So here we go... chapter 27. Just a prelude. there's some... uh... suggestive stuff in this one, so if you're not fond of this, avert thine eyes.
Another chapter selflessly beta'd by my beloved Mousewolf. As always, go say thanks! This would have died long ago without her effort!
::: The Listeners :::
Axel awoke warm and content, a soft smile spread across his thin lips.
"Demyx…"
"Yeah?" The blond replied sleepily, shifting against his lover's side. His hair smelled like clover, and though he was still somewhat weakened and diminished, he still felt just as sleek and beautiful as ever.
"You feeling any better?"
"Yeah," he mumbled, butting his forehead against Axel's. "You want to get up and make breakfast for me?"
"Sure thing. The pups need checking on, too." Axel laughed.
Demyx smiled. It had been quite the surprise, coming home from the hospital only to discover that Zipporah had produced thirteen puppies with Leto.
Out of all of them, Demyx really only liked one of the pups: the only one of the three long-haired pups that was close to Zippo's color. He'd named her Lavender because she looked almost purple when the light hit her just right. Of all the rest only two of the shorthairs had this coloration, but still the purple wasn't quite as obvious. All the rest were black and tan and marked like dobes.
Needless to say, they were having a hard time managing thirteen three-month-old puppies. Axel happened to be less than patient as well, so now there were fliers up, and today they were giving the pups out to whoever decided they might want one of their own.
Axel rolled out of bed, padded through the apartment to the pantry door.
"Hey, Axel!" Demyx called.
"What?"
"Let Lavender and Zipporah out, please?"
"Alright."
Demyx stretched until the scar on his stomach started singing with pain. It wasn't a bad pain, though. No, it was something more along the lines of how his legs felt when he got his casts off and first started walking on them. It was a pain that meant healing.
He rolled over at the sound of claws on hardwood, smiled as Zipporah lunched herself up onto the bed and curled up. She'd been unusually clingy with Demyx lately, but he liked that. Saïx had told him she'd refused to let Axel—or anyone, for that matter—leave while she was having the puppies. He wished he could have been there—despite about a thousand comments from Axel saying otherwise—so he made it up to her this way.
"No dogs on the bed, Dem!" Axel moaned as Lavender sprang up onto the mattress and began harassing her mother instantly.
"Too bad!" Demyx laughed, "Where's Leto? We'll make it a party up in here. When you get back your spot'll be all nice and warm for ya."
"You're a monster, Demyx. A genuine monster," Axel sighed, "You are so undoing all that training."
"I want a friend, not a slave," Demyx replied evenly, pulling Lavender into the crook of his arm. She rested her little head on his chest and passed out almost instantly.
"So when should we auction off the kids?"
"We should be able to now… I mean they're getting close to three months now… and really… they eat a whole fucking lot," Demyx laughed.
There was a loud sizzle from the kitchen and almost immediately after, the smell of frying onions. Demyx had a momentary mental celebration.
"I'm making the Eggs of the Gods. Bow down and be thankful to the Divine Axel!" the redhead called from the kitchen, amusement clear in his tone.
"O Holy One! I am abased! I am not worthy, my Liege!" the blond almost fell off the bed laughing.
Zipporah whined, yawned and sniffed Demyx's scar like she had almost every morning since he got home, and licked it a couple of times. Demyx smiled and stroked her affectionately until she finally settled down and went to sleep.
"Good girl," he whispered, looking over just as Leto whined too. He rarely ever did, but ever since Demyx got home, the dobe was strangely depressive when Demyx wasn't giving him any attention. The blond patted the sheets next to Zipporah and Leto hopped up onto the bed, laid down next to Zipporah and laid his head down on her shoulders.
"I'm going to post the papers for the pups today," Axel called, "There's a couple of chicks from Tech that want to take a look at the pups. Better hide Lala. Naminé really wants her even if Roxas is dead-set on one of the black and cinnamon longs."
"I want Nami to have Lala," Demyx confirmed. "She's my favorite, you know. And Nami would take really good care of her."
"Well, Lala's the only one with a definite name… and Naminé is the best. Ever." Axel laughed.
"So we're not just giving them out, right?"
"Fuck no!" he growled, "I'm doing my research first. Even if it takes a year, I'm getting these guys to good homes 'cause every one of them is great."
Demyx smiled and closed his eyes.
"Will you sing for me, Axel?"
"No," the redhead replied instantly.
"Why?"
"I sound like shit."
