Title: Barriers
Pairing: Axel/Roxas
Warnings: historical inaccuracies, Vikings, blood, Roxas' fist, sexual situations
Rating: R/NC-17
Beta: the BetaWife Mongoosestar
Word count: around 5500
A/N: There's a link to the inspiration image in my profile - the BetaWife made grabby hands.
Disclaimer: I don't claim anything regarding history here is the absolute truth. I also don't own these boys, or else the canon would be rather different.
Summary: After a violent raid on his village culminates in him being sold to another group of warriors, Roxas must find a way to survive among them despite the encumbering language and his own prejudices. With a little help from one warrior in particular, he might even find a way to thrive.
In the early days of his captivity none of the slavers could have mistaken Roxas for a surrendered subject. He went out of his way to kick, bite, claw, and screech with every ounce of his will and being, for as long as he could; he raged at them until they beat him, blows meant to bruise and cause only temporary damage, just enough to keep him in line. Cheek bruised and ribs aching he'd be forced into a corner, too tired and hurting to move, to await the next day curled in the ship's hold, mere inches of wood separating Roxas from the vast, churning waters of the ocean that plunged the ship through storm after storm.
As the days grew into weeks and Roxas watched as other members of his small community – the ones that had survived the raid, anyway – were dragged from the hold, screaming, crying, reaching for children and family members, never to be seen again, he stopped fighting. There was no way, he reasoned to himself miserably. The barbarians were too many, too strong, and he was weak from endless days of travel. His father could have done it – but he was far away now, taken to the Houses of their Fathers protecting them from the slavers.
He was sold to another group of barbarians – a war-like group of raiders that unnerved Roxas the moment he laid eyes on them – and though he could not understand their rough, incomprehensible speech Roxas found small comfort in Xion, a girl from his tiny village who was sold and had been traded to that particular group of barbarians not a week before. Roxas had been ecstatic to find her alive; growing up they were age mates, good friends with the other almost-adults who made up the younger generation. Now she was an adaptable young woman, the barbarian's language tumbling from her mouth as needed, much to Roxas' disgust. He knew for survival such learning would eventually be necessary, but Roxas allowed himself some small rebellions in his harsh situation – the barbarian's impossible language first and foremost. He refused it as much as possible; instead he relied on Xion's knowledge and his own sharp observation skills to learn about the barbarians he belonged to now.
In truth he only belonged to the head warrior, Xion told him, a tall, broad shouldered and powerful-looking man with long grey hair and sharp, bright eyes – silent and always watching; eleven others, he counted in watching their interactions carefully, were warriors bound to him for one reason or another. Roxas witnessed them exchanging gifts, the warriors bowing and taking bright pieces of metal and rings in return for the spoils of their raiding. Each of them kept their own establishment in the encampment, set in a circle around the longer main hall.
Of the others there was an older warrior, his hair streaked with grey with a piece of cloth covering one eye and wrapping around his head, who seemed to act as the leader's primary advisor. Though he seemed relatively congenial, Roxas sensed a deeper snake-like disposition and greatly distrusted his grin. Another warrior, this one with long strands of black rope-like hair down his back and an unsmiling face, favored spears; he paid little attention to Roxas' presence, which was perfectly fine with him. A sinister-looking man with long blond hair and cold blue eyes, whom Roxas had not seen wield any weapon as of yet. An enormous warrior, built like a towering rock, who carried around an equally large hammer who said very, very little. Another quiet man who seemed not much older than Roxas, dark hair obscuring half of his face. A mace-wielding berserker with wicked scars shaping an X across his face. A wiry redhead with a perceptive, tattooed face, and a muscular blond who seemed to be a favored musician during meals. A gambler who often challenged the others in games of chance for portions of their spoils. Another warrior preferred a giant scythe; finally a woman Roxas grew to tread lightly around, as her skills with knives might have surpassed his.
