The mission had started well enough, just simple recon. But fucking Agrabah with the fucking heat; he couldn't have said whether he'd been sweating or melting. He'd been ruminating on what the natives would make of a pile of wet sand when they'd ambushed. Not the natives, the Shadows. Ansem's balls, there'd been a lot of them...
He was too surprised to call his Dancers to him, and the most he could do anyway with his sweaty fingers (the gloves had come off within minutes and it had helped for all of two seconds) was create a few water clones that wavered and collapsed every time his hand slipped and discordant notes sounded.
Suffice it to say, the mission hadn't ended well. Demyx had returned to the castle sore as his voice after a damn good night, muttering about 'fucking water' and 'almost as bad as sending Vexen to that damned inferno.'
So he had another failed mission. Not that it was his first, or that he really cared, or even that anyone would get on his ass about it, but it just kinda...sucked.
But it was how he ended up on his stomach on the ceiling, so he was no longer complaining. Xigbar had taken a couple blankets and a pillow up with them, so the blond was content to just lie there and let the man have his way with him. Which he was, quite thoroughly. The position - Demyx had one leg stretched out, the other up almost parallel with his hip and bent at the knee - meant Xigbar couldn't move as fast or hit as deep as Demyx usually preferred, but he was enjoying himself anyway. He had one arm curled up around the pillow he was resting on, loving Xigbar's languid movements in and out of him, loving how he could feel him moving and breathing over him. It was like getting a massage. A very personal massage, and all he had to do to get himself off was grind his hips into the blankets a bit.
He reached his arm not on the pillow up to trace his fingers along Xigbar's toned bicep, prompting the older man to lean down and nip at Demyx's jaw, just under his ear. The movement caused his chest to press against the blond's back, and the hair falling over his shoulder to tickle the heated skin beneath him, and Demyx moaned when he sucked on the patch of skin he'd bitten.
"Should've called a Dancer," Xigbar said, and Demyx was vaguely aware of being impressed that his voice held no sign of his actions. "Might've gotten a few scratches while you did it, but it would've helped with that whole not failing your mission thing."
"Takes a while, you know...mmm...my ladies are picky. Gotta have the right kinda tune." His words were soft, relaxed, comfortable.
"I think you oughta rethink who's in command."
Demyx gasped lightly when Xigbar gave a more forceful thrust on the word 'command,' then smiled and snuggled into the pillow. "Nah, my girls have done me well. Wouldn't have them any other way."
And really...if Xigbar was inclined to give him the full ceiling treatment every time he got a little banged up, he didn't really mind having failed missions anyway.