105 - Sense

"You have absolutely no fashion sense, you know that?"

Vexen glanced up from his manic tapping on his new company laptop to see Marluxia smirking in the doorway. Vaguely wondering why Marluxia had decided to randomly appear in his room and insult him, but not too much because wondering anything about Marluxia made his head hurt, Vexen glanced at the man's fashionably tight shirt and sculpted jeans, and then down at his own attire. Tracksuit trousers, comfortable and baggy, and an equally loose plain white t-shirt.

"I'm not desperate to impress anybody," He clipped back, returning to his work. His colleagues had decided to kick him out at five thirty today, and he'd spent two uncomfortable hours trying to be sociable at the nearest bar when he could have sworn that everyone was whispering contributorily about him, before returning home. Usually he'd have worked until at least seven, and this break in his strict routine left nothing but to catch up in his bedroom.

At the lidded insult, Marluxia chuckled a little in his deep, rich voice. Vexen found himself wondering - for the thousandth time - why Marluxia just had everything: good looks, charisma, a gorgeous voice, money...

"I'll let that one slide, Vexen

Vexen rolled his eyes at the flickering screen and tapped a few more half-hearted words.

"So what was your real reason for intruding into my personal space?"

Marluxia let his hands drop from his elbows to his sides and strode in. Marluxia didn't walk anywhere, he strutted with his back poker straight and his hips swinging. What was worse, to him it came perfectly naturally, like breathing or speaking. He'd probably had that peacock-sashay his entire life.

"Your wardrobe is more than a little drab."

Vexen growled a little under his breath. That was none of Marluxia's concern: he was a 'drab' person. He wore suits, plain black, no fancy trims or lace or coloured ties. When suits were inappropriate, he had two pairs of plain jeans and a tan leather belt to share between them and three white t-shirts, all enormously too large. His underwear drawer was composed of white boxers and white socks, most with dying elastic or threadbare patches. And none of that was anything to do with Marluxia.

"I fail to see why that's your problem."

Marluxia turned on his heel - his hideously expensive inch-raised leather boot heel - and smiled faintly at the house's other male occupant.

"You need new clothes."

"Don't have the money," Vexen snapped automatically. As far as clothes went, with his last paycheck Vexen bought a pack of needles and two reels of thread.

"I do."

Vexen glared again at the younger man, as though to snap that he didn't care, he wasn't going to lower himself to using someone else's riches for superfluous garments, and realised in a horrible split second that Marluxia was holding a pair of his underpants. He flung himself out of his chair and made a grab for them, missing spectacularly.

"H-hey! Give those back!"

Marluxia simply waved them out of reach.

"To be honest, Vexen, you'd look astoundingly better naked. Your formal wear doesn't even fit."

"Well, I'm sorry that I'm not so grossly overpaid that I can have my suits made to measure!" Vexen barked, finally wrenching his undergarments from Marluxia's grasp and flinging them back in the drawer where they belonged.

"Consider a wardrobe overhaul a present, then," Marluxia said simply.

"I like my clothes!" Vexen lied desperately. Marluxia gave him a critical once over with those azure eyes that Vexen could have sworn could see right down to his skin.

"Really."

"The answer's still no."

Vexen turned to continue typing - a mistake. Marluxia caught his wrist and spun him back in an iron hold.

"That's a pity," He said so softly, the amused quirk still in his lips. "I thought you had more common sense than to deny a gift, particularly in your... financial situation."

Vexen grit his teeth, meeting Marluxia's eyes with an acid glare.

"There's going to be a price."

Marluxia laughed shortly, leaning in suffocatingly close. Vexen could smell his distinctive scent of expensive floral perfumes and bizarrely, freshly cut grass, cloying his airways and his first reaction was to gag.

"If you'd like there to be."