"I don't care how you sound, I just want to hear your voice. You don't read to me very much anymore."
The sound of eggs cracked into the pan. "I know…"
"Do you love me?"
"No," he replied softly, poking his head around the corner, green eyes deadly serious. "I don't love you… there's no word for how I feel. Love doesn't even cover it, babe."
"You're amazing," Demyx laughed, "You actually got me a little worried there."
A smile quirked Axel's lips, but some of that sadness remained. "You worry too much."
"I know."
"It's only 'cause you have such a good heart. I'm envious sometimes." The redhead turned away, and he could hear the sounds of Axel muttering as he messed with the eggs in the pan. For whatever reason, it always sounded like he was praying or something.
Demyx lay there and just listened to everything around him. Axel's low speech, the popping of cooking food, the combined wheezing of the dogs, the sound of the air conditioner rattling, the people downstairs laughing like idiots. All of this had become so familiar. It really wasn't all that long before Axel laid a warm plate on the blond's stomach.
Demyx roused easily enough from his trance. He was careful not to wake Lavender when he released her, and as soon as he was free, he sat up and dug in.
"Looks like you're feeling a lot better now," Axel commented.
"Yeah," Demyx confirmed between bites, "It's not throbbing anymore… the muscles don't pull so much when I'm moving."
"Good," Axel replied, pushing another large load into his mouth. He was relatively normal now, his body was as thin and lithe as ever. Demyx consumed the last portion of his eggs and practically swallowed it whole, dumped the plate on the nightstand. Axel took a little longer, but in that time, Demyx had walked around to that side of the bed and found a way to curl up in his lover's lap. Axel placed his plate aside even though he wasn't finished. He'd learned that sacrifice would always be very much a part of his life whether he liked it or not, and making the right choices was always so essential.
Demyx pushed the redhead down against the sheets, dragged himself up on top of the redhead and bent his head into his lover's long hair.
"You're definitely feeling a lot better now, huh?"
"Mmm…" It was Demyx's only reply. He was aroused in the highest, Axel could always tell. Four months without sex could do that to you easily, even if Demyx had been so self-conscious that time. It had been his first time—no doubt about that—but he'd been almost too hesitant. Even for a virgin.
"Dem… do you think it's okay?"
A grunt, but the tone was an affirmative.
"No, I mean your stomach… you can barely walk."
"I… I need it," he breathed.
Just like the virgin to suddenly turn into a nympho. Axel reached down and pressed his fingers to the smooth skin. Demyx shaved and he'd almost had a fit about his state of hairiness when he first got home, proceeding to disappear into the shower for almost four hours. He'd emerged slick as a baby's ass and just about as soft. That had been one of those nights where Axel spent a while in the shower too… but he'd been indulging in other things.
Axel slid his hand down beneath the waistband of his lover's boxers, took a firm hold on his manhood.
"F-fuck…" Demyx panted.
Axel only laughed in return.
Demyx winced a little, threw his head back and moaned like a whore when the other hand found him, caressing in the most insidious way.
"Stop fucking with me," he breathed, leaning down to bite Axel's neck hard.
The redhead gasped, but continued stroking, leaned up to catch an earlobe between his teeth.
"It's a shame," he whispered around the soft flesh, "they took out those earrings. They looked good on you."
Demyx let out a gravelly moan and continued his ministrations to Axel's long neck. He definitely had a fetish.
The blond suddenly snapped out of it and caught Axel's lips roughly, snaking a hand under his waist to pull him up against. Axel gasped harshly at the sensation of the blond's hips grinding hard against his own. He withdrew his hands and slung his arms around Demyx's waist, burying his face in the blond's neck.
Axel's hot breath on his neck only served to arouse Demyx further. He'd gotten it the first time, and now he was itching to give.
"Lay down," he ordered, dropping the redhead roughly. Axel obeyed, grinning like a wolf.
"I seriously knew you were the kind of guy who wants to be on top all the time."
"You don't remember?" Demyx taunted, sliding out of his boxers.
"Now I do… but we were pretty even split," Axel replied, lifting his hips so Demyx could strip him of his clothing as well.
"Well, fire-crotch. Let's see if I can remember some of those tricks."
He leaned over and reached under the bed for the shoe box where Axel kept his impressive selection of condoms and lube.
"Dem… look, I'll just blow you and we don't have to worry about you ripping yourself open."
"I want to fuck," Demyx replied firmly.
