That morning Naminé was at once an alien creature and a familiar friend, a witch who stole Vexen's heart and an angel who returned it, cleaner and lighter than it had been for a long time. After he had explored the curves of her body, knowing that this would be the last time, they lay together on her bed for a long time, a soft, snowy light shining in through the window, making them feel both cold and warm.
Then, when the hunger in their stomachs began to call out louder than their limbs were heavy, Naminé glanced Vexen's way and said: "The dream is unravelling, isn't it?"
"Which dream?"
"You know, our dream. Your dream." Naminé gestured broadly to the room around her, filled with little bits of her life that had got in the way of her aspirations. "Things are changing. I can feel it. I don't think that we're all going to be here for much longer."
"Well," said Vexen, ever earthed and pragmatic, "The house is falling down, I suppose."
Naminé chuckled. "That too." Then she sighed a little. "I don't know whether I feel sad or not. We worked so hard for this."
"Is the house really that important to you?" Vexen asked; "Even though you know this wasn't what Larxene wanted?"
"That's what I mean," Naminé replied. She kicked at the duvet a little, tucking it under her feet. Larxene must have finally caved and turned the heating up a few more degrees last night, since she didn't feel cold without a heap of blankets draped over her, too. "I don't know how much I care about the house. I…I'm beginning to realise that I just want to be with Larxene. That's the important thing."
"I can't think why," Vexen said dryly. But before his bedmate had a chance to elaborate, he shook his head. "That was a joke."
"Would you stay here, if it weren't for us?" Naminé asked, after a long pause. "I mean, you travel a long way to work now. It would be much more convenient if you moved, and you could probably afford a small flat now. But you didn't."
Vexen thought about the crumbly old house, with its torn wallpaper and creaky stairs, every part of it almost but not quite matching every other part. How long had he lived here, now? Three or four years? He was beginning to lose count. He supposed that he just liked the familiarity of it all, the dent in his mattress that fitted his lanky body and the rooms he could navigate with his eyes closed.
"I don't know," he said at length. "I think it's just a case of inertia, to be honest."
"I'm going to talk to Larxene about selling," Naminé announced very suddenly, just as the silence was beginning to settle sleepily in the corners of her bedroom. "She wants to move around, and as long as I still have a sketchbook I'm happy to go with her. Maybe this house will give us enough for the first leg of the journey."
But perhaps that was just a little piece of the sky in Naminé's mind, because even a few weeks later when Marluxia became once more a fixture in the house, the snow just a memory, Vexen had heard nothing more of her proposal. The strangest thing about Marluxia's return by far was that the house felt more complete to Vexen with his floral scent hanging around and his thick leather coat hanging by the door. It wasn't as though Vexen often saw the other man: he was busy all day at work and by the time he came home, Marluxia had usually gone out somewhere or other to pass the time. Come to think of it, Vexen wasn't even sure where Marluxia went off to: it wasn't exactly as though their tiny little town had much in the way of night-life. But it was just satisfying, somehow, to see all those little bits and pieces of Marluxia around again, to meet him occasionally in the kitchen and pointedly ignore him.
Larxene noticed this. She said one morning while she drank straight out of the milk carton, "You really need to stop staring at Marluxia's butt so conspicuously."
Vexen, who was frying an egg, spluttered.
"I am not staring at his- at him!"
"Trust me, you are," Larxene drawled. "As an expert at such things, I'd notice." She put the milk carton back and rummaged around in the fridge for something else to eat, finally pulling out a yoghurt. "Just let him fuck you, already. I can hardly handle the sexual frustration."
Vexen dug his spatula around the bottom of his egg and flipped it over, just for long enough to get rid of any uncooked white still left around the yolk. Then he slid it onto a plate and brought it over to the table. Cooking was so much easier now that the kitchen had been renovated; another thing he had to be grateful to Marluxia for.
"Just because he's attractive doesn't mean I want to sleep with him," he huffed. That wasn't quite true: sometimes he did want to invite himself into Marluxia's bedroom, just to answer that one last mystery about himself, just to be sure - but he also didn't want to give Marluxia the satisfaction, didn't want to break into old wounds and dig up buried memories. It was complicated, more complicated than Larxene with her no-strings-attached-sex could probably ever understand.