Vexen wanted to know how Marluxia had such an ability to freeze him in his own skin, to stop his hands shuddering into a slap or his feet staggering backwards to break from the gentlest of kisses laid to his lips. And Marluxia watched him as though observing some social experiment as he prised Vexen's mouth open and explored the cavern between his teeth. The sound of the ticking clock rang in Vexen's ears, ten, twenty, thirty seconds and finally Marluxia and any alien feelings were gone.

"Don't do that," He hissed, but his volition was lost somewhere along the line.

"I'll take that as a yes," Marluxia murmured lightly. "We'll leave tomorrow morning at nine. Naminé, of course, will be joining us, for her professional opinion. I intend to give her a... gift... as well."

Fighting down the urge to retch and the unspoken implications, Vexen forcefully pulled away, scowling.

"What makes you think I'll ever agree to your idiotic idea?"

Marluxia threw him a calculative look.

"I'm paying your rent."


Saturday, nine o'clock, saw Naminé amazed and Vexen lost as Marluxia ushered them into a sleek supercar that looked as though it belonged in the next century. The curves were the epitome of aerodynamic beauty, the black and pink paint job custom, the interior black leather and the dashboard filled to bursting with interactive screens and dials and voice control.

There was just one thing that perplexed Vexen; a sleek silver logo emblazoned on the front of the car's bonnet.

"That's the Decepticon insignia."

Marluxia smiled a little, thumbing over the distinctive angles of the sigil.

"A homage to my brother, if you will. He loved the show."

Vexen sniffed disdainfully.

"I'm more of an Autobot, to be honest."

Marluxia chuckled.

"Perceptor."

"Starscream."

"... Touché."

They slid inside and forward in time by fifty years. Marluxia revved the engine and the car purred to life, rolling effortlessly out of the drive and into the road. Through the tinted windows, Vexen could feel passers-by on the street turning their heads and staring at the gorgeous car as it slid rather than drove by. It was the smoothest ride Vexen had ever been in, by far. It took just a few minutes for the town to peel away behind them and the motorway's vast expanse to lie ahead.

Marluxia slammed his foot down on the accelerator and the other cars simply melted away. Vexen, who'd hardly been paying attention, screamed.

"M-Marluxia! What the Hell are you doing?"

"There's no point having a car with a top speed of three hundred miles per hour if you're not going to use her," Marluxia replied calmly, swerving suddenly to overtake a grubby van. The car reacted instantly to his touch, as though he were steering it with his mind.

Vexen swallowed thickly as Marluxia traced a clear path through the cars, the engine's roar belying its perfect movement.

"Just how fast are we going, anyway?"

"A little under one hundred and twenty," Marluxia prompted smoothly.

"I swear that is illegal," Vexen half choked as they came to a bare expanse of road - and what the Hell, British roads were never empty - and Marluxia pushed the car even faster.

"You're not jealous, are you?"

"J-jealous? Why would I be jealous?"

Marluxia braked suddenly and pulled over to the side. He slipped out, moments later pulling Vexen's door open.

"I don't extend this privilege to many people," He said smoothly as, stunned, Vexen unclipped his seat belt and slipped out. As much as he wanted to scorn Marluxia and stand by his own values, he felt horribly underdressed in his ill-fitting suit trousers and shirt open at the collar by this car, this epitome of mechanical perfection.

Marluxia led him to the driver's side and ran over a few peculiarities of the car's controls then slid into the passenger's seat.

"Go on."

Vexen ran his fingers over the steering wheel, heartbeat rising. It was every boy's dream to drive such a perfect car and he might have been a geek but he was no exception - but an ugly curl in his stomach resentfully reminded him that this realisation was only possible because of Marluxia. Just like everything.