Eleven warriors attached to the first – a smaller outfit than his father preferred, but Xion told him they were ruthlessly efficient and seemingly among the best that could be found. Every night before he slept Roxas cursed each and every one of them.
His disdain for the barbarians, their backward ways and harsh, guttural language held steady even as he adjusted to life and his place among them even though he had persistent nightmares, helping Xion cook, serve meals, and pour the sweet-smelling amber liquor they all loved to drink. The warrior with the long, rope-like hair and the redhead regularly went out hunting in the thick woods beyond their encampment, bringing back the meat of majestic deer, boar, fowl, and other small mammals on their better days. Roxas, a hunter and a tracker within his own tribe before being captured, often stared at the meat wistfully and wished for a hunt of his own.
Fate must have heard his longing, for as a chill began to permeate the air the rope-haired warrior became sick, and realizing the redhead would be seeking a hunting partner Xion had offered up Roxas to the warriors' leader.
Not for the first time, Roxas wondered if Xion was really the Trickster god hiding in human form – for it was that hunt that began to make Roxas question his perception of the barbarians.
oooooooo
The hunt was not at all like Roxas had imagined. The redhead – he'd never learned to pick the barbarian's name from the plethora of guttural sounds surrounding it – was not comfortable at all, and didn't trust him to carry nearly as many weapons as he usually liked. The man occasionally spoke, random bursts of indistinguishable words that Roxas wasn't sure he was meant to understand or respond to at first; as the hunt grew later and there were only a few rabbits to be had he grew silent. Finally a shot was made and the chase began – the redhead was obviously a good shot but as they continued to run and seemed to lose the trail, the blond began to lose faith in him. The man was obviously not a tracker; that role may have been filled by his hunting partner.
As the redhead searched the area for the lost trail Roxas stared after him, brows drawn and mouth set in a thin line. His eyes flickered to his side, where he clearly saw the edges of a footprint hidden by leaves smeared with dark red blood. Was he blind?
The red haired barbarian looked back at him when he realized Roxas wasn't following him. A series of harsh sounds poured from his mouth that Roxas bristled at.
"It didn't go that way," Roxas growled, only to have the barbarian growl in return and gesture violently towards the path he was intent on. Roxas shook his head stubbornly and eyed the bloodied leaves pointedly, waving the other man over.
Green eyes betraying his annoyance, the taller warrior stalked over to Roxas and looked at him expectantly, gesturing and muttering in his strange language. Roxas grabbed the front of his tunic and pulled him down until they were both crouching. He gave an indignant sound as he was pulled, but Roxas shushed him before he could startle their prey. Then he gestured pointedly once again at the animal's trail, and saw recognition dawn in the other's eyes. The redhead nodded slowly, and Roxas let his tunic go; he knelt closer to the ground, fingers pressing into the dirt and waiting for the vibrations. The beast was still moving, erratic but in the direction Roxas pointed out. The blond smirked – hunting was his element, he'd been widely regarded as the preeminent hunter of his clan before they were decimated by the slavers. Without making a sound he rose, still keeping close to the ground, and followed the animal's trail. The barbarian followed behind him.
Within minutes they were upon it – a great deer, staggering through the forest on its last legs. The red-haired barbarian killed it, the arrow piercing the animal's head so it fell dead on the spot. As Roxas retrieved the arrow and repositioned the dead beast to carry, he felt the red-head's intense gaze on him. He looked up to find, as he perceived, the red-head staring at him as though he'd never seen Roxas before. Words tumbled abruptly from his mouth, but Roxas could attach no meaning to them. Luckily Xion had managed to teach him a phrase in the barbarians' language to convey such a problem.
I do not … understand, Roxas said carefully, not wanting his meaning to be confused as he spoke his first words in the barbarian's tongue.
The redhead looked bewildered for a moment. Then he placed both palms on his own chest and said a word. A word Roxas had heard used on many occasions by others when he found himself near the red-head when he was conversing with another. The man's name?
