This is a slow freaking burn Akuroku story. So there's some play on timelines in this here bad boy. I like to imagine the previous chapter could play as a prologue. But honestly, it's a tad too long to be so. Hopefully I can play with this fact, and execute it properly. I have nit-picked this chapter so hard, and it's been done for a week now.
As you've learned from the last chapter, Roxas is a Sex Addict, and Axel praises the Lort. I went to church some when I was younger. However, I'm not all that knowledgeable with religion. I don't plan on using this premise too often, only for plot purposes so bare with me. Any ways, I'd love to hear your thoughts. I preferred my writing style in the previous CH. But I needed to include some world building here in the beginning. So hopefully it's written well enough for everyone to follow. Once again, I'm pretty new to this, and I have zero degrees in writing, or a beta. Just ol' reliable, the inter-webs.
Toodles,
~Sticky Dough
Chapter 2:
This day is already beginning to look dismal. Sharing a chapel with half of this little town's inhabitants while being squished tightly by both of my parents on a rigid seat always makes my tail bone throb. A baby is sobbing in the back pew. The room is filled with the hushed murmurs of everyone's gossip. Every Sunday, the residents of the town gather dressed to the nines for the holiest of days. Sunday is something I dread. I get up early on one of the days I should be sleeping in, and I invariably end the day with sore cheeks from faking grins at individuals I have known for seventeen years. The air in the chapel is usually sticky, and there is a bone-chilling draft that pervades the space. I always carry an overcoat, regardless of the season, otherwise I will freeze to death, if not of sheer boredom first. The baby in the rear has finally been put to nap, and I shift in my seat, attempting to get comfortable after standing and then sitting. Only to rise up again to sing hymns, and be promptly told to sit down once more. Listening to my parents' off-key singing, as well as everyone else's, is exhausting. I do not bother pretending to participate anymore. I stand and sit on command, and that is all I can do for this tradition. My gaze sweeps around the room, scrutinizing everyone.
Living in Waning Place is tricky at times. I am sure there are moments to be covert in larger towns, but here in Waning Place, where my neighbors are the entire town, not just those right across the street, I have to practice stealth like a well-trained assassin. Aside from the clock tower at the strip mall, the trees here rise over all the buildings. There are two churches in town. The other church was nearly beaten back from being built, but the people persisted, and this community now has 'options.' However, there are no options for education. There are two lower learning facilities; a single middle and elementary school. The same could be said about the high school, but as my mother put it, having a second high school erected on the outskirts of town was a 'heavenly godsend.' When I was younger, I begged to be homeschooled. My parents, on the other hand, could not spare the time due to their professions. My parents commute to a town over, where my mother works as a social worker, while my father is a lawyer. My weekdays are spent glued to computer monitors, idly straining my eyes over literature in the hopes of getting into a college far away from here.
My gaze was drawn to the dazzling red hair that was floating in my peripheral vision. A swoon-worthy face is attached to the hair, one that I used to marvel at for hours on end throughout my younger years. That was the case until three years ago. Axel Vespertine and I have not spoken since then, but I know he attends the community college nestled between the town's library and firehouse. He appears attentive and engaged on his father's imposing pronouncements from the altar.
"Let us not forget that the devil is still at work in these days. This month, tell your children not to fall into the grasp of the devil. This celebration, dubbed 'Halloween' by the media, has profound origins in wickedness. And we must avoid the intents of the doomed. I would like to start today's sermon with a prayer. Father in Heaven..."
My concentration wavers when Axel's dark lashes that border his sun-painted, green eyes dip in reverence, and his head follows suit, concealing my view of him. Being one of the town's few homosexual men sucked most of the time. I could not tell anyone because I was afraid the church would find out and hang me by my ankles from a rope in the courtyard. I can count on one hand how many people know I fancy men, and Axel is one of those persons, which is why we are not friends anymore. I have opted to ignore this fact because I have found zero comfort in it. I sit still in tandem with everyone else. People bend their heads in unison, and some clasp their hands. I am bored and patiently waiting for this to be over. If peering that intently at someone could signal them to your intentions, Axel would have already looked my way. I have been admiring for what seems like an eternity, yet time moves too slowly in church. When I am engrossed in Axel's attractiveness, time escapes me. Mr. Vespertine concludes the prayer, yet his words continue to drone on.