Vexen glanced at the other man momentarily then waited for a break in the traffic and carefully eased his foot down onto the pedal. With no complaints, no coughing or stuttering or stalling, the engine whispered to life. He began in the outermost lane as he familiarised himself with the powerful steering, then accelerated and moved in, overtaking comparatively ugly cars that Vexen wished he had the money to own, skipping behind a lorry and into the fast lane. He hardly wanted to admit that his hands were quivering as he eased past sixty, seventy, eighty, ninety miles per hour. This was very definitely illegal but the car wasn't even beginning to protest. It felt so easy. Ninety five, ninety six, ninety seven... Marluxia led him off into an old Roman road (it had to be, it stretched off like a ruler onto the horizon) devoid of cars and ninety eight, ninety nine...

Vexen changed gear and willed himself just to inch his toes forwards another millimetre and break into triple digits, blood pounding in his ears. It shouldn't have been so significant, he'd been on trains coasting at two hundred and aeroplanes God knew what speed soaring through the air - but here, he had total control. If he wanted to swerve, he could. If he wanted to break so hard Marluxia's pretty face smashed into the dashboard, nothing was stopping him. And Vexen might have been a recluse and a workaholic but that didn't stop him being a man and that meant that driving down a deserted A road at nearly one hundred miles per hour was something just short of orgasmic.

He leaned forwards and with a simple twitch of his ankle ripped the digital speed dial up to one-zero-zero. Up ahead, cars were turning into the road from another junction and somehow Vexen knew he wasn't going to get another chance to speed so recklessly. One ten, one twenty, one twenty five - and the incoming cars forced him to brake smoothly and reconnect with the traffic and the correct side of the law.

His throat was parched with the rush of adrenaline the ride had triggered and it wasn't until several minutes later of driving well under the speed limit that he managed to speak.

"Wow."

"I didn't know you liked cars," Came Naminé's voice, a little distantly, from the back seat. Marluxia laughed and leaned over.

"Sweetheart, he's got a penis. Of course he likes cars. It's a universal constant."

Naminé duly giggled as Vexen tried to ignore the returning truth that Marluxia was right and this was Marluxia's car and there Marluxia was seducing Naminé so effortlessly and he didn't even need to turn around to know that Naminé was blushing. He had half a mind to scrape the gorgeous, flawless car against some heady goods vehicle and gouge some character building scratches in the paintwork but he knew he could never follow the thought through.

"Where do you want me to pull over?" He asked bluntly, instead.

Marluxia shrugged and somehow managed to still look elegant.

"Just wherever's next convenient."

Vexen's focus returned to the road. If he had anything to do with it, 'next convenient' was going to be their final destination.

And Vexen could practically feel the disdainful looks of this upmarket department store's employees and patriots as Marluxia led his "two favourite blondes" in through the pillared doors and across the marble floor. With a smile, a kiss and a note pressed into the palm of a hand, one smartly dressed worker ushered them through to the clothing department. Vexen practically baulked as he caught sight of the first price tag, no matter how good the clothes looked. His entire wardrobe probably cost the same as just one polo shirt here; Marluxia was wasting no time throwing Vexen into a gaggle of not entirely displeased females for them to take his measurements. They manhandled him with their deft fingers and tape measures and Vexen silently vowed not to admit that he enjoyed the experience as much as he did. That endeavour over, he was led through aisles upon aisles of formal wear, casual wear, night wear, underwear... Here and there Marluxia would pluck out clothes and pile them onto what seemed to be his personal assistant, with Naminé's help. Finally when the heap reached the poor woman's chin, they made their way to the dressing rooms.

Vexen was passed what seemed to serve as an outfit and immediately encountered problems.

"I'm supposed to wear this?"

"Yes."

The reply had been so definitive that all Vexen could do was sigh and begin to strip off his old, ugly and comfortable clothes to make way for a tight pair of black jeans and a matching shirt that was loose and not entirely opaque. The shirt was easy enough, resting openly on Vexen's bony shoulders - but the trousers were more of a problem.

"I can't even get these Goddamn things over my bottom!"

