Looks like I accidentally wrote a whole oneshot instead of working on Illusions Like one evening. Silly me.
Recently those memories, the ones of how he had felt, how he should feel, had been coming back clearer and clearer. Perhaps it was, somehow, Thirteen's doing, but that was pure speculation.
Right now it was the hollow, clanging echoes of horror. Disgust and repulsion. Rage at what he was seeing and everything that it implied.
Zexion, giggling softly as he methodically tended his own injured arms. Puncture wounds, not large but neither so small and precise as a needle. Friction burns. It was probably too early for the extent of the bruising to fully show. Lexaeus might not be able to discern the subtle scents of power and darkness, but the smell of sex was another matter entirely.
Part of his mind told him that Zexion would have had his reasons. That the Schemer had his own methods, effective ones, and that no other member beyond the Superior had a right to interfere. That if the smaller, physically fragile Nobody was to survive it was imperative that he not hesitate to use whatever tools were at his disposal.
On the other hand it had been a risky move, not without consequences, and done without consultation with those who were, despite the multi-layered and labyrinthine nature of power politics of the Organisation, his superiors.
So he stood there, frowning deeper than was usual, arms folded over his chest, and spoke.
"You should not have done this."
Zexion gave him the briefest of glances before turning back to his work. But Lexaeus was perfectly aware that this was not Vexen's aloof, distracted disinterest, much as it might be a mimicry of it. Zexion calculated every action to provoke a reaction, and he had seen the smug glint in that one visible eye.
"I merely took some initiative. We need to know what Marluxia's intentions are, after all."
Well, if Zexion was looking to play games...
"I should inform Vexen of why you are indisposed."
Zexion laughed, shrill and manic.
"So low for you, Lexaeus."
He was in one of those moods. They may not feel emotion, but a heady cocktail of adrenaline, dopamine and serotonin was hardly without effect, especially on a body that was only just out of puberty. Lexaeus considered it unlikely that either of them would have added alcohol to the mix, but he did not put other chemicals past Marluxia. Number VI would need to be watched.
"What did you learn?"
It was an adequate justification for his continued presence, and not insincere. Not that he needed to justify himself to Zexion, but the boy would chafe and sulk and snipe if he thought he was being babysat.
If Zexion had discerned his ulterior motives, and there was every reason to suspect that he might, he seemed willing to overlook it.
"That of course Marluxia intends to use his current position to his full advantage. But he clearly has no understanding of the Organisation, or our goals, and certainly not of the Superior."
But who did understand Xemnas? Though sometimes Lexaeus felt that, of all of them, perhaps Zexion came closest. II might grin and play along, VII might defer without question, but Zexion...
"Let us say, it is clear he wants what the Superior has, and is quite willing to use force to obtain it."
Lexaeus shifted. Zexion chuckled dismissively.
"Relax. I'm fine."
No you are not. You are badly injured, not to mention hopelessly intoxicated on sex and your own self-indulgent machinations. Stop this. Please.
"I trust you have plans beyond this point."
"Of course."
"And now Marluxia will see you as weak."
"I let him." There was an edge to Zexion's voice now. Subtle, hidden deep underneath the casual dismissiveness, but there. "I chose to reinforce his existing, sadly mistaken conclusions that underneath I am nothing more than a frightened child, kept around by the elder members for one reason only. It suits my purposes."
"Do not let him distract you. We have other goals here."
"And wouldn't those be easier with Eleven out of the way? He has no intention of furthering the Organisation's plans." Zexion paused, frowning, and that probably unconscious shift of the arms, the one that raised one hand to his mouth, elbow resting in the other. "And I need free access to all of the castle. All of it..."
"So it is true. You have your own orders."
"Orders? Nothing so... formal." Zexion gestured lightly, smirking. "But I have certain information. Anyway, you see it as well as I do. This place is an obfuscation. An illusion and a puzzle. You and I are not here by coincidence."
And for the first time Zexion met his eyes properly, fully, intensely.
"So... will you help me in this, Lexaeus?"
"You cannot expect me to lend assistance if you continue to be so coy, Zexion."
"Coy?"
And there it was. Zexion turned to face him, fluid, leant back slightly, posture open. A tilt of his head, delicate, sharply defined tendons of the neck on display, finger brushing his lower lip. Hips angled ever so subtly, feet crossed at the ankles, drawing a magnetic tension down the legs...
"Would you rather I was forward?"
…,fresh red bruises were starting to spread over his arms, and he still reeked of Marluxia, and the feeling-memories of what it was to be shocked and sickened and repulsed were just too strong.
"No. You are in no state for this."
"...Later, then." Airy, as though that brief pout had never crossed his face.