"I'd been sent here by the Lord to lead us all into his glorious embrace. Our faith-our confidence in him-is always present. Everything we give, say, and do is in His name. For when our time together ends, we know that His love will be with us for forever, and we shall spend it in His presence. Our God is both vengeful and kind."
I reluctantly shift my focus away from Axel and toward his father, who talks boldly in front of us. As he addresses the room with his holy words, his hands fiercely gesticulate.
"Before we conclude today's gathering, there is something important I need to remind us about. Genesis 9:20–27; also, inside Genesis 19:1–11. I don't need to explain the concept of these stories because it shows one of the Lord's fundamental rules. A law of God that is being dismantled in today's media. But we know what it truly means. " There is a decisiveness when he speaks, the mood in the room shifts dramatically. "Allowing an abomination, for the same sex to lay with one another is a sinful offence. It's right here, ladies and gentlemen, in his own words. Please open your bibles to Leviticus 18:22…" He adjusts his glasses and continues, "His word couldn't be clearer, it says..." I draw my sight away from his father and return it to Axel. This time, though, his attention was drawn to mine first. I can tell from the front pew that he is tense on the matter at hand. "...'Do not have sexual relations with a man as one does with a woman'..."
I cringe at the uttered verse and escape the unpleasant eye contact by peering across the aisle in the other pew. My gaze falls short on Riku, my regular bed fellow. His sinfully soft silver hair was arranged into a loose ponytail. I chuckled to myself. If only Axel knew that I was not the only gay guy sitting in the room listening to his father's lawful prayers.
"'…that is detestable.'" His father finishes the script and takes a big breath, transfixing the room as he goes on. "The Lord has always spoken through our sacred tombs and will continue to do so. Every day, not only on this holy day. We must keep his word in order to receive his forgiveness and love. His love is the only love that we should desire. Stick to his word, as we have all done. And your promise of paradise will be fulfilled."
I shift in my seat as my attention moves over the room, eventually returning to my ex-best buddy, Axel. I am met with a calculating survey from him. I flash him a juvenile pout as he digests my abhorrent reactions to his father's comments. His attention slips back to his father, and I drop back into my seat. I offer a silent prayer to the sky, pleading with them to cease this droll commitment soon. An answer is sent down instantly, and I close my eyes in relief.
"Now let us all end today's sermon with a prayer. All rise…" The preacher sweeps his hands from the floor to the ceiling, motioning for everyone to rise. I catch my lower lip between my teeth to prevent myself from groaning.
The massive wood-carved doors grumble as they slide open. When the fresh air sweeps across my damp face, I exhale in a sigh of relief. Normally, I leave church feeling uncomfortable, but today was different. My hands were quivering, and my throat was constricted with apprehension. Homosexuality has not been a popular issue at church for a long time, and while I do not feel guilty about my sexual orientation, I despise being reminded of how damaging a sin it is to our congregation.
Cars rumble to life in the parking lot. The doors to the chapel are being held open so that everyone may leave. Small groups of individuals are dispersed across the landscape. Everyone is catching up on the events of the previous week and making arrangements for future get-togethers. I notice my parents in one of the clusters in the distance. My mother's bejeweled hands move erratically, which I thought was remarkable given her tiny form. My father is never far behind and places one palm on the small of her back in a gentle gesture, wrinkling her crisp lavender blouse. My mother's fair locks billow in the air, and she beams brightly. While they are distracted, I feel compelled to leave before they lure me into their circle for more banal small chat, exacerbating the unpleasant taste in my mouth. I step off the chalky gravel path and head to the street. As I walk into the front courtyard, which is meticulously decked with hay bales and autumn flowers, my pace is rushed. I briskly lift my heels, quickening my speed, my objective a few blocks distant being a mini-mart. One of my buddies from the other school asked if I wanted to meet up there. In the woods behind it, we have a fort. It was the ideal place because if any of us had any cash, we could spend it casually on snacks at the market.
