Axel presses his lips against Roxas', firmly but gently, feeling them give a little under the pressure. Luxord's and Demyx's snickers echo somewhere in the distant background. He pays them no mind. Breaking barriers with the confidence and ease of long practice, he slips his tongue into the boy's mouth, letting it move in hot, angry strokes against the moist interior.
And then he feels the boy back away, and something in him breaks into panic.
"Whoa," Roxas is saying, and shaking his head in something like disgust. "No. No. It's not like that."
Axel has seldom felt failure before. Previous moments, previous kisses, dart past his mind like a school of fish, inconsequential movements with no real significance. His chest seems to be suffering a crushing blow. Worry sets in. What did he do wrong? Why didn't Roxas like it? Why did he have to screw this up – this, the moment of truth, the apex of romance, the first kiss?
"How do you want it to be, then?" he has the courtesy to ask, trying to downplay the blush on his cheeks that rivals the russet of his hair. In answer, Roxas touches his face with the tips of his fingers.
"Like this," the boy says, and then his mouth closes over Axel's, and again, he knows paradise.
The boy moves slowly, his lips barely parted, withholding their secrets, shyly concealing them. It is an innocent, childlike kiss. Axel fears that he may die from so much secrecy, so much restraint. He is charmed and bowled over and when Roxas carefully traces his lips with his tongue it is all he can do to hold himself back and to return the gesture, imbuing it with the same hesitant affection. He feels Roxas sigh and relax a little in his arms. He smiles a little, keeps going, so gently, so slowly…
Too soon - with no warning, with no buildup, Roxas pulls away from Axel. He turns to their judgers. "That's it. Your turn."
The judges protest, and inwardly, Axel does too, nearly rushing forward to catch at the boy's sleeve, to ask, to shout, to beg, to plead for something – anything. But he does not. He restrains himself as the next dare is laid out, the next victims drawn. Luxord thumps the table in frustration; Demyx laughs. The world, it seems to him, is on edge, upset. The world is flying in slow-motion, a still-life collision, chaos unfolding frame by frame.
Seeing the boy return so calmly to normalcy, Axel feels something in him tear a little more, watching, wondering, waiting. And he stuffs his suddenly-shaking hands in his pockets, running his tongue over his lower lip. There is nothing that he can do, he knows, but he also knows something else. He wants the boy. He loves the boy. He loves his innocence, his shyness, his whimsy and his solemnness, bravado and arrogance, spontaneity and sadness. More than kissing, more than touching, more than love, more than life… more than anything he's ever wanted before, he would like another chance to tell him that.
And so, he will wait for however long it takes. Until Roxas comes to him again, and kisses him. Until Roxas gives him that second chance. And this time, finally… if only he could manage it… this time, Roxas will not pull away.