Very Important Author's Note:
Oh ye heavens…I bow to the ground and grovel my apologies and regrets to everyone for how long it has been since I updated this. I am really so extremely sorry. I have just been so incredibly busy. But now, for at least a while, it looks like I'll have more time! *dances happily*
I also want to thank all of you for your patience, and especially for doing me the kind favor of not asking when I'd be updating this fic. I'm pleased to brag on my readers with this one – I asked for patience, and you have all been just wonderful. I appreciate it So Much. :D
And, without giving anything away, I will say that if the ending of this chapter leaves you…ahem, unhappy…I have the next chapter almost done as well, and I plan to post that this weekend. So, DOUBLE UPDATE! As my thanks again for being so great. :hugs everybody:
And so, enjoy this one – more to come very soon!
Zexion descended the dank stairwell of his apartment with grim determination. The one morning he was working the early shift this week, why did it have to be so cold and rainy? Why couldn't it be a pleasant spring morning like yesterday? Damn April to hell.
Despite his crabby mood this morning – a feeling that had started when he saw the rain and just got worse with every unpleasant detail, including the rank, moldy smell of this wretched stairwell – Zexion was not one to whine. He was one to square his shoulders and clench his jaw and go to work, weather be damned. And, secretly, he was fortifying himself with the lovely thought of an evening free. Of course, it was a Wednesday evening, not a weekend, but he didn't have to get up early the next day…and a certain blond had promised to come over tonight. And there was that something about the way Demyx had said it that made Zexion's heart thud heavily with the hope that his boyfriend meant to spend the night.
Just one depressing, rainy morning to get through. Then…Demyx. The tiniest smile crept over the young man's face, giving him a slightly love-struck look.
In his own private daydream, Zexion didn't notice the other person coming up the stairs. That is, he did not at first notice, but his attention was suddenly arrested when the figure on the landing below him unexpectedly slipped and crashed onto the cement steps. Shocked, his eyes took in a smallish figure, absolutely drenched, that lay unmoving now, partly on the stairs and partly on the landing. Zexion quickly sprang to life.
He hurried down a few steps to the still form, asking in a worried voice, "Hey! Are you OK?" After a pause, there was a slight moan of pain from the body. Zexion tried to help the boy – for it was apparently a thin blond boy – to rise, but his touch was recoiled from as if it had scorched the kid. Slightly shocked, Zexion looked more carefully at the huddled body.
Jeans, hoodie, and blond hair were all darkened, saturated with cold water. The boy trembled convulsively, but seemed far too weak to rise or move beyond that. As he pulled back, the hoodie's sleeve slipped up, leaving his lower arm exposed, and Zexion saw with great concern that there were broken, bleeding red welts encircling the almost-bony wrist.
"Woah…what happened to you?" He tried again to reach out to the blond kid, who again shied away.
"N-nothing! Don't touch me…" This time, however, Zexion was prepared for the evasion, and didn't let the kid escape. He cut off the cry by firmly grasping the boy's arm and interrupting in a calm and level, but firm, voice.
"Hey! Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you. Do you live here? I can help you to your room."
A thin face was finally lifted to his, distress and confusion filling the slightly-sunken features. The eyes, however, were the worst. They were so wide they seemed impossibly large, and the ocean-blue depths seemed…empty. Stunned, Zexion could only wonder what on earth had happened to this poor kid.
"I'm…I…"
"Shh. Listen. Calm down OK? Come on, hold on to me. There we go." The involuntary grasp the boy had suddenly made at Zexion's arms was too tight, but the man didn't want to recoil. Instead, he slowly lifted, helping the boy to his feet. The kid could barely stand.
"Come on. Show me which apartment you live in." Zexion encouragingly started to help the boy up the stairs. Gradually, the blond seemed to understand, and he complied, trying hard to struggle up the last steps. Fortunately, it was only another flight up to the next landing – the fourth floor – before the trembling voice spoke, with a little more sanity now.