My thighs ache as they tug my feet into a jog, striving to physically separate me from the church. The air cools my lungs, yet the sun's rays gleam brightly, enveloping me in its immense warmth. Every Sunday, the sermon closes around one o'clock in the afternoon, which is my favorite time of day. One o'clock is synonymous with freedom in my psyche. The trees enclose the roadway in stunning orange and rich mahogany tones. I can hear my sneakers pounding on the foliage below me and fallen leaves crinkling over the tarmac to my right. Cars go by me lazily, with a few drivers waving at me. I wish I had remembered to bring my headphones. Although it became tedious, this jog was just what I needed to allow all of my undesirable energy and anxiety go from my tight body. I go through several residential areas filled with children's laughter and smoke from charcoal grills before turning left to see a run-down little shop ornamented with fliers and a neon milk jug.
My feet clap at the corner, and my legs shake like jelly as I come to a complete halt. Tidus and Wakka, two of my buddies, are tossing a ball in the disabled parking space across the way. This is a little property, about a quarter of an acre, for a structure that cannot possibly be larger than my school's library. I go to an out-dated high school, but Tidus and Wakka go to the new gilded school, complete with magnificent gardens and functioning water fountains.
"Hey, Rox!" Tidus greets me and tosses the ball my way, and I whip my hands in front of me to catch it.
"How was church?" Wakka asks me while waggling his brows in a know-it-all way.
"As always, it was a pleasure. All in the name of the Lord, it left me feeling enriched and invigorated." I remark with facetiousness and hurl the ball at his head. I fail in my efforts to attack him while off guard, and he catches my toss.
"Wanna smoke about it?" Tidus wants to know, and he smacks the back of my shoulder in support of my annoyances.
"Do you really need to ask?" I season my remark with as much levity as I can muster in the hopes that he will notice his absolutely ignorant assumptions.
"I'm gonna get something to wash down the cotton mouth. Be right back." Wakka enters the market through the shaky slider doors.
"Want first hit? You seem like you've had a rough day." Tidus inquiries from behind me. I hear his feet land on my left, and his sun-kissed palm extends out in front of us, pinching a joint between his calloused fingers, and his azure irises shine with kinship as my head dips in thanks.
"You'd be half right...if you rounded it up to a decade." I reach for the crumpled roll of paper containing my medical nirvana.
I thanked the universe that Wakka had graciously purchased a six-pack of Coke because, after three hits of the joint, Tidus and I agreed that our tongues were heavy and our throats were swollen. Wakka threw his arms around my neck and shoulders, locking me in a choke hold as I struggled to breathe while caught in a long-winded coughing fit.
"You choking buddy? Is it too much for you to handle?" He laughs out directly into my ear and his arm tightens briefly around my shoulders.
"You have…no idea what I can and can't handle!" I wheeze out.
The shop is normally a graveyard, with a few consumers lingering every hour or two. We were so intoxicated that we did not even try to move the party to the rear. I seize Wakka' s strong arms and kick at his ankles. I surprised him and flung him to the side. This sparks a power struggle, and we begin grappling. We were so engrossed in our amusement that we did not notice when someone entered or left the business. Wakka and I are out of breath and laughing hysterically at each other. His scent is clinging to my skin, and I am noticing that my hair is sticking up in more places than normal. I run my fingertips through my golden locks, seeking to control the damage. Wakka and I exchange glances, and he raises his fists in mockery. I laugh it off and take a drag from the joint Tidus is gifting me directly beneath on the sidewalk's curb.
I lower myself to his level, my hands in my pockets, the tips of my shoes near enough to tickle the hairs on Tidus' calves. I take a hit and my senses are drawn to activity in the corner above me. I catch a fleeting sight of evocative red and instinctively turn towards it.
Axel is gazing at me with fascination, his stance debonair, a plastic bag dangling perilously from his well-defined forearms. Stretching my body to full height, I ogle him, my skin is tingling beneath his stare, and I take a long pull off the joint. A part of me wants to taunt him and ask him if he wants a drag. I would bet money he would not bother to respond. His coolness has never faltered. He has the patience of a saint. He peers at the angles of my lips and the tips of my fingers. I drew my hand down and blew out a thick plume of smoke from my lips. Viridescent orbs shimmer when they catch with my own cobalt blues. His eyelids flutter and he sighs, which I can only presume is from displeasure. His boot toes outward and his body moves forward, propelling himself from off the curb and over in a cool and relaxed stroll. His hair is feathery behind him, and my attention follows him until I can no longer see his towering, sleek physique.