Roxas furrowed his brow and tried to replicate the word on his tongue. "A … ku … sel."
The red-head shook his head and corrected him. "Axel."
Roxas shrugged. Axel then gestured towards Roxas, and the blond felt obliged to provide his own name.
Axel butchered it, but Roxas wasn't really expecting much from a barbarian.
ooooooooo
After that trip into the forest Roxas found himself watching the redhead more often. In the months after Roxas arrived all of the men had appeared the same to him: large, burly, and indistinguishable from the next. But now he had something different to define. Axel suddenly seemed to be everywhere; or maybe it was the violently red hair that made him stand out more now that he had worked with him. The tattoos on his face were certainly distinctive, but he also wore things that none of the other warriors did – in particular a gold circlet around his neck, thick and etched with designs, which almost made a full ring but left the ends a space apart.
Roxas was serving beer to the men along with Xion as they sat around the great fire in the main hall telling stories; he found himself mesmerized, caught up in every indistinguishable word that the red haired warrior spoke in his tale. The words no longer sounded harsh and grating to his ears, but now sounded overwhelmed with passion in his storytelling. His voice, tones, and accent were highlighted in these moments, distinctive markers against the others. The other warriors would laugh and cheer along with him, but it was obvious that redhead enjoyed the attention, and enjoyed the act of storytelling – it seemed to come naturally to him. The fire carved deep shadows into his face, exaggerating his high cheekbones, tattoos and extremely expressive green eyes.
When those eyes met his own Roxas abruptly looked away, his moment of awe broken. He went over to Xion to see if she needed any assistance, oblivious to the continued stare that lasted a few more moments, Axel's storytelling uninterrupted.
ooooooooo
Roxas' nightmares returned full force after the hunt, his mind twisting the images burned into the back of his eyes –
They were coming. The scout had seen them landing on the shore, the ships with dragons' heads on them, lips curled back in a toothy snarl. Roxas was scared; his father had told him stories about the raiding warriors and he wanted to fight them, to stand beside his father and the other men and repulse the monsters. His mother – a former warrior herself, he remembered her kind, pale face and long, sleek black hair with sudden, heart-rending clarity – drew him away to hide with the other women and children. Roxas felt a surge of shame, he wasn't an adult and warrior yet, but he could fight!
Roxas hated dark, enclosed spaces. Then came the battle cries and the death screams, the clashing of metal and harsh tones with unfamiliar words that got closer – his heart seizing in his throat – and closer – breath catching, they were all going to die – until the doors of their shelter were ripped open. Strangers in the portal, once horrid and faceless now terrifying and Axel, wearing the blood of his father and the other warriors, splashed grotesquely across his chest and face –
and he woke up gasping for air, Xion's hand over his mouth to muffle any scream that might escape. Xemnas, the head of the group of warriors, still slept soundly in his bed of furs and blankets, unaware of his slaves' movement.
Roxas broke free of Xion's hold and stumbled outside, emptying his stomach around the side of the dwelling. Stomach still sending muscle spasms through his body, he wiped his mouth and looked over at the encampment to see if anyone had seen him. Axel was outside his own door, looking over at him quizzically. Expression contorting at the sight of his face so soon after his nightmare, Roxas stalked back inside and tried to sleep again.
It was Axel who sought him out not long after, who began making a much more noticeable effort to try and communicate, especially after his hunting partner's sickness worsened. It was as if Axel had finally come to terms with the fact that Roxas simply hadn't picked up their alien language, rather than being stupid. He spoke slower, and was even rather specific about pronunciation and what each word referred to.
"He's trying to teach you," Xion whispered with a grin. "I don't think he wants you to be left out."
Roxas suddenly felt very angry at that explanation. He did not need to be taught Axel's barbarian tongue, not when he considered each and every one of them filth for the enslavement of his friends and family. He still hated Axel on some level, memories of the dream still jarring him whenever he was in the redhead's presence.
