Drink It Up

There is something satisfying about power, addictive and sweet, like a lover's caress. Something thrilling about the high you get when you hold one's life in your palm, something terrifying about the way you can bend and break them. Such a wonderful feeling, the corruption of power. Nothing can bring you down.

This, you muse, is what you love - or would love, if you could - about him. How perfectly sweet of him, to always defer to your rules, play your game. Always - and here you scoff, for a more foolish thought was never expressed - in the name of love.

Love. There was something satisfying about love, too; how even the strongest succumbed to its wiles - and you had living proof here in front of you; a warrior, bowed like a child at your feet...

And it was so easy to lead them on.

Axel... you whisper, a brush of fingers on a cheek, lips against an ear - insubstantial, so soft they might not have been there at all. Just enough to make him believe... but of course, it is foolish to believe. You murmur against his neck, nose brushing the vein there, watching intently as his eyelids droop, his neck tilts back. Open, submissive, all because of his so-called love. (But this is a lie, for you cannot love. And he cannot love you back, so why was he pretending otherwise?)

I asked you a simple question... you breathe against his neck, sighing; a flush creeps up his neck, and when you feel him shiver, it's all you can do to not smirk. It is so easy it is almost laughable.

Just a simple question... I just want to know what you've been up to when I'm away, Axel. Surely you must get bored...? Or perhaps you don't miss me as much as you claim... You stare appraisingly at him, feel him stretch to a breaking point. Nearly there… just a few more kisses, perhaps, and he'd tell you everything you need to know. Nuzzling your nose softly into his cheekbone, you wonder how he ever got his skin so pale, so smooth... and as you think, you realize that out of all the people who could have loved you, or claimed to, at least, you were glad it was him. Yes, it was definitely convenient; he shared equal roles in both sides of the struggle that was sure to come, and was an excellent information source. And, you admit, you always have had a bit of a soft spot for him.

If you were able to, if you were alive, maybe, would you love...? Maybe, you think, maybe-

But no, because even in your dreams you can remember a pale, groping hand, beseeching for you to take it, and a huge, overshadowing wave; memories, surely. No, if you were alive, you wouldn't think twice about Axel, because he was wrong, you could feel it. His hair was too bright, not soft and pale, and something about the shape and color of his eyes threw you off. Your heart wanted someone different; Axel would not do. Although, you suppose, there was some qualities you admired, sought after, even. He was certainly eccentric, flamboyant to the point of offensive, and he did react oh-so-wonderfully at the smallest gestures and touches - although, you think bitterly, this was just another side effect of his supposed love.

You can feel him shift before you, perhaps wondering why you have stopped; of course he expected something more than the few kisses you've allowed this ruse, this charade, but surely he would know that you cannot love, as well. It is foolish of him to hope. And that, of course, would be his downfall.

Roxas. Do you love me? The voice is needy, yet still fearful of the answer.

Of course I love you, you smile.

Sort of.

You are a Nobody. You cannot love.

So why should you pretend to have something that is not there?