"He's not a narc, right?" Tidus nervously coughs out.
"No. He's not." I assure him. I conclude that it is probably wise to surrender to this grueling day. The trip home will undoubtedly aid in the withering of my head high. I wave goodbye to the brunette and sandy blonde and walk in the same route as my childhood friend.
After an hour of walking, my feet are sore in my shoes. They weren't designed for jogging or walking lengthy distances. On my way home, I was accompanied by thoughts of Axel. The memories we shared were comforting, but my curiosity about his present irked me. Why does he constantly have to inspect me with contempt and callous disregard? Since the town has a population of barely two thousand people, it has been practically impossible not to run across him. We have been holed up in the same place on Sundays since we were kids, and I am a fool who constantly finds myself stealing looks at him. Why has he not informed anyone about what he witnessed? He spotted me commit a rather serious sin in his perspective, yet his lips remained sealed. I used to think about asking him whether he would let my secret leak. I kept a close eye on my back wherever I went, bracing myself for an attack because of this secret I possessed. I became less and less paranoid as the years went by. Axel never told a person, and I would lay awake wishing I could thank him. That is, until I see him examining my every motion as if I were being forced to lie under a microscope for some peculiar science experiment. I would feel hatred seep into my thoughts, and I determined that loathing him was simpler than yearning for his company.
Who does he even socialize with? I see Axel walking around town alone or at church with his family and girlfriend, Namine. I assume his friends are as stuck-up as he is, based on the glare he gave us prior at the corner store. I have fond memories of our friendship. These recollections used to make my heart and mind ache with grief brought by his absence. And I used to agonize in bed, convinced that something was wrong with me. Axel would still be in my life if I never loved boys and if Axel never found out. With the passage of time, I realized that I was not to blame. That I will not modify my life for anybody, and, perhaps most crucially, I found I had a fixation with sex. I really enjoy fucking, and if I were still friends with Axel, he would undoubtedly criticize me, and I could not stomach it. I would also very likely screw things up again, because living with someone who puberty favored so obviously would torment me. I would hit on him without shame. So, I tell myself that everything is working out for the best. I did not realize it at the time, but the universe had made the wisest decision for me. I no longer weep in bed. In my mind, I conducted a funeral for all of our shared memories, and then I carried on. I no longer study our photographs or go to the parks and hideaways where we used to play. I spend my time now among like-minded people to alleviate any remaining hurt created by Axel.
I take my phone from my back pocket and brush my thumb on the screen to unlock it. I have a slew of unanswered messages. I scroll down the notification screen and notice a few from my folks.
Baby Maker 1: Where are you?
I move on to the next one.
Baby Maker 2: Will you be home soon? I am making dinner.
I check the time on my phone. It is almost 5:30 p.m. I normally stay out later, and they do not seem to mind. I am walking through my front yard, the grass shuffling below my steps. I near the front porch, when I notice my mother's most recent text.
Baby Maker 2: We need to have a talk.
Hesitating to go inside, I gaze up at the front door and my vision gets hazy. I shake off the sudden vertigo and take in my current surroundings for comfort. The forest green paint is weathered and is chipping in the corners. A breeze blows through the marigold-filled flowerpots dangling from the overhang. A garden flag is snuggled into the earth beside the concrete walk leading from the driveway to the front door of the house. The flag is embroidered with colorful orange pumpkins that are straining to keep upright in the wet soil. The grass has become uneven as a result of the shifting seasons throughout the years. The moss on the cement porch is uneven, and the rocker on top of it sways softly in the strong breeze. The taupe siding of the home is catching the wind releasing a low whistle. My throat muscles constrict as my mind fills with explanations for my mother's urgent message.
Did Axel tell them he saw me smoking?