"Here. This…this way." Zexion compliantly turned down the hall, still supporting the kid, who occasionally stumbled, even though his own legs weren't carrying very much of his weight.
"What the hell happened to you, kid?" Zexion's question was quiet as they walked.
"…Roxie. And…nothing." Zexion was on the verge of questioning this "Roxie" again, when the kid halted, interrupting. "Here it is…my place."
Zexion continued to support the thin frame while Roxie unlocked the door. He noticed, in the process, the room number, and hummed thoughtfully.
"13? You're directly below me. I'm in 13 on the 5th floor." He moved to help the kid in, but was stopped.
"Thanks…thanks for the help, but I'm fine here. Sorry to trouble you." The unsteady voice pushed him away, while the trembling body pulled itself free of his grasp. The door was already shutting.
"Not a problem…hey! If you…need anything, come and get me, OK? I know neighbors aren't much in this place, but still. You know where to find me."
Roxie paused, then the blond head nodded. "Thanks." The door was quietly shut.
Zexion turned away, returning to the stairwell. It wasn't his business, of course…but now he was really rather worried about that kid. Still…
"Damnit, I gotta get to work." Even more reluctantly than before, Zexion walked out into the rainy spring morning, hiding under his umbrella as he made his way to work.
-o-o-O-o-o-
Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Bee-bang! Axel's hand slammed relentlessly down on his alarm clock, silencing the goddamned thing in an instant. He groaned heavily, tiredly rolling over and struggling to open one gritty eye. Before he could, however, the sound of drumming rain reached his ears. A hazy glance confirmed it – it was a miserable, rainy Wednesday morning. Exactly the kind of day for staying home from work and sleeping.
Not at all the kind of day for field work first thing. As he struggled reluctantly to free himself from a tangle of bed sheets, bitter curses fell from Axel's mouth. He cursed the rain, the morning of traveling around and interviewing, the sheets that would not unwrap from around his legs, the fact that it was Wednesday, the whole miserable week, and…himself.
He had been quietly directing a lot of foul language at himself this week, ever since letting Roxas out of his sight for five fucking minutes on Sunday. However, he hadn't allowed himself to think about the reason too much. He didn't want to remember…didn't want to think about that night, or how it still hurt so badly to think of Roxas using him…
So he cussed at himself for anything and everything else. And, when his futile struggle with the hopelessly tangled sheets ended with him tumbling onto the floor with a thud, he released a new stream of profanity, directed at anything and everything within sight.
It was going to be another rotten day at work.
-o-o-O-o-o-
Consciousness came much more slowly to a young blond boy, halfway across town, in a wretched hovel of an apartment building. It started with an itch. Slowly, his drifting mind focused on the itch, trying to locate it and understand it. The itch responded by spreading, making it easier to locate – it now covered half his face. Along with this realization came the beginnings of scent – which gradually developed into something decidedly unpleasant. It was a dank, dirty, musty scent, tainted with cigarettes that had been smoked decades ago, and some obscure tangy flavors that suggested the foul results of living bodies.
At last, as eyelids slowly parted, sight came to Roxas. Not long behind that came comprehension – he lay face down on what appeared to be his own floor, half his face pressed into his disgusting old carpet.
Weakly, he began to lift himself into a painful sitting position, wincing and moving cautiously, discovering with each motion a new tiny agony. Memory was slowly arriving, following lazily behind consciousness. He struggled to make sense of the images and impressions, and was soon sorry he had bothered.
He finally remembered everything. The past two days in that hotel room…no. Blackness slammed over that thought. He wasn't ready to remember that. Then…let free in the early morning, before daylight. Shoved out into the rain. Walking home for what seemed like hours, all the way across town, his body barely able to move. Finally reaching the apartment building, trying to climb the stairs but having no strength left. Falling…someone helping him…kind voice, strong arms, slate hair…then his own room. There, Roxas could only guess that he had collapsed.
How long had he been here? The kitchen clock read sometime after 7…am or pm? And what day? Then he remembered. Cell phone. He flipped it open and checked the date and time. After 7, Wednesday night. It was still Wednesday.
