"Love should be gradually discovered,
and just as gradually revealed and kept, --
Not at all in the ways of
Romeo and Juliet."
-- Sarah Heath

Axel x Roxas
The Sacred Somebody

He was a lush and darkly-beautiful fallen angel, that boy; he was nothing less and he was something more. Precious loss of paradise and the apple of Eden, his glory was painted as the sunrise and Axel adored the sight of dawn. The winged-messenger boy, stripped of the grace of heaven, sat in the diner, sleeping peacefully with his head against the window. He was beyond the splendor of the skies, which grew pale and envious of his brilliant shine, rejecting of his glorious light. Although his light was left to shine on its own, it was the most beautiful of all the eyes of the universe, surpassing all the twinkling fires of the Milky Way's collection of suns and constellations.

Axel watched over this god-like boy of the sky to protect the beauty in the light he possessed. The sky's child was luck-loved but left behind on earth to fill the colliding sound of the emptiness and the sorrow of the people with the joy-song of the angels. He was on a mission to make life live-able and to make love with the brawling love that was among the people.

So far, he was succeeding.

Before long, Axel found himself singing obscure hymns of uncoordinated religious happiness—mentally, of course. He found himself praising the Greater Powers That Be, although he never really believed in God. (He was atheist and just never gave diddly-shit for "organized religion," church-going, or Bible-geekiness crap; he was atheist when he had a heart, and he was atheist without a heart!) Strange as the circumstances were, apparently he had suddenly acquired a religion, and it disturbed him way the hell out of his noggin as he prayed with an alien tenderness for sweet dreams for the sleeping angel. Dammit, it was a miracle – a fucking-Jesus-Christ-and-the-saints-worthy miracle. Label it what science may, it wasn't going to fit in any where on the Discovery Channel or win him a Nobel Peace Prize.

Science or religion—or, "God" help him, Scientology—wasn't able to give a properly long-winded explanation about the part of himself he wasn't aware of; inside him was the capability and desire towards caring for someone other than himself, which should be, theoretically, impossible. It defied all logic, broke all the rules, and really made a mess with his mind… It should be impossible, utterly concrete in its ability to not exist and to NEVER exist.

But it wasn't. It had happened and it was all God's fault. Either God or Jesus. Axel couldn't make up his mind about the "who" of his real-life whodunit. SOME Greater Power was responsible; Axel just didn't know who to blame quite yet, but he was working on it. He was cooking something up to bring his new religion down…

Either way, the existing non-existent miracle was for real. It was happening. It was happening—TODAY. It was happening to him, and it was happening to Roxas, too…

With his idolized angel asleep, Axel had some thinking-time. Thinking, a dangerous past-time in itself, showed the dangerous side of the situation, and the dangerous side wasn't very pretty. No, not pretty at all.

Thinking more on that point, Axel wasn't really accustomed to thinking. He was a creature of whim and "do", the very beast of spontaneity and impulse. He never really had time to think. Too busy with the doing, he had no time to think about what the hell he was actually doing until it was actually done; thinking was bad for Axel because it showed how stupid some stunts he pulled really were.

Shortly put: his new "religion" got him thinking. Which was bad.

VERY bad.

Mentally digging inside, wading around in the boggy depths of thought, things buried under the skin were shedding out. He was collecting the odd bits of his person—the pieces of a half-eaten soul. Bringing them out. Stringing them together piece-by-piece, trying to make sense of everything.

Yes, trying to make sense of a seemingly god-begotten miracle, but trying wasn't doing.

The sum of everything showed Axel as a changed and confused man. This man stared back at him in the distorted mirror of the glass window. Physically speaking the reflection was his; beyond that, he was a stranger to himself, a stranger to the world.

Thinking about it (something Axel shouldn't ever do, mind you), it seemed that meeting Roxas opened his eyes to how much was amiss in truth, in his mind and, most definitely, in his life.

Not me, his mental-self chanted, not me NotMeNotMe...

Memory is such a fragile thing. It was the only thing saving Axel his sanity. The delicate and shaky past showed that Axel was indeed still himself. He just wasn't the Axel of Yesterday… He was the anti-brother, the Axel of Now.

Let's just say this: Axel of Now was nothing like Axel of Yesterday. No, he wasn't and thank Whatever Greater Being That Is!

Back in the days of the Way-Back-When Yesterday was a walking contradiction. Selfish one minute, sharing the next. Laughing with you, then laughing at you. Playing with; playing against. Hurting you; healing you. Trusting you; betraying you. Holding you; abandoning you. Loving you. Hating you.