He could not have, if there is one thing I know for certain about Axel, it is that he can keep a secret. I mount the few crumbling stairs to the porch with unsteady legs. I will be getting the fourth degree in a few seconds, and my hands at my sides are balling into fists with apprehensive dread. I move up to the door and open it as discreetly as I can. I peeped into the home, hoping to go undetected. My parents are conversing in the distance. My mother is speaking so quickly, and I am trying to calm my suddenly buzzing nervousness.
"Are you going to join us for supper?" My father inquires, his rich gold eyes peering over the corner into the foyer from behind the wall of the kitchen.
There goes the stealthy approach.
"Not really, I ate while I was out." I respond, that is if a honey bun and some pretzels counted.
"You skipped Sunday school today before the sermon, honey." My mother tuts as she enters the sparsely furnished living room, her hands occupied with the pearls that adorn her chest.
"The class is filled with teens mom." I say and the pads of my feet carry me into the living room across the glossy hardwood flooring. It is bearing fresh cleanliness and I am thankful I had removed my tattered Vans at the entry way. My heels are sore, the weed must have worn off, this knowledge leveraging me to the conversation at hand and I continue, "Like pre-teens, I'm talking bald, barely-there babies. There's no chest hair, mustache—pubes even! " My mother's finely groomed brows arch in surprise, and my father and I chuckled in unison at her.
"Ahem—young man, you don't have a mustache...or chest hair, so that's not a fair comparison." My father retorts, smoothing his wrinkles as he composes his laughing.
"Well, I have the hair where it matters Dad. Tell him I'm a late bloomer Mom!" I examined her for confirmation. She only chuckles softly, and the sound comes in tiny bursts of relief. "My point is Mom...don't you think I am a little old for it? I haven't gone for what—two years now?" I raise my brow at her and then to my father, hoping he will have some semblance of sympathy for me.
My mother sighs gently, and my father slips an arm across her, gently cradling her shoulder.
"It's true that you've been in and out of the group. I guess there is no more significant biblical learning than that of the sermon." She simpers, and her anxious hands release her pearls.
This is an ideal opportunity for me to withdraw myself and repose till I hear my father clear his throat.
"Not so fast—there's a reason for your mother's concern!" My steps come to a standstill when my father's voice booms, and I gently turn my body around to confront the room. It had suddenly turned tense, and I had not anticipated my mother's follow-up.
"Today, after mass, the principal—Mr. Sid—spoke with us. He stated that you were involved in another brawl last week. This time in the corridor." She explains to me, and my shoulders relax some. Axel did not rat me out then, but my mother's grave tone made me shrink into myself.
"This is serious Roxas, pay attention when she speaks to you." My father's glare could cleave steel. With a single statement and a single look, he was utilizing his paternal skills to make me regress into a child. He pulls away from my mother and sits in his preferred living room chair. As he skims the first page of the morning paper off the table beside it, his severe countenance softens to one of amusement.
"It wasn't a brawl, Mom. I'm fine—It's fine. I already talked to Yin Sid about it." I remark gently, waving one of my hands as if to suggest that they simply brush it off.
"It's not a matter of whether you spoke with him or not; the issue is, he came to your father and I directly since, as he mentioned to us, he allowed you adequate opportunity to resolve this issue on your own." She laments. "There is no improvement. You tried to shut us out of something like this?" She points her finger at me and then wags it. It was a pointless gesture, and the meaning behind it faded as I approached my adolescence.
"You must be some sweet talker." This is said by my father, who is not amused in the least. His paper is on his lap, and the game that is playing on the TV is muted. I concentrate on the men on the screen. I was not really fond of sports, but I wanted to hide. To be anywhere other than here, with my mother's gaze probing through me, scanning for answers. I should have expected this after Seifer and I went toe to toe last week. My mother, after all, is correct. I was given ample time to deal with this. That does not give them the chance to treat me like I am incompetent.
"Or maybe I'm becoming an adult and he respects that!" I quip at my well collected father.
"We respect you as well, Roxas." She approaches me with a more sensitive expression, and her hands rise to grab my shoulders with a motherly touch as she scrutinizes me deeply. She continues her lecture, "We genuinely do, and I know you value your parents. You are a wonderful son, and I thank God for you on a regular basis. But you're a senior now, and you can't deal with everything using your fists. What if something bad happened to you?" As she speaks, her demeanor softens, and she assumes a more parental tone.