Axel snorted. He was starting to sound like Larxene. "Dem…"
He paused at that tone. It was a painful sounding voice, sort of sad even. It turned Demyx off hard-core.
"What, love?" he said softly, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice, "What did I do?"
"Nothing, just - just take what you want."
Demyx winced. "Shit… I didn't want to…"
"No, it's fine," Axel deadpanned, "I really don't care."
"Don't lie," Demyx sighed, "Look… we'll wait. I'll wait. I'm going to take a shower."
He stood up and padded silently into the bathroom, turned on the water. He didn't close the door. He never did anyway, and no one really cared so he never bothered with it.
--- ---
This what he writes, in his head. His writing and his rite, insubstantial and strong as memories or dreams.
I like to sing in the shower. I like the water so damn hot that I can feel skin cancer developing between muscle and ruddy cream-colored firmament. I like to lift my voice so loud that the neighbors call, as they complain incessantly, incessantly, incessantly. They're like those ugly little white lap-dogs with the Napoleon complex and the insatiable desire to gnaw your legs off.
I sing in the shower and don't hold back. Sheryl said it was unnerving the way I can pitch my voice just right. It's hard to distinguish that certain cry from a roar of pleasure or agony. I warble, I moan, and I drag my over-long fingernails down the cold tile, listen to the dry screech of keratin on ceramic that was baked in a 1000 degree oven. I love the feel of the press. My chest flat against the contrastingly cold wall. I can feel my ribs grating as I heave for breath, my heart swells, rebels against the hard surface like a caged animal. I can feel the burn deeper down, somewhere between my lungs, a little right of the heart. It is a pain that is harder to describe than anything else I have experienced.
When I am in the shower, sins I have committed seem to melt away like soft wax candles under the sun. I bellow my laughter as the filth spirals down the silvery white drain. And the softness of clean skin. I turn the water all the way to the left until it is colder than comfort permits and I stand there. It feels like being trapped in a glacier, but it's also just as pleasant as my boiling water. My skin steams like fresh spaghetti, and looks just as yellow-white. I'm nothing but toothy grin and rigid, baked flesh. Every day, sometimes more, I know exactly what a roast feels like when it comes out of the oven, or how lasagna noodles must feel before being laid into the baking dish. It's a wonderful feeling.
My eyes look tired though.
Tired. I've been tired for weeks. Crazy for longer.
And lonely? I can't even remember.
I lay naked in my bed. It's just a mattress on the floor, but I like it. Those soft, stupid beds they make. I need something firmer. My back hurts if I sleep on the couch. My back hurts anyway, but the straightness of the floor seems to remedy that. Usually. In Florida, when the air conditioner is off, you sleep without blankets. You don't need them. It's just rained and the window is open. The air is baking at a semi-tropical 85 Fahrenheit. The humidity is enough to drown you. It isn't long before my body is lightly shimmering with sweat. A shower undone so quickly. It means nothing to me.
I scratch leisurely. I know I shouldn't as I have just shaved, and it's going to give me razor burn. I remember how the other kids used to laugh at me. I hated body hair since I was a small child. I shaved as soon as I had it and was teased relentlessly for it. It doesn't matter much, though. I think my personal opinions are better than any some bastards believe. I think the best thing you can do is listen only to yourself, and not what anyone else says. Any else doesn't know who you are. So yes. Make your own damn decisions.
I roll over on my stomach and watch my snake prowl in his enclosure. He needs to be fed. I cringe at the thought though. Killing a rat. It's my duty, because no one else wants to do it, and I don't feel like paying vet bills. Those are more frightening than thoughts of mortality. I've been having those lately. I light a stick of Dragon's Blood incense. It smells like an ashtray filled with rose petals. Smells like crimson and gray. Smells like hair. Burning hair. Or singed flesh. Smells like death. I love it. Death by any other word is still death. If our brothers have gone to sleep, then we should wish them well and pray for the day that we might follow.
Satan is in the back of a police car somewhere in the state of Massachusetts. I'm sure of it. He's probably drunk, and the officer has no idea on God's green earth who he just cuffed. Satan is probably bawling about how this is a false arrest and kicking and cussing and fighting, and then realizes that he is Satan, the supreme evil, and kills the cop with a derisive snort and a twitch of his forked, tail. Satan is a cross-dresser in platform heels with messy lipstick. He breaks the cuffs and quietly slips into the night like the blood oozing slowly from the officer's strewn guts.