"Are you afraid he's going to ravage you without your consent?" Larxene said after a moment. She hadn't bothered to find a spoon, simply slurping the yoghurt from its pot. "Everything's all out in the open now. He wouldn't try that again."
"I'm not afraid of him," Vexen snapped. "If I thought that was the only reason why he wouldn't r…repeat the past, because he'd get caught, I wouldn't even consider it."
Larxene laughed. "So you're considering it."
"I am not!" Vexen spluttered. "This is your problem, Larxene, you are so simple minded." He sighed: some things would never change. "Sex isn't as easy for the rest of us as it is for you. And it's also not the only important thing in the world."
Larxene glanced at the clock, muttering "I gotta go in five," under her breath. Then she stretched, neatly tossing her empty yoghurt pot in the bin. Dressed in a thick jumper and skinny jeans, she seemed oddly top-heavy to Vexen, a round ball of wool teetering on stilts. But she was still so gorgeous, because she was confident. "Look, I know Marluxia's a mystery wrapped within an enigma, but he's changed lately. Don't ask me how or why. I don't think even Naminé can figure him out. But it would probably do you a lot of good to loosen up and let him have his way with you."
"You certainly like telling me who to have sex with, don't you?"
"Hey, honey, I'm doing you a favour. I'll even ask him myself, if you like."
Vexen groaned. "It won't come to that."
Larxene was making her way out into the hall, collecting her shoes and coat.
"One last thing," she called; "I'll give you fifty pounds if you manage to get him on the receiving end."
She left before Vexen had a chance to refuse - or accept - her bet.
Ultimately, it was not Vexen who initiated further contact with Marluxia: it was Vexen's hair. A week or so after his conversation with Larxene, he finally got around to going to a barber after work and having all the scraggly tips of his hair trimmed off and the wavy locks that always fell foward of his ears cut into so the effect looked intentional. Given that he had not cut his hair since he had lived with Naminé and Larxene, nor had he bought himself new clothes in this time, he decided that he owed himself this one expression of unmasculine vanity.
He felt nice on the way home, his head lighter and his hair straight and shiny around his head. He was aware that he kept patting it, every time he drew the car to a halt at red lights or a row of traffic. He was even seriously considering splashing out on some fancy shampoo or something (as though he even knew anything about such matters), or perhaps that would be rather too conspicuous and out of character. After all, some people at work genuinely thought that he was a hobo: there was even a rumour going around that he had stolen his new car, since it was so unlike anything else he owned.
The house was dark and quiet as he returned, a note on the side board telling him that Larxene had taken Naminé out to see some new movie. He hung up his coat and checked the thermostat - high, thanks to Larxene and Marluxia's combined efforts - before putting the kettle on for a cup of tea. Outside the kitchen window, the garden light flickered, beyond it only darkness. Vexen thought about making supper. He also thought about his hair. And whether or not Marluxia might be in. He didn't expect so: the man was still elusive, his car rarely in the drive when Vexen was at home; and even when it was, half the time he was out anyway, presumably taking a walk in the sprawling countryside. There wasn't exactly anything else within walking distance of the house, anyway.
Once his tea was brewed, Vexen made his way up the stairs, counting the ones that creaked as he did so. And evidently they creaked very loudly indeed, because as he reached the landing Marluxia's bedroom door opened and the man himself appeared, as perfect an apparition as ever, dressed in pyjama trousers and a pastel shirt that flattered his broad frame.
Vexen was tempted to ignore him, but instead out of his mouth came a rather nonplussed "Oh, hello, Marluxia" as he reached for his doorhandle, fingers brushing over the keyhole. He'd been given a key to his room when he moved in but he lost it within a month, given that keys were not his forté and nobody was interested in coming in anyway.
He was pushing the handle down when he felt firm hands slide into his hair, Marluxia suddenly very, very close.
"This is very attractive," the man said, barely more than breathing each word. Vexen felt every cell in his body jolt. His hand slipped away from his doorhandle, just in time for Marluxia to twist him around and kiss him deeply, their bodies so close that Vexen could hear Marluxia's shirt rustling as the shorter man moved.
"You have a problem," he managed to say sardonically as Marluxia pulled away, still appreciatively caressing his hair.