So the next time Axel attempted to teach Roxas their word for bread, the blond turned to him defiantly and said the word in his own language. Axel started, green eyes narrowing with something akin to suspicion. Stubbornly Roxas repeated his own word for bread, his stony expression daring the redhead to take the hint.
After several tense moments Axel repeated the word, lips and tongue fumbling over Roxas' language, but he didn't cringe. It was the first of many steps in an intricate, evolving dance they partook in, learning each other's language in bits and pieces until their conversations – stilted, filled with pauses and many misunderstandings – resembled a hodge-podge of mismatched words only they marginally understood. It was a long and slow process, covering several hunting trips and a few new moons. While no one else said anything, Roxas felt that the other warriors were probably amused by their tentative friendship. Roxas cared less and less though, since his growing knowledge of their language made serving food and beer a lot easier. He still wasn't happy with the servants' life and he had grown to hate the head warrior Xemnas, who'd revealed himself to be a cruel and unforgiving master.
With each hunt he and Axel went on, Roxas felt more and more naked without his own weapons – his knives and bow – especially in the colder weather. Many of the beasts were hardier than the ones he used to encounter in the winter, as if they had prepared for such stinging winds and heavily fallen snow. Roxas was used to more vulnerable animals during the hunt, but the ones he and Axel encountered were unlikely to be felled by a single man's arrows. But when he asked Axel for his own weapons, thinking the gesture would be appreciated, he found himself sorely mistaken. The redhead flat-out refused, and they began to argue in their jumbled versions of each other's languages.
Completely and utterly frustrated that he was getting nowhere against Axel, Roxas turned and stalked out of his abode, his carefully controlled temper on the rise.
Axel followed him out, his strides long and purposeful and grabbed his wrist, jerking Roxas back and propelling him back to the source of his entrapment. Roxas glared up at the barbarian, the man he considered his friend despite the obvious and imposing barriers between them, and frowned at his hard expression. The man's grip on his wrist was still tight, and Roxas could feel him trembling as if fighting to maintain control, all while cutting off the blood flow to Roxas' hand. The blond tried to jerk his hand out of Axel's grasp, just to communicate his agitation, but found the redhead moving closer rather than letting him go.
Instinctual fear rising in the pit of his stomach, Roxas shied away from the redhead's approach until his back came into contact with the roughly hewn logs making up Axel's shelter.
Axel pressed in close, too close, invading Roxas' space and air until he could feel every inch of Axel's body against his. Suddenly Roxas felt unbearably warm, the heat of Axel's body and the press of the redhead's groin against his hip sending shock waves throughout him. In that moment Roxas felt himself weaken, found himself wanting to give into the pleasure of whatever Axel had planned would bring about. He'd give him everything, anything he wanted – the earth, the sun, the stars, whatever the redhead asked for, so long as his hands continued to roam over his body and Axel's mouth was against his. Images flew behind his eyes in those first few seconds, memories of catching an unhidden glance, uncomfortable silences and Axel's face, ecstatic and passionate, as he told his stories in front of the fire, all of which sent a shiver down Roxas' back.
Then Axel pushed his tongue past Roxas' lips while a large hand shifted to cup the blond's aching erection through the rough cloth pants he was wearing, and Roxas' eyes snapped open. Image and soaring feeling disappeared.
Mind and body acting in complete unison, Roxas abruptly stiffened and let his fists fly – one connecting hard with Axel's ribs, the other right behind his ear. The redhead yelped and shied away from him, and Roxas took that moment to escape into the shadows to wash his face in the freezing water and find Xion, furious at his body's continued betrayal.
Whatever it was they had shared, Roxas was adamant that it wouldn't happen again. Xion's attempts to soothe him were unsuccessful; whereas their tribe had been somewhat conservative in their courting – though a match between men was not unheard-of – only Roxas' status as a slave made Axel's intention acceptable. Roxas did not hear any whispers from the other warriors though, and Axel never mentioned his actions to the other barbarians, leaving Roxas slightly confused.