If he'd expected anything, it wasn't for Marluxia to sweep aside the curtain and step in, spinning Vexen around to face the back wall and pressing one hand to an exposed buttock, sliding the jeans over before reaching around to buckle up the belt. Vexen found himself with his hands pressed against the wall in an entirely submissive manner and Marluxia's arms around his waist, tongue dangerously close to his ear.

"It's a sad state of affairs when a grown man can't even dress himself," Marluxia murmured, so softly, laying his body against Vexen's back.

"I can!" Vexen spluttered indignantly. "It's not my fault that these jeans are so Goddamn- tight..."

Naminé had peeped in to check that everything was okay, and had flushed red at the sight of Marluxia pinning Vexen to the wall.

"M-Marluxia," She stuttered, fiddling with her thumbs, "I'm not sure Vexen appreciates that..."

Marluxia chuckled a little and pulled away, tucking the shirt in to the perfect degree and no less than shoving Vexen out of the cubicle and into Naminé's view. Under the spotlight, Vexen wriggled uncomfortably.

"I can hardly feel my- myself in these jeans," He muttered sourly, catching himself in a nearby full length mirror. "You don't actually expect me to ever wear these, do you?"

Marluxia laughed at him.

"Of course not. I'm just savouring the memory."

Vexen turned to critically study himself in the mirror. The fabric of the jeans was stretched taut across his hips, the price to pay for their smooth contortion around his legs. The shirt hung from him - he had to admit, it was airy and comfortable - but the loose silk dwarfed his frame. Besides-

"You can see my nipples through this!"

The outburst made even little Naminé stifle a giggle, and Marluxia outright sniggered.

"That's the point. Come on, you, we've got a lot of clothes to get through."

He pushed a new, more colourful, set of clothes into Vexen's arms and turned to the assistant.

"Darling? Go fetch some trousers from the women's aisle, would you,"

Vexen almost dropped the hideously expensive clothes he was holding.

"What."

Marluxia made an hourglass figure with his hands.

"Vexen, in the nicest possible way, mens' trousers just don't fit you."

Actually, Vexen, with wide hips and long legs, had never had much of a problem: he just bought pairs that were three sizes too large and they hung like drapery around him. But, granted, that wasn't particularly fashionable. But not, in Vexen's opinion, unfashionable enough to warrant cross dressing. Nothing was unfashionable enough.

"The answer is still no."

"Hear me out, they'll feel more comfortable," Marluxia promised. And loathe as Vexen was to admit it as he stepped nervously out in a snug knitted jumper and linen slacks, he was right.


Weighed down by tons of clothing that Marluxia had deemed fashionable and Vexen had deemed Not Too Embarrassing plus two suits that were being tailor made to fit his measurements - Vexen didn't know if he'd ever manage to wear them to work; his figure was just too weird to ever find a fitting suit in the common market - they stopped off for lunch at an expensive restaurant. Marluxia made Vexen change into one of his new outfits in the toilets and he returned, blushing a little, in neat and tidy trousers that rested evenly against his legs and a sky blue shirt.

"Wow," Naminé said softly as he sat down. "You look really nice."

That really didn't help the reddened state of Vexen's face, particularly when Naminé leaned over and gently raked her fingers though his hair to tie it into a pony tail at the base of his neck. He'd never looked nice before. He'd never looked anything short of the lanky, gangly male he'd always been.

Lunch was flawlessly presented, a wholesome carrot soup that simply tasted of a hundred different spices combined to form just that perfect flavour followed by fancy sandwiches with fancy lettuces and fancy drinks in fancy cocktail glasses. Vexen felt like he'd stepped into another universe, at such odds with packed lunches eaten out of crumpled tin foil in his everyday life. No wonder Marluxia was so alien, if he lived like this.