Cell phone. He froze a moment, then his hand involuntarily jerked back, dropping the shining new device onto the dingy carpet. Roxas had never had a cell phone. He had the decade-old phone on his wall – that was it. A memory he didn't want forced its way into his mind.
"We're done here for now." A clink as the handcuffs fell off, and then darkness, as his own rumpled clothes were gathered up from somewhere and thrown in his face. He hurried to dress himself, understanding that it was expected of him now. It was an unspoken command…and he had learned to hear and obey those already.
"Take this." A shining silver device was thrust in his face. "Always have it on, and with you. When I want you, you will get directions through this. Never fail to obey them."
A dark threat hung in the voice. Roxas accepted the cell phone and nodded submissively. Thin lips smirked, and a rough hand stroked over his jaw line.
"Time for you to go now. How do you say goodbye?"
Instantly, automatically, his knees hit the soft, rich hotel carpet. Ignoring the screaming protests of his body, he bent down fully and pressed his lips to the feet in front of him, his fingers wrapping around the ankles as if treasuring them.
"Please stay with me, Master," he recited, his voice a begging whine.
"No. You must wait until next time." It was the same rehearsed response.
"Yes, Master. I love you, Master."
The unwelcome memory sent a convulsive shudder through Roxas' tired, sore body. Blocking out anything else, he tottered straight for the shower.
The hot water felt good on his tired muscles, but it burned the places where the skin was broken. His raw wrists throbbed, remembering handcuffs. A few other places hurt too, but Roxas ignored them and soaked himself in warmth until his uncontrollable shivering finally died down. He had lain on his floor in wet clothes all day. The boy was already sure he felt a cold coming on.
When his shower was done, Roxas automatically resumed his beauty rituals. He didn't even need to be told to – he knew what his new master's expectations were.
Finally emerging from the bathroom and gathering clean jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt from his closet, Roxas wanted only to lie down somewhere warm and hope he wasn't really getting sick. Unfortunately, he was hungry, and there truly was nothing edible in his apartment now. Sighing, he reached for his wallet and counted his money. All he had was what his last client, Saïx, had paid him a few days ago.
He no longer cared about whether he had enough money. He strongly suspected that his survival was no longer his financial responsibility – it was understood that, as a "pet" of a man with money, it would be the master's job to keep his toy alive. He walked to the nearby strip mall and grocery store before it could close and bought everything he could possibly think of needing. Some nice food, a whole assortment of cold medicines, herbal tea, orange juice, chicken soup, even a heated blanket, a bathrobe, and fuzzy slippers. When he finally reached home again, exhausted, he collapsed onto his broken old couch for a while before he felt strong enough to unpack everything.
It was dark out, and the rain still drizzled outside his window, as Roxas tucked himself into bed, bundled up with his hot tea and decongestants. His aching body was finally able to relax, and he felt warm and better than he had in days.
If only his mind and heart had been so calm and comforted.
What are you unhappy about? He'll take care of me. I'm not alone. The soft voice in his mind seemed to whisper an objection to the misery in his heart.
I don't want to be that man's sex slave.
Then how will you live? You can't work anymore…you have no job and nowhere to go. You need this master.
But I want…
He will not take you back now. He hates you…he saw another man's marks on you. He knows how dirty you are.
A sob caught in Roxas' throat. There was a stinging behind his eyelids that soon developed into damp lashes, and then slow, wet tracks running down his cheeks and dripping, unheeded, from his chin.
He thinks you're disgusting.
Even so…
I will obey this master. We have no choice.
…I love him.
-o-o-O-o-o-
Friday was the most beautiful April day imaginable. Sun sparkled from a bright blue sky, and the air was fresh and warm and perfect, with just the slightest breeze.
Roxas emerged from his less-stinky-than-usual apartment into the bright air dressed entirely in black.
A somewhat long walk through the golden afternoon brought him to his unaccustomed destination – the city cemetery. He entered through the wrought-iron gate and made his way along the path, eyes lingering on the stones – some old and worn and nearly unreadable, some new and glossy marble, almost all standing in front of a little grassy mound that was covered in new spring green.