"Perhaps I do," Marluxia replied flippantly. "You ought to have done this a year ago." And he rearranged Vexen's hair again so it showed no signs of having been played with. "Especially this," He added, running the locks that fell forward through his fingers.
Vexen didn't want Marluxia to compliment his hair. He wanted him to kiss him again, and hard. But the only way to achieve those results was to do it himself.
Vexen was not sure he had ever willingly kissed Marluxia before, at least not while sober. He didn't know he was capable of making Marluxia moan involuntarily, just with his tongue; the other thing that surprised him was how quickly Marluxia managed to pull him down the corridor and through his open bedroom door.
"I've been waiting for this," he murmured appreciatively as he pushed Vexen against the wall, popping buttons. Waiting?
"Evidently, waiting proved too difficult."
"I didn't want to break my promise."
Marluxia's promise to leave him alone? Vexen almost scoffed. Marluxia couldn't possibly have cared about that, could he?
"Hmph. Consider that invalidated."
"Oh," said Marluxia, scanning Vexen's body with a not at all unwelcome eye, "I do."
Suddenly Vexen felt fingers interlacing with his, warm and smooth, as Marluxia pulled him towards the bed. He happened to notice that the covers were in disarray, almost as though Marluxia had only just woken up. Given his state of dress, perhaps this was the case.
"You. Sit."
"Ordering me around again, are we?"
Marluxia smiled as he pulled Vexen's shirt away from his shoulders. Vexen wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a slight sideways twitch of the pink-haired man's head, as though Marluxia were resigning himself to this snarky, snappish behaviour. But then he seemed to be distracted by Vexen's hair again, murmuring "I told you you could have gorgeous hair if you'd just take care of it", this time sounding a lot less offensive than Vexen had thought he had last time. Then, suddenly, Marluxia looked at him with those deep eyes and in that perfect blue, just for a second, Vexen almost saw a real human being. Was Marluxia asking for consent? Did he care? Was that unguarded expression really genuine, or just another act to get Vexen to roll over on all fours like a dog for his pleasure? Vexen stared hard into that beautiful face, but the last thing he found was answers. Finally, he reached out and pushed Marluxia away, just a little bit, enough to show him that he was serious.
"No," he said, the syllable surprisingly difficult to enunciate. "I'm not letting this happen again." He stood up, forcing Marluxia to look up to him. "This time, it's going to be on my terms or not at all."
Marluxia smiled, but not unkindly.
"Fair enough," he agreed ater a moment. "State your conditions."
Suddenly, things fitted together so perfectly that Vexen found himself struggling not to smile. He levelled his eyes at Marluxia, picking words.
"I get to be on top."
Marluxia closed his eyes and laughed, but when he opened them again his expression was amused, even forgiving, and in that same pleasant voice he murmured, "Oh, Vexen, if that was all you wanted I'd have invited you in a long time ago," and pulled Vexen down onto the bed, kissing him affectionately with a force belied by his laughter and echoed by the way he tugged almost needily on Vexen's hair.
And suddenly, seeing Marluxia splayed out on the bed beneath him with a playful expression on his pretty face, Vexen did not know what to do. Larxene's casual bet rose in his throat very suddenly as he realised that her mocking comment had stemmed not only from her belief that Marluxia would not lower himself to allowing another man to... dominate him, but that Vexen did not have the confidence or skill to get down and do it even if Marluxia were willing. He felt himself letting out a tiny soundless breath, at once aroused and intimidated by Marluxia's broad, half-clad frame. When had his shirt fallen open and loose around his shoulders? Why wasn't it over the other side of the room, where it belonged?
"Come on, then," Marluxia murmured, his practiced hands flicking the top drawer of his bedside table open to reveal three paperbacks, two unlabelled bottles of pills, a watch, and a wider variety of lubrication than Vexen had realised existed.
"Are all those really necessary?" He asked as Marluxia reached over and idly chose one, seemingly at random, pressing the bottle into his hand. Vexen inspected the small print, set against the clear plastic in a lustrous pink, promising him "ultimate comfort" and "enhanced pleasure". "Where do you even get this kind of stuff?"
"You're treating this like some kind of mystical, forbidden act," Marluxia laughed, nipping his neck in what was presumably an attempt to help him relax. "Most people do have sex, you know."
Vexen bit his lip, a familiar irritation at Marluxia rising inside him.