"Fortunately for you, I wasn't." I tell her and take a step back to remove myself from her grasp, running my hand through my hair and rubbing my scalp to calm myself. "I told you I am fine! Besides, you don't understand, I had no choice but to act. He was going to hurt—"
"It's ends now, Roxas. Whatever the reason for your aggression, the world will not bow to it. Do you hear what I'm saying?" Her kind disposition shifts to sternness. "This is not how we raised you, and the Lord would not permit it." She crosses her arms, intent on seeing me agree with her, keen on viewing my penance. If I had a quarter for every time, I heard that phrase, I would not have to worry about school; I could purchase an entire university. I expelled the breath I had been holding in and placed my hands in the pockets of my worn-out jeans.
"Sure, well, the next time he lifts his fist, I'll be one step ahead of him and put my face on it. Do you reckon that's any better?" I give a sly grin and casually transfer my weight to my left foot.
"Attitude." My father's baritone voice adds a clear warning to the mix.
"Okay, Mom. I'll do my best to avoid it all from now on." I divulge her, trying to ease her concerns while I twist my head from side to side, shoulder to shoulder, attempting to alleviate the stress building in my trapeziums.
"Thank you. Now, are you sure you aren't hungry?" She says this in a soothing voice, as if she is trying to wash away the unpleasant talk she just had with her formerly flawless son.
"I'm certain. I'm exhausted. I also need to study for calc." I tiptoe over to my mother's side and delicately peck her cheek.
"Goodnight, son," my father nods my way.
My goal is to cleanse this miserable day off my skin. I climb the steps to the area above, the upper floor is enclosed at an angle with its peak splitting down the middle of the open living space, meeting in the rooms above. This addition to the house has two small bedrooms. One is for myself, and the other is for any guests who wish to stay longer. The level has a single adequately sized bathroom. I reach the top of the stairs and gaze down to my parents, who I can see sitting below through the wooden beams of the banister. My body temperature rises, and the palms of my hands are becoming damp with a thin sheen of sweat. The hairs on the back of my neck grow taut, causing my entire body to prickle. The buildup of the day radiating through my person, and the familiar feeling has me gritting my teeth in desperation. I needed a fix from this day.
I go the short distance from the top of the stairs to the door at the end of the tiny passage and open the door to my room. My shades were drawn; they were typically kept closed, which could only imply that it was laundry day. My bed is positioned against the highest point of the horizontal ceiling. Aside from some old shelves, a dresser, and a TV, the interior is minimally furnished. My computer desk hugs my bed as a pseudo nightstand, and its corner just meets the window sill. The walls are a dusty beige tone, and the light rebounds off of them, illuminating the atmosphere with orange and gold rays. I notice a new heap of garments on my full-sized mattress, covering the distressed navy comforter.
I return to the hallway after sifting through the mound for some black sweatpants, charcoal boxer briefs, and a white V-neck. I move to my right to prepare for a shower. I quickly strip and place my clothing on the butter colored counter top. On days when my blood is boiling, choosing to scold my flesh counteracts my feelings and soothes my spirit into obedience. I groan and go into the water, hoping for some solace. As I finish drying off, I unlock my phone and search for Riku's name in my text inbox, writing him a brief invitation to spend the evening tangled up in precisely the right way. Swiping the steam off the mirror, my attention is drawn to the image, and I like the figure that appears in it. My short, disheveled blonde hair clings to my face and slender neck, my creamy complexion is rosy from the heat, and my lithe muscles contract from the chill in the cramped quarters. While scrubbing my teeth, I tell myself to be ready for my rendezvous with Riku as soon as possible. He seldom refuses me. My phone vibrates as I brush my damp hair and dress in my previously chosen apparel. I cast a downward glance at the screen. Riku's name appears in a pop-up, and the message reads 'Then get over here'. With no time to spend, I slap my tooth brush down and scramble for a few items beneath my sink to ready myself.