Naminé's funeral was today. Roxas was grateful that it had not been before this. Setting aside his indisposed state for the first part of the week, yesterday he had been in almost as bad a condition, having come down with a 24-hour flu. He had spent the day in bed, and even now didn't feel completely well.
At the gravesite, Roxas was surprised to see a couple of the nurses from the hospital gathered. He had not expected anyone else to come. Nurse Aerith stepped forward from the group, meeting Roxas and, without hesitating, wrapping him up in a comforting hug. Surprised, the blond merely waited a moment, before tentatively wrapping his arms around the kind woman in return.
At last, Aerith drew back and looked kindly at Roxas. "Everyone wanted to come, dear, but we were the only ones who could get off work. We're all very sorry about Naminé." The other nurses stepped forward, agreeing. Roxas was unable, for a moment, to reply.
"Thank you," he finally choked out. "Thank you all for coming…it means a lot."
In their warm company, Roxas felt relieved. A short while later, the funeral director and other personnel arrived, and the funeral proceeded. As Roxas listened to the stranger speak over his sister's grave, he felt empty again, disconnected…for a moment he almost laughed at how strange it was for him to be standing here, in this field under the sun, with a small group of complete strangers. There was no one he knew here, no one he loved. The one in the coffin…wasn't his sister anymore. He was alone. No one called him out to this small field in the center of this large city, and he suddenly felt that he had no reason to stay.
Fortunately, the service was wrapping up. Roxas, on cue, tossed the flower he held into the grave, and as the nurses were following suit, he felt a strange sensation. A vibration in his pocket. The cell phone.
Pulling it out, he saw there was a message. An icy chill crept over his skin and settled there, as Roxas said his farewells to the nurses and thanked them again for coming. As the undertakers finished their work and prepared to go, Roxas stood off to the side and flipped the phone open, finally viewing the message.
"Come. Taxi waiting at entrance."
He no longer felt the warm sunshine. There was no more gentle breeze. He stood, still as one of the many stone monuments, as the frail voice began to speak within him.
He summoned me…he wants me. Wants me to come. I have to go to my master.
And Roxas…almost agreed. He was being called to a place where someone who knew him waited. Where he would have a reason to go, and a reason to remain. And, for one brief, certain moment, Roxas knew that he would rather have company in darkness and pain than be alone in the beautiful sunshine.
He turned back and saw he was alone. He moved to pass the grave and leave…but hesitated there. He hadn't said anything to her…yet now, he couldn't think of anything to say. His mind was a complete blank, no matter how he struggled for some parting words to his sister. Finally, he gave up. With a halfhearted promise to himself to return another time and say farewell properly, he followed the path toward the gate.
A figure coming along the path toward him stopped him in his tracks as he neared the entrance.
"Sorry I'm late."
The deep, familiar voice reached him…the sight of the tall redhead reached him…even the faintest whiff of the man's scent was carried to him on the breeze…yet his heart felt so far, so impossibly far away and untouched. Untouchable.
He stared at Axel blankly. A small part of his mind reflected that the man looked like hell. Heavy bags under his eyes showed his lack of sleep. He looked weary, haggard. Still, Roxas mused detachedly, he looked incredibly attractive in a solid black suit. He was a million miles away…and yet, as his eyes lingered on the redhead's uncertain, rueful expression, a twist of pain managed to shoot through Roxas' heart.
"Axel."
The man shuffled a bit closer. "How have you been this week, Roxas?"
This week? The boy stiffened. This week was something he didn't want to tell Axel about. Glancing away, he saw the taxi waiting.
"I've been…um, busy. I, um, have to go now. Someone's waiting." With that, he tried to hurry around the tall man, who unfortunately turned and followed him.
"Someone? Who is that? Someone taking care of you?"
"Someone is…yes. Um, thank you for coming, I have to go, he's waiting." Roxas tried to increase the distance, but Axel's legs were far longer.