"Oh, shut up," he snapped and kissed Marluxia hungrily, rendering himself unable to pull the gorgeous man's clothes away from his body; luckily, however, he had assistance in that department, his hands bumping against Marluxia's as they pulled soft cotton away from their skin.
"You're so sexy when you're angry," Marluxia murmured in that same smug, self-satisfied tone, which only made Vexen moan louder and kiss him harder. He allowed himself to be manhandled onto Marluxia's perfect body, realised only moments after Marluxia had begun that the other man was sucking at his neck, twisted gracelessly away from what remained of his clothes, all the while fighting to gain hold of a situation that was quite unlike anything he had previously experienced. He tried to think logically, to remember how Larxene had operated beneath him, but those areas of his mind were nowhere to be found, leaving him nothing but the paradoxical duality of crippling anxiety and carnal need.
Although he cursed them with every breath he could find, he was privately grateful for Marluxia's guiding hands (although less-so his condescending laughter as Vexen wriggled inexpertly closer to his crotch).
"I will never forgive you," he managed to assert with his final coherent thoughts before somebody who wasn't quite him took over, and perhaps Marluxia laughed but if he did Vexen didn't hear it, too busy burying his face in that soft, perfect pink hair, breathing in deep gulping breaths of that fresh, cut-grass scent as though without it he would somehow drown in the banality of the real, every day life to which Marluxia could never belong. What he did hear was "Are you going to fuck me any time soon, or do I have to finger myself all day?", the only reasonable answer being, of course, gladly.
Of course this messy, slippery affair was a new experience for Vexen, and one that brought him to unprecidented heights of mindlessness, but what surprised him later was that this was not because Marluxia was a man: it was because Marluxia was Marluxia. A Marluxia who moved in unexpected ways beneath him, whose eyes fluttered and whose breath hitched every time Vexen found purchase enough to drive himself in deep and hard, who clung to his naked skin with a ferocity that could almost be uncontrollable desire. Where had this strangely vulnerable man been hiding all this time? The enigma that was Marluxia's many faceted facade tugged at Vexen's curiosity, but far from distracting himself from the mix of saliva and sweat between their bodies the challenge that was Marluxia just served to fuel Vexen's arousal further.
"You," he murmured, leaning right down to Marluxia's ear just to force the younger man's legs further apart, to hear him groan again, to control him, "Are a very bad man."
Marluxia smiled breathlessly.
"Oh, Vexen," he laughed, and reached up to hold Vexen's face with both hands, all the better to kiss him. And beyond that, attempts at words were futile: even Marluxia seemed to be losing himself to lust and pleasure, his moans growing louder and the way in which he pressed against Vexen's body ever more desperate.
Just as he felt himself slipping into orgasm, Vexen thought he heard the sound of the front door opening, but then the blood rushing through his body drowned out all other sounds than their heavy breathing. He tried to carry on a little longer, for Marluxia, but eventually he gave up and rolled away, his body limp. Marluxia found his skin again for that last final stretch, but even as his lips were parted for more deep kissing Vexen felt strangely removed from himself, simply allowing Marluxia to take what he wanted without fuss or reciprocation.
"I'll run a bath, shall I."
"Hmhm."
While he let himself breathe, Vexen thought about what he had done, keeping half an eye on Marluxia's naked, glistening form stretching out under the warm lamplight.
"Perhaps I shall stay in bed tomorrow," the younger man conceded as he reached over for his dressing gown, sliding it over his arms. Vexen scoffed.
"Oh, come on, that's a poor excuse. It doesn't hurt that much-"
"Not if your partner shows some sense of self restraint," Marluxia interruped, turning round to face Vexen just a split second before he wrapped the folds of his dressing gown around his perfect body, and was hidden from view. His eyes were smiling, not cruelly, but certainly not kindly, either. Vexen felt himself flush.
"Perhaps if you had said something..."
"You think I wasn't enjoying it?" Marluxia said airily, and once he had put his slippers on, he disappeared out of the door.
Vexen lay back on the sweat-soaked sheets, picking out the sound of Naminé and Larxene's voices below him, and the running tap in the bathroom. Marluxia's bedroom was warm, much warmer than his, and his muscles had a tension to them that felt oddly satisfying, somehow. Vexen closed his eyes. He was content.