Riku may be a bit of a hermit at times. He favored a close-knit group of pals and could not bear the thought of leaving them. It was his personal decision, and he lived peacefully as a result. When we shared certain courses in 8th grade, I began to connect with his circle of friends, particularly Kairi and Sora. Riku and I had gym class that year, sans Kairi and Sora. We did not chat much at the time, and being able to sit in solitude with someone in one of the most irritating courses was reassuring. I kept tabs on everything he did. He stalked around gently, which captivated me because anybody could tell that his physique was built entirely of muscle. I used to obsess over his appearance until I started spending private time with it.
One day, as we sat in our seats and the instructor prattled on about an essential project we should not put off, I decided to pay special attention to Riku. He was a reserved man, so when I noticed his mood change to something dreamy, I wanted to find out why. I followed the path his gaze was carving, and it landed on his closest buddy and crib mate, Sora. I recall how shocked I was, and how my gum almost dropped out of my mouth and onto the floor. After seeing what I witnessed, I softly addressed Riku about the situation, and our friendship has since transformed into something greater than any other individual in my close circle. He is the only person I have ever told about the debacle with Axel. Riku was the shoulder I wept on while I lamented the loss of Axel and my friendship, as well as my own perplexing self-realizations.
It was a delight to me when he demonstrated that he was no saint, longing for his one true love, and made a risky move at me in my sophomore year. With hungry aquamarine pools and a sculpted face, he captivated me fiercely with those devilishly wonderful aspects. On that day, I got to experience a different kind of sex, one that Hayner could never show me in his innocence. Riku later stated that he had his own desires, and because I resembled Sora, he could not control himself any longer. He struggled from never being able to find the love he desired, and in a moment of weakness, he vented his bitterness on me. He revealed that I was not his first infatuation, and he was not enamored with the idea of us being high school sweethearts and spending our days growing old together. Things were new with him, and the novelty of his bedroom abilities reeled me in.
Riku has helped me in so many ways. We have such a nice relationship going, and if I am going through a rough time or stressed, he always boosts me up. That is exactly how I like it. I can sit and get immersed in the simplicity of the moment with a vigorous romp in the sack and the bare minimum of basic pleasantries, emerging out the other side feeling like I am renewed.
I encouraged Riku to wait until my parents had settled into their bedroom before proceeding to sneak out. I make my way silently to the staircase to see whether the timing is right. My parents had gone to their own quarters, where my mother was watching her favorite television shows and my father was reading a book. As I walk into my bedroom, I take my favorite sky-blue cashmere pullover and denim jacket off the back of my computer chair. I crack my bedroom window and leave it open for easy entry after putting on some high-top shoes. I extend one leg over the sill to the porch's gritty shingles and crawl my way to the garage's roof. As I drop myself to the ground, I clutch tentatively at the lattice covered with night jade, and I take off along the street, remaining close to the woods for shelter across the pavement. Shivering from the frigid air and the anticipation of seeing Riku nude, my fingers press one earpiece in, and I hit play on my music.
Mentally, I have had a tough day. I have been carelessly thinking of Axel, which is the price I pay for stealing glances at him every Sunday. For years, I have tried to keep visions of him from infiltrating my consciousness. He will periodically emerge in a dream or two. Even now, with my legs stretched over bulging biceps, I had not expected him to keep swimming through my brain.
"Look at me." Riku grunts, a bead of sweat trickling from his temple to his hairline. His turquoise eyes are fixated on me, and his jaw flexes with every rut he makes into me. When he savagely pounds on me, his thighs connect with my ass, and I lose concentration. The backboard collides with his walls, eroding the smooth slate polish. My arm slips over my face, covering my breath and keeping my pleasure-filled mewling from spilling. Riku's parents have their date night on Sundays, so our bed rocking can be as thunderous as we please. However, because it is unclear when they should return home, I try to save face by being as silent as physically possible, which he dislikes.
Riku's arms are steadying his motions on the headboard above me, granting me a pleasing view, how his muscles work harmoniously. His abs tighten as his hips roll deftly against my undulating body. My forearm does not do much to stifle my moaning but viewing the veins in his muscles pulsate and his neck flex with such intensity has my eyes rolling into the back of my skull. If appearances could kill, Riku would be sentenced the death penalty. His hand shies away from the panel and catches my forearm. His clasp is firm as he binds it to the cushions that cradle my flailing head, and his face descends to mine, our noses barely brushing, lingering in front of my bewildered vision.