The man seemed to detect something in Roxas' tone that made him bristle. "He? Who is he? And why is he taking care of you?"
Roxas felt almost panicked in his desire to escape this conversation. "He's nobody…nobody you know. It's nothing to do with you anyway. It's…none of your business!" With that, he tried to get away from Axel, but was suddenly stopped by the grip of powerful hands on his shoulders. He was spun around to stare in surprise into green eyes that burned with anger, even through their obvious weariness and uncertainty.
For a long moment, Roxas held his breath as Axel's eyes searched his own. Just as he was sure he couldn't take the tension any longer, the taller man finally spoke.
"I guess you're right…I guess it's none of my business. But, Roxas…I…" Axel paused again, and the tension and anger seemed to sink into the confusion. And there was pain in those beautiful eyes, and pain and desperation mirrored in the blue eyes that couldn't break away.
Claim me. Tell me to come back. Tell me to be yours. Tell me I'm not allowed to go to anyone else…make me your plaything, your prisoner, anything!
The hands that held his shoulders painfully tight slackened and released him. The burning green eyes looked away, slanted sideways and fixed themselves on the grass. The voice that spoke was low, but audibly tainted with bitterness…even sarcasm.
"You're right. Sorry for intruding in your private life."
The world seemed to shatter along with all Roxas' hopes, leaving him to mechanically resume his walk to the taxi. As he walked away from Axel, he heard the quiet voice say one more thing.
"Take care, Roxas."
-o-o-O-o-o-
The taxi driver, paid in advance, delivered Roxas to another fancy hotel without complaint. The front desk handed him a waiting key at the mention of the name "Roxie." The valet led the silent, obedient guest to the room and left him there. The only irregularity in the smooth flow of well-planned motion was the short, unplanned pause that the blond guest took before opening the waiting door.
Roxas stood for a moment, his fingertips resting lightly against the doorframe, his head bent slightly forward as he hesitated. The confusion, the disagreement between his mind and heart, held him for that moment, until one thought, one certain feeling set him in motion again.
Axel is gone.
With the feeling of painful certainty that the redhead was no longer a part of his life, Roxas opened the door.
The room, to his slight surprise, was empty. However, the flawless plan was still operating smoothly, as the blond discovered. Entering the room, he found a camera set up, pointed at the bed, and a note.
Get in front of the camera and strip. Jerk yourself off until I get there. Use this.
Next to the note lay a disturbingly large plastic vibrator.
The camera, Roxas noticed, was already on and running…it appeared to be hooked up to a live feed, probably for his master to watch from wherever he was. A wave of revulsion attempted to wash over Roxas…and was put firmly down by the iron will of Roxie.
Roxie picked up the vibrator and carried it with him in front of the camera, laying it within reach on the bed. Facing the cold glass lens, he spoke in a subservient voice.
"I'm here, Master." Pale but steady fingers slipped up to the first button on his shirt.
-o-o-O-o-o-
Beside a fresh grave, with the golden spring sun warming the back of his black shirt, a tall man stood alone. He stared at the inscription – the name of a girl he had never met. The name he had once heard sobbed again and again. He stood, and struggled to find something to say. But his mind, like that of the last person to look upon this grave, was a complete blank.
He had meant to come and explain. He had meant to introduce himself…the thought made his face twist in an ironic smirk now. How ridiculous. How should he introduce himself to this grave? "I'm in love with your brother and I want to take care of him" no longer seemed right. He smiled bitterly.
Maybe "I'm in love with your brother but it doesn't matter anymore, because he doesn't want anything to do with me and he's off selling himself to some creep again" would be better. And who would say that to a dead girl anyway?
Finding nothing better with which to address the young girl's grave, Axel silently bowed his head, rubbing his brows in frustration and misery. Another moment later, he abruptly turned away, occupying himself with walking swiftly back to his car, focusing all his attention on the path ahead, rather than the lump in his throat and the stinging behind his eyes.
-o-o-O-o-o-