I begin to wonder why I'm thinking this way, and decide finally to put on some clothes. There's a knock at the door. Sheryl is smiling. She's holding a half-empty bottle of Jack and staring at my half zipped pants. I don't really care what she sees or what she wants to see. I let her in, go to the couch, and draw out the Jäger I've been stashing beneath it.
Shots.
Shots.
Shots fired.
Her hair smells like sex.
I deny her, and go to sleep with her reaching boldly down my open fly.
It feels wrong.
Her hands are like ice.
But a shower will cure what ails me.
What ails me?
Memories are a poison more potent than 1000 gallons of snakes' venom. Are a pain worse than an arrow through the heart. Are a drug more intoxicating than that yellow cocaine you snorted off of Paris Hilton's glossy, magazine cover face. Meth head. Meth teeth. Meth in your dirty hands. All those memories I have make me far more stoned than you could ever be with all those horrible things you have. All I need is to live in the past. It's pleasant there. You can easily cut out the bad memories, and if you can't, you can simply figure out a way that you could have made things better.
I am just a child.
And I live in my memories. I live in days when people really did love me. They loved me for who I was, and not for what they could take from me. I roll over and expose my vulnerable stomach, neck, face to her. Her advantage is immediately exploited and I don't stop her.
I could never say I don't like it.
Even though I don't.
--- ---
Demyx has been writing this for the four years he's been away, and it's all packed firmly in his head. It harkens back to a time when he was most miserable.
It serves to remind him.
"Hey, Dem."
"What," he mumbles, bending his head under the shower to rinse the conditioner out of his hair.
"Sorry. I was just kind of weirded out."
"I know. I was being a bitch. I'm sorry."
"No," Axel said softly, "I can't blame you. You've been out of commission for a while… it's only natural you'd be kind of tense."
"You're not a stress reliever, Axel. You're not an inanimate object, and I refuse to treat you like one, alright? I'm almost done in here."
"Yeah…"
He could hear Axel shift a little.
"I'm gonna go take care of the pups."
And with that, he vanished.
--- ---
"Oh, god, look Megan! They're so adorable!" the brunette laughed, picking up one of the black and cinnamon long-hair pups.
"I know, Lisa! We totally have to take him home with us."
Axel smiled at the girls.
"You two are completely sure you're ready for this kind of responsibility?" he asked for what felt like the fiftieth time.
"Yes," the blonde, Megan, replied. "We're going to be around a lot of the time because it's summer and I've had a puppy before, so I know how tough it can be."
"Okay, but if it ever gets to be too much, you can bring him back here. We won't turn him away, no matter the circumstances. Get him neutered as soon as you possibly can, alright? We'll pay the expenses. Come hell or high water, we'll pay the bills for hip-dysphasia or anything like that… we'll give you a new pup if you want."
"You're great," Lisa laughed.
"No," Demyx called from the other room, "He's a dick. He's just acting nice. You guys would like him better when he's being an asshole."
He limped out into the living room where the girls had the puppies out, Zipporah walking sedately at his heels. The brunette looked up with the most seductive bedroom eyes Axel had ever seen. He couldn't help but smile smugly. Demyx returned her sultry gaze with a singularly cocky grin, his fair aqua eyes backlit and beautiful in the golden afternoon sunlight.
"Anyway, you girls find what you like?"
"Yeah," the blonde laughed, pinning Axel with an overly-friendly smile. He leaned back into the couch. He definitely had a thing for blonds. He probably would have scored with a woman that night, but Demyx decided to do the more amusing thing. He plopped down right in Axel's lap and gave him a less than chaste kiss. He pulled back panting lightly, wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist and smiled at the girls who seemed to have already known.
"God, that was hot…" Axel laughed, "You're such a prick. In front of company and everything."
"Everything's better with an audience," Demyx smirked, settling closer.
"It is," the sultry brunette laughed, "You two are gorgeous…"
"Delicious," the blonde echoed, "We get so lonely over at Tech…"
"Feh," Demyx laughed, "I'm sure. All those weird nerdy boys and all get old pretty fast, huh?"
"Yeah," the blonde sighed dramatically, "You have no idea!"
Demyx smiled, his eyes like shark's. "Oh, I might have some idea…"
The quote about dogs that Demyx made up in there, the one about not wanting a slave: that was pretty much a direct quote by the illustrious Mousewolf during one of our epic conversations.
Longest chapter since the second... hope you all enjoyed! Read, enjoy, review, repeat!