Marluxia paid the bill and they left for a little run of boutiques; if Vexen had felt out of place before that was nothing compared to inside the first little shop, outfitted with flowers and gorgeous summer dresses. Even Naminé, in a white smock and jeans, looked twenty times more comfortable flitting like a plain butterfly between the mannequins. Vexen stuck to the edges as Marluxia leaned over her shoulder and talked to her in hushed, silky tones, then plucked out a beautiful knee length floral dress for her. She slipped with it into the changing room, and appeared a few minutes later an angel.

Vexen simply didn't know what to say.

"What do you think?" Naminé asked shyly, twirling in the dress. White and pink with blue hints, it curved perfectly over her breasts and fell in folds from her hips. Every part of her petite figure, it accentuated perfectly; the essence of her smile itself seemed to be captured in the dress. She was beautiful.

Vexen did not know how to articulate this, so he simply nodded approvingly.

"You... you look really pretty," He said, and immediately wished that his mind could have supplied a better synonym because she was not just pretty, she was gorgeous without being sensual and perfect without being unreal.

She smiled at him.

"Thanks,"

"It really suits you," Vexen persisted blindly, acutely aware of how he stumbled in the unfamiliar territory. It should not have been so hard to compliment a girl, but Vexen felt as though his first statement could not do her justice. "You look... you look stunning."

Naminé wafted over, eyes twinkling, and playfully bopped him on the nose.

"It's just a summer dress," She said. Vexen sighed a little, feeling embarrassed.

"But I don't often see you in dresses,"

"That's because I don't have any," Naminé admitted suddenly seeming disheartened.

"It's okay," Vexen said blandly. "I don't have any dresses, either."

This lame attempt at a joke cheered Naminé up considerably; she laughed and even gave Vexen a hug. In the middle of the boutique. For a moment he thought he'd explode.

"That's a pity," Somebody said smoothly behind him and he turned to find Marluxia smiling all too devilishly at his body. "I think you'd look rather dashing in a dress."

As if women's trousers weren't bad enough!

"Absolutely not," Vexen snapped instantly as Marluxia passed Naminé another dress and she disappeared to change.

"I know a boutique along this lane that specialises in men's dresses," Marluxia said offhandedly, ghosting one hand across Vexen's taut stomach. Vexen flinched and shot Marluxia the stoniest glare he could summon.

"No."

"One day," Marluxia promised softly with a kiss Vexen wasn't quick enough to duck away from. "One day."

And the two men sat down and patiently commented as Naminé span around in dress after dress after dress and at the end of the day and countless stores, she had in her arms a pile of decorative boxes and tissue paper, and the widest grin on her face.

And... that upset Vexen, as he climbed into the back seat of Marluxia's gorgeous car, because that was why Naminé was happy. Because of Marluxia, because of Marluxia's money and Marluxia's charity and all the new dresses piled on her lap. And how could Vexen ever compete with that? He was gangly and reclusive and awkward and broke. And Marluxia... Marluxia was everything Naminé could ever want. She had no use for him.

It all made sense in Vexen's mind, until Naminé didn't buckle herself in by the window. Until she crawled over into the middle of car and plugged herself in there, the beautiful boxes containing beautiful dresses cast aside. Until she took his hand in the flashing darkness, pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and settled on his shoulder.

Marluxia could not have driven slowly enough as Naminé closed her eyes and smiled, one dainty hand resting ever-so-slightly against his thigh. And in Vexen's head he could not fathom the logic, could not see sense in Naminé's actions. She had Marluxia's perfect riches, she had Larxene's female charm. What need could she possibly have for Vexen?

But if the equation didn't match up in Vexen's mind, as Naminé sleepily crawled into bed with him, him with bony elbows and cold feet, it made perfect sense in his heart.


From the Blondes!Verse. Ahaha, not even Blondes is safe from the Transformers references. For those of you who don't know, the Decepticons are the bad guys and the Autobots are the good guys, and Perceptor is an ultra-nerd and Starscream is... well, he's the Marluxia of Transformers.

In other news, yes, one day Marluxia did get Vexen into a dress. Hurr.