He was very careful to avoid Axel, which considering the size of the village was extremely difficult. While Roxas had learned the redhead's patterns and favorite haunts through compulsive observation, there was little he could do when forced to interact with the man.
It was only a matter of time before Roxas was sent on a hunting mission with him – allies of Xemnas had arrived to stay for the winter and more meat was needed – but this one turned out to be in the most desperate of conditions. Clad in as much fur and clothing as could be made available, Roxas set out with Axel for another hunt. Roxas remained studiously silent, communicating only with hand signals to Axel as he tracked. Roxas couldn't help noticing, despite his determination to stay completely on task, how regal the redhead looked wrapped in his fur cloak with snow falling all around him and sticking to his vibrant hair and lashes. The blond blinked and kept moving, watching carefully for any signs of life in the deep woods.
They had caught and killed a female boar when the hunt went awry. The boar's mate, a large and intimidating beast, came charging through the woods straight at them.
Both Axel and Roxas were able to dart away, but the boar must have smelled its mate's blood on Roxas' hands and it feinted towards the blond before he could get away. The boar's tusk ripped right through cloth and cut along the side of his calf, sheering through skin and muscle as Roxas let out a surprised and pained scream. Axel shouted, and Roxas' world turned red; eyes squeezed shut he plunged the knife Axel had given him directly into the boar's neck. The beast itself gave a death scream and collapsed, wrenching its tusk from Roxas' leg in the process. Roxas shouted again and fell back, holding his hands around the searing wound and numbly noting the wetness that pooled around his fingers. Axel was by his side immediately, pulling the material aside to see the wound and cursing violently. He pulled his own leather belt from his waist and tied it tightly around Roxas' leg above the deep cut, muttering and cursing in his own barbarian language.
The world moved in complete slow motion for Roxas; he barely took notice of his companion's hand on his face or the terrified look in his eyes. He started, finally, when Axel was pulling Roxas across his back and hefting him up to carry easier. Axel took off in a trot, making his way through the dense woods with a limp Roxas on his back, leaving both boar carcasses behind.
They had passed a stream somewhere along the hunting trail, a brook that had only partially frozen despite the cold, and that was where Axel stopped. He forced Roxas to let him look at his leg and wash the blood and grime away from the wound with the icy stream water, all while Roxas looked to the darkened sky and whispered the prayers the village holy woman – Roxas remembered her vividly, the woman with long brown hair praying in the corner, lips murmuring exaltations and pleas to their goddesses and gods, limbs and body moving in a hypnotic dance known only to those who devoted themselves to the unseen – had taught them for healing. When he was finished Axel wrapped the wound up again as best he could, then moved Roxas back to lean against a thick tree trunk. Moments later Axel himself sat right beside him and they huddled together against the night's chill.
"Axel," Roxas muttered, teeth chattering as he huddled closer.
The redhead made a sound of acknowledgement.
Tell me . . . Roxas began, hoping for the right barbarian words, one of the stories. The ones you tell.
And so Axel did, and when Roxas didn't understand it all he did his best to explain; he told Roxas about the sacred tree and the one-eyed father with ravens on his shoulders and the magic characters he alone understood, about the giant wolf who would devour the world, the god who wielded both thunder and hammer, of the most beautiful woman and the governess of love, the story of the beginning and the giants in the ice, of the trickster god, the end of the world and some from his own faraway country – of the warrior Cuchulain, the warrior-woman, and the war over the great bull, his voice comforting and soothing despite the cold as it lulled Roxas to sleep. When he woke again Axel was carrying him once more, quest for meat forgotten as they made their way back.