Yesterday nixed everybody. Only out for his own motives, twisting people's hearts and delightfully eating them. He was stable, but needy. Willingly insubordinate, out for nothing more (and certainly nothing less) of whatever there was to gain, even if it was nothing. He was never one way or the other, not completely evil but not absolutely good… Never loyal to one standard thread of personality nor loyal to a minority of the mind.

Another way of saying? He was a complete asshole, shit-headed jerk-off who was solely responsible for his own misery and friendless-ness. He was angry with himself and angry at the world. A nut case of a punk prince with major psychological and social problems.

He was such a jackass, such a fucking dick-head, he hurt everybody and didn't give a rat's ass. Everybody misunderstood him, and above all, everybody hated him because of it. No-one could stand to be around him or the sight of his face. They could smell his wickedness kilos away, the scent of something deep and dense like masses of flowers at a funeral, possibly theirs.

Until fairly recently.

Yes, quite recently in fact. Everything That Was wasn't anymore.

His quirks and flaws were melting away, then reforming. He was changing with a welcome change and everybody was waiting for the New Axel to burst the womb. He was becoming something, rather than someone.

He was a sculptor's harlot and painter's lust as he was created into the beauty that was of their art and the art of the Creator. His every cell vibrated with the silent sound of new life as his fibers joined together with their proteins, and then split and divided, multiplying with every break in the form. He was a mess, but it was a wonderful, convoluted nightmare of chaos and creation as he became what he was to become.

Reshaping, re-mastering, and becoming. His personality bubbled up and crooked, and then crushed down and gnarled. It bulged, fizzled, oozed. It formed shapes in the medium and then squelched to nothingness, the sculptures mashing and molding anew.

Oozing, squirming, becoming.

Becoming. Just becoming…

Goop—sludge—scum—gunk. Like shaping wax or sculpture clay. Gooping, dripping, wriggling and pulsing to the tribal beat of life, writhing to the drum-line of the soul in us all…

Becoming, just becoming—a new person, new man, a new life. A new beginning, and a different ending…

Swelling—evolving—growing—changing… Splurting, gushing, popping, boiling…

Becoming…Axel was becoming—he had no better word for it—squishy. Yes. Squishy.

Positively and witlessly… squishy.

He was without true form. He had no ground to stand on, no resolve to call his own. No solid medium to manifest through… Nothing to translate raw being, his unfiltered anima.

He had nothing to close the circle, to bring his fragments into wholes.

Yes, he was simply just that—squishy. Squishy, as in resembling a sponge, as in having soft porous texture and compressibility.

That was Axel; he could almost call himself a gelatinous pile of squish.

Besides squishy, he wasn't sure what to call it; he was either radiantly becoming, undergoing a massive transfigurement… Or he was going down in the flames of a malignant tranmogrification, warped and grotesque.

Whatever it was, good or evil, it was all because of Roxas. This terrifying, remarkable metamorphosis was Roxas' doing.

Yeah, it was all his fault. His fault, and God's.

Roxas was the catalyst of change, the seed of something completely new and completely wonderful. It was his fault that Axel was squishy, his fault alone that the world was illogically beautiful. He smeared the real world, weaving truth into fantasy with just his presence in Axel's life.

It was, delightfully, Roxas' fault that Axel was suffering from the unexplainable squishy-ness…

Now, because of Roxas, Axel was uncertain of his own existence, but he was positive of existing non-existent miracle tickling inside him.

Axel was unsure of everything he thought he knew, except for one thing: that he wanted Roxas' undivided attention, and he was positive he shouldn't give any of the suggestions a try. So many questionable items had to do with the everything of their lives, their futures, what lay before them. And still, despite them, He wanted to do things with Roxas, for Roxas. To Roxas

He wanted to buy him chocolates and roses for no reason at all. To take him to the movies and spoil him rotten. To be there for him, to hold him, to run a hand through his spikes, to hug him…

Of all things, right now he wanted to brush Roxas' hair out of his face, to caress his cheek. He wanted to sit beside him and lay his head on his neck, to fall asleep right with him.

Why? Just…why?

Answering such questions could have been dangerous—If Axel scared Roxas, that would be the end of their beautiful friendship. It would die and would be irretrievably lost.

He didn't want that.

So, he wasn't going to do it.

Look at him. The face of a sweet little child, Axel thought. And then stopped, frowning outwardly at his statement. Man, I feel like such a perv… Gahh, even worse; I SOUND like one. Hell, I AM A PERVERT!

Simply put, Axel was afraid of himself and what he could do. And with good