's croon is that of a jeering cat. Marluxia'd voice his contempt had he not chosen then to notice the meticulous swirling pattern of the dessert's thick buttercream.
"Trying to win me over with roses, love?" and he breathes the faintest of faint laughs, amusement mingling cross endearment, and Zexion shuts him up in the sweetest way possible.
This one's chocolate, of seemingly the Lord's most decadent variety; dark and smooth and heavenly. With eyes a kaleidoscope of adoration, Zexion pushes the cake further into Marluxia's lips until he's groaning around more than his mouth's capacity. It's minutes before the flavor melded down enough for him to even consider speech, and to his execution of such meets null. Once the chocolate's vanished thickly down his throat, there's two palms in front of him full in each another, and two irises gleaming lust into his core.
"How much do you think I'm capable of eating?" His neck is pale, slender, and he exposes its side when he turns his head like a petulant child refusing pharmaceuticals.
"Made a dozen for a reason." He coxes Marluxia's compliance out of shyness with, "You're so...sexy when you eat, did you know that?"
Eyes peel away lids, then roll like the tides they mock in hue. He fears his jaw a candidate for cracking from the way it is forced open. His head presses against the satin of pillowcases, and Zexion's lain flush on him, feeding him a cupcake whole and kissing away the confectionery that smudges his cheek.
"Enough," he demands around the dough. Zexion decides he hasn't a clue what enowf means; he grinds devilishly into his plaything's thigh.
Marluxia finds it in him to swallow, and he's thrumming, and once five cakes have disappeared against his will, he feels as though much better days have cast about him prior. "Zexion," he be- he says, because like hell would he ever beg someone for something- anyone for anything. Though, when it involves saving himself from probable death by sugar, he's willing to bend his marble-carved self presentation. The name, it spills like tendrils of flat iron steam another time. The owner of it peers up from the circling ministrations of hand over Marluxia's on-the-verge-of-aching middle. With the one freed, he selects another sweet, and it's wedding cake in the way he smushes the icing into Maluxia's tight mouth.
"If you obey, this'll go quicker!" Zexion chirps as if it's a normal thing to say on a casual Sunday morning. On some level, he's sure- just positive -that Marluxia doesn't fully resent this, if not for the fact that he's rather skilled with a whisk and batter, then for the clear sign that he could've easily overpowered Zexion by now; they've a near foot between their statures, and Zexion knows right well he'd be thrown to the carpet at this point if Marluxia really wanted to be rid of him.
Marluxia thinks he's never hated something more. His tongue glides, flat and wet, to decimate the frosting flower glaring at him. Twisted little heaven. How humiliating.
"Be good for me, hm?" Teasing. Infuriating. But there's a mess of fingers and sugar and crumbly deliciousness marring what could be a potential denial. And he gags, because those awful demon fingers niggle the back of his throat, and Zexion's the prettiest damn bastard he's ever known. Then he's intoxicated by the feel of a dry ride at his waist, and if he didn't feel like purging the inner walls of his viscera, he'd probably enjoy it.
But he does- feels it in his core, in his chest, in his mouth that's filling up milky sour. Through his nose- in out in out in out, slow, slow, breathe slow, don't do it don't do it don't do it!
And he doesn't- because, he's the most graceful fucker any universe is ever to know. So he doesn't spill his bile all over the fresh chiffon.
Until Zexion crams another handful of cake at him. How many's that- six, seven? He'd like to have a headcount before they come back up; it'll be astronomically more difficult to count them amongst the clutter of stomach acid.
"How messy, Marluxia..." Zexion admonishes, swirling with delightful fire. Vomit hacks up and mars his flawless face, neck, lips. Undigested remnants of vanilla-choco ugly combo bubble within strands of thick, hot saliva that drips past his cheekbones and mingles with stray tears of pressure. Loving fingertips flick them away, then move to caress his disgustingly sticky cheek. "I wasn't expecting that so soon."
Eyes shut tight, he's still claiming that in out in out in out tempo of cooling hearth breaths. Marluxia attempts a movement, though the dull pang screams from his swollen stomach, which Zexion pats again from beneath his pajama top. The most graceful of any universe thumps back into his lain position, covered in icing and throw up. Zexion mewls at the way his next action doesn't require any force; Marluxia graciously opens up, such the obedient pet, and swallows the next serving. It makes its next cameo within sixty seconds, and he's damp beneath the bangs, and Zexion thinks the mortified blush makes him even more handsome.
He kisses him again. Metallic. Abhorrent. Delicious.
The saddest sight to greet him is the pan at his side, cast iron gleaming back. Empty. He runs a hand through the heat of his love's forehead. He's a sobbing, writhing disaster underneath him. And he tells him he loves him, because he does, and Marluxia ignores him, because he's pissed, and coughs phlegm into his face. Zexion's grin is one he's thieved from a wolf.
The overall tightness to Marluxia's skin, bones, innards- it leaves him dead to the world. Saliva pours freely from the corners of his mouth. Zexion pinches his cheeks; really, he's just too cute.
"Next weekend," he murmurs, licking up his neck, "instead of cupcakes, how about a whole cake? Think you can handle it?"
"I think," Marluxia groans, grouses, grumbles, "I think I'd rather die."
Zexion laughs for no reason other than for having all his current desires granted, and kisses sweetly at his navel.