Under Xion's fiercely protective and diligent care the wound on his leg finally healed; Roxas was glad to be able to walk again, though its strength was not quite the same and thus he'd been barred from hunting for a time. Axel still found reasons to visit and while he appreciated them at first, Roxas grew to begrudge the spontaneous visitations. Something had happened, whether it was out in the woods or back in the encampment, Roxas didn't know; Axel was agitated, quick to anger, and rather distracted when in his presence, and a large number of his visits ended in bilingual cursing and Axel's exit.
Talking with Axel was no longer the dual effort he'd grown accustomed to; now it was like talking to a wall or a rock - his meaning was lost before the words even escaped his mouth, because he couldn't say what he wanted in a way Axel would understand. He could tell Axel was getting agitated too, though whether it was about the same thing he couldn't tell. There was simply a block in their communication that Roxas couldn't understand.
"He was never like this before," Roxas grumbled to Xion after one such visit.
"Your injury frightened him," Xion responded calmly. "And that man is fearless."
Roxas looked at her sharply.
"I know what fear in a man's eye looks like," Xion said, tone defensive. "You two are very good friends, and he did not want you to die. His heart was plain."
"Then why is he acting like this?" he demanded.
"A man who has felt no fear experiences it again. That is a weakness to these barbarians – he may not know whether to hate you for making him feel such an emotion, or to be happy that you survived. He visits, so he is certainly happy."
"But he doesn't know how to act otherwise?" Roxas raised an eyebrow.
Xion shrugged. "Just a theory."
After food and beer had been served that night and the warriors had headed for their dwellings, Roxas made for Axel's. He had ignored him throughout the evening meal even as Roxas served him, and Roxas' frustration would not allow this to continue. Roxas knocked lightly on the side of the door and, at Axel's affirmative noise, entered.
Roxas had only been inside Axel's dwelling a few times, but it wasn't very different from the others. It was small, with clothing piled up at the end of the bed. All of the blankets that might have been piled there were on the bed thanks to the frigid winter weather. Axel was seated at the end, cleaning his weapons and wrapping them up to protect them from the cold. There were swords and spears Roxas had never seen him use displayed as well, and pieces of cloth or blanket that must have been from his homeland – he'd never seen such patterns before. A round shield hung on the wall, worn with use, and there was a small fire burning in a dirt pit in the center of the room, occasionally spitting but otherwise providing a warm, comfortable space to take shelter from the cold.
Axel looked up when he entered, a frown quickly spreading across his face before he looked down again. "What?" he prompted.
Roxas himself frowned, not wanting to deal with a prickly redhead. I'm sorry for scaring you, he said in his best attempt at the barbarian language.
You should have been more careful, Axel said viciously. You could have died.
"I'm just a slave."
At that Axel dropped the weapon he was working on, his face contorted, and advanced on Roxas. "You are not just a slave," he growled. "Not to me."
Roxas marveled first that he could still understand exactly what the redhead was saying, his words themselves second. "You are my friend."
"Is that all?"
Roxas' eyes narrowed as Axel got even closer. "I don't remember you courting me."
With that Axel closed the already small distance between them, wrapping his arms around Roxas and sealing their lips together forcefully. Roxas froze for a moment, remembering the last time this had happened; however instead of retaliating Roxas gave in and returned the embrace, fingers catching and clutching at the back of Axel's warm jacket. The redhead moaned into the kiss and deepened it, shifting to press Roxas back against the wall.
Abruptly Axel broke the kiss, pulled back and turned him to face the wall, one long arm wrapped around Roxas' chest as he panted hotly in the blond's ear. He molded his body against Roxas' back, pressing his arousal against his ass and earning a moan from Roxas. Axel slid his other hand down the blond's torso and into his pants, long fingers wrapping around the base of Roxas' hot, erect cock. The blond shuddered in his grasp, head dropping against the wooden walls; then Axel rolled his hips forward, grinding even harder against Roxas and stroking him in time with his movements. The touch and the sensations of Axel's hard cock pressing against him sent further shudders up his back; Roxas' teeth found the flesh of Axel's forearm, keeping him from crying out. The redhead hissed and bit at the shell of Roxas' ear, then licked it, whispering "Come" and pulling away slightly.