"Stick out your tongue." His breathy command tickles my lips, and I greedily obey. His tongue explores my mouth with devilish desire and expertise. His tongue delves deeper into the wet cavity and swipes along the grooves on the bridge of my mouth. I suckle on his tongue as it snakes around my own. The appendage sprung out with a low 'pop,' and the saliva slips from our lips, uniting us in a shimmering thread, making my tight ring of muscles constrict around Riku's stiff manhood. He rises himself over me again, his eyes imploring, and his gleaming tongue caresses his plush lips, relishing my flavor as if I were some helpless creature being devoured. "I like the way you sound." He smirks at me and my chest pounds as I expel a pleading whimper. "I like how all of you sounds." He continues and his stare coasts down my contorted frame to his slippery erection tugging on my clenching hole.
When I watch his pelvis meeting mine, sheathing himself deep into my cherry gape just to repeatedly draw himself out of me, our combined fluids seeping out of my rosy muscles, I murmur to him, gritting my teeth and feeling the goading in my gut twist, "Oh—ahn—God...don't stop...hah."
"Hah, you like that? You like how your ass sounds around my dick, huh?" His eyes twinkle with perversity, and he clutches one of my thighs, bringing my knee up to my shoulder for further intrusion. My spine arches over his sheets, blissfully clawing at his covers, as a result of the unexpected movement. "Dirty boy." He hums out, pleased with his exploits on my currently frail frame.
"Oh yesss—so dirty." My voice catches as I moan profusely, "Please more. Just…ah, like that." I plead with him, and his fingers tighten, seizing the meat of my thigh. My vision is bleary, and my lips are damp with spittle that I cannot compel myself to swallow. I am writhing about his sheets while he messes up my insides, stirring me up in the exact place I crave. "Don't stop. Ah…you fuck so hard."
The bed quakes with the amount of power Riku is putting into his thrusts. He removed the band of his ponytail earlier, and his starlight hair is swaying, revealing one of my favorite expressions. His face was painted with passion and need, and it was a damn gorgeous effect. I am squirming as his member grinds across my prostrate, my tummy taut with expectation of a well-deserved release. My palms pepper my flesh as I slide it down my chest to my stomach, the prize being my own leaking head. Immediately, Riku's large hand traps both wrists together above my thrashing body.
"Hah, not today. You come with just your ass." His grasp relaxes some before ramming his form into mine with lethal velocity. The sounds of our intermingled bodies and abused furniture reverberate across the walls. "Come, Roxas. I know you're dying to." He says baiting me and I glare at him. His prick dives vigorously through my innermost sensitive spot, stroking against my bundle of nerves to emphasize his desire, and I realize I could with Riku. I could come with only his breath in my ear. That is how much of an expert he was at making me unravel. He made me feel things I could only have imagined. "That's it babe, feel me. Feel all of me—hngn…inside you."
My eyelids fasten, drawing a figurative curtain over my current world. His dick presses and pulls on my insides, his length edging in and out so effortlessly, and his musky fragrance envelops me. His hands on my wrists are physically solid, reminding me of Axel's. He was clutching the shopping bag and staring at me as if I were an unusual parasite that needed to be investigated. His caustic green eyes were ogling deep into my soul, questioning what I wanted. If I could, I would have elucidated that this is what I want; this is what I crave. A body above or below me, sucking cum from a big cock, getting off to my inner tissues. If he shared my fantasies, Axel's sculpted arms would wrap around my thighs, holstering my body while he shamelessly fucked me raw until I lost all senses. And I would claw at him, leaving marks on his broad shoulders and back, his alabaster skin reddening with my touch. I would be pleading with him to come deep in me.
"Ahhn! Come in me—I want it!" I beseech wantonly.
"Fuck, hah." Riku hisses, his hips are choppy, and I can feel him throbbing inside of me. The warmth tunnels through me, and I bite my bottom lip tight to prevent from shouting Axel's name when spilling my bliss.
What in the fuck was that?
AN: Thoughts?