This goes with CaideSin's Antics of Dispositions. It can stand on it's own, but, y'know, it's just not meant to.
The sun carves cold fingers along his shoulders and he crawls into the bed beside Xemnas, nuzzling into his warmth like a lost cub. Sleepy in the high noon light, Xemnas lifts his arm and allows Saïx into the cradle of his body, pressed close and wrapped in the heat of Xemnas' darkness slicked limbs.
"Master," Saïx does not call him, although he knows no other. He speaks instead of fire and loss, of emptiness and castles devoid of kings yet full of thrones.
Xemnas' eyes are liquid copper in the sunlight, heavy lidded, flickering half aware. Saïx falls into a doze under his hands, his words lost to the sun's cruel touch.
He traces runes across the planes of Xemnas' back with his tongue, his fingertips, his blood and sweat. Beneath his touch, Xemnas arches, muscles rolling smooth beneath the canvas of his skin, rearranging symbols and truths.
"Tell me of your past, Ias," Xemnas breathes, smothering lazy pants in the sheets beneath him.
Saïx cuts his tongue on the point of one canine, fiercely sharp behind his lips. He presses his bloody mouth to the curve of Xemnas' spine, to the ten of swords that sleeps there. He refuses, murmurs no, over and over again.
When he takes his lips away, only uruz is left.
He stretches beneath the fat gibbous moon, skin bared and supplicant, offered easy and open for her caress. Xemnas is beneath him, inside him, dark hands pressing to his stomach, thighs, chest. His fingerprints are silhouettes across Saïx's body, dancing away and letting the moon's song return, chasing lunar whispers through his cells.
"Oh, to feel this," Xemnas moans, his breath scalding against Saïx's neck. "To feel what you feel. What ecstasy that would be."
Saïx's eyes are heavy with pleasure, the moon's breath sighing through him, the future laced into Xemnas' skin pressed insistent and heady to his back.
He does not reply. Like this, his tongue knows no words.
He moves smoothly inside Xemnas and Xemnas sighs, shifting against the sheets, smearing blood and fluid, smearing Saïx's workings like henna. New paths are carved with his movements, new possibilities painted and drifting endless over his skin.
There is a sowilo between his shoulder blades, a shadow that pools hot and sudden, shifts to nothing and then temperance beneath the touch of Saïx's thumb.
Saïx rolls over him, slides deeper still, steady and slow. Xemnas writhes, spread out as a map under him, navigated only by Saïx's fingertips. He writhes and shatters timelines, half formed visions disappearing like mist, reforming into the curves of his bones and muscles.
"Tell me your past, Ias." Xemnas sighs again, sighs words of darkness, broken worlds and the dead goddess Ias knew as mother.
Saïx opens his mouth to the heat of Xemnas' own. He speaks only the future.
Saïx knows his prophecy is broken, fallen. He seeks for it yet finds himself only lost, a wolf with his nose scarred and his eyes blinded. His teeth are still sharp, and still, still, he cannot use them to hunt.
The future he finds only in Xemnas' flesh, where it cracked, spilt from his fingers.
Xemnas calls to him with words of dust and he does not refuse. He is nothing more than a cub now, floundering and half blind, seeking comfort in the familiar places of warmth.
Xemnas' future is intangible. Saïx cannot find it, yet its taste still lingers thick on his tongue: ashes and the cloying emptiness of nothing.
"Master," he does not say. Yet, he knows no other.
He sleeps.