Roxas slumped against the wall momentarily as the source of his pleasure was removed, breaths coming shallow as his heart beat furiously in his ears. He glanced over his shoulder at Axel, who was backing towards his bed, erection straining against the leather pants he wore and hand outstretched, beckoning. Ignoring his own discomfort Roxas narrowed his eyes and went after Axel, knocking him onto his own bed and straddling him. Axel was grinning widely at this new development and leaned up to draw Roxas into a passionate kiss, the older man's tongue stroking his. Fingers and hands caught in locks of hair and somewhere along the way one had torn the other's shirt and pants off while the other tried to do the same; blankets were pulled over their sweating forms as they curled together.
Roxas caught Axel's fingers as they stroked along the side of his face and brought two of them to his mouth; under the redhead's wide gaze he wrapped his lips around them and stroked with his tongue, feeling Axel shiver. Then he released them and shifted, splayed across Axel, his cock hard and weeping against the redhead's stomach. "Inside," he whispered, licking at Axel's chest. He felt Axel shift beneath him, reaching back along his back until he found the rounded flesh of his ass. Roxas shifted back, encouraging him; the tips of Axel's wet fingers teased the puckered skin of his entrance before pushing in, sliding in to the knuckle, drawing a grunt and a low groan from Roxas. He moved quickly and with obvious impatience, and Roxas turned to marking the redhead's collarbone to distract himself.
Then Axel gave into his impatience; he withdrew his fingers and spat on his palms before reaching down to slick himself. Roxas had no choice but to hold onto him while Axel positioned his cock at Roxas' entrance and moved his damp palms to the blond's thigh and hip. Roxas gave a pained hiss as Axel pushed him down, the friction between them was almost too much for his sensitized skin. But Axel was moaning, eyes closed in unadulterated happiness, and the rest of the dwelling, the encampment, was all white noise; Roxas' whole world converged on his moment, pushing back onto Axel's gentle thrusts, the hand that wasn't his curling around his cock, stroking as they both grew bolder in their ecstasy. Pushing back up onto his knees Roxas could control their movements more, and took Axel deeper as the inevitable churning fire took root in his lower belly. Axel's thrusts grew harder, more erratic as they moved together, his lips forming Roxas' name in reverent whispers that sent the blond's heart soaring into his throat, making his voice catch. As Roxas started to feel himself losing control the redhead pulled him flush against his body and his hands tightened their grip on Roxas' hips; the hard, stiff thrusts that followed sent Roxas over the edge, shuddering and spilling come over Axel's stomach. Axel followed directly after, muffling a shout in Roxas' shoulder as his cock spasmed within his lover, filling Roxas with a satisfying warmth.
They collapsed together in heated pants against slick skin, their combined heat and the blankets insulating them from the cold. Lapsing into comfortable silence, they exchanged lazy, deep kisses meant to convey what they didn't know how to say.
"This could be bad, you know," Axel said slowly, still wrapped comfortably in the younger blond.
Roxas' brow furrowed; he wasn't really interested in why what they had done was a bad thing, not this close.
"You belong … to Xemnas," Axel continued, choosing the words carefully so he would understand. "He's the ring-giver … I could be killed for this."
Roxas shook his head, eyes widening; he was still unused to thinking of himself as anyone's property, but he understood Axel's worries. "When will I be free?"
Axel frowned. "I have an idea. We go raiding again in the spring and summer. Come with us, maybe you can buy your freedom."
"Become one of his warriors?" Roxas ventured. At Axel's nod, he considered that option; if he proved himself and managed to buy his freedom, it was a possibility. He settled himself back against Axel's chest, a small smile on his face. "I like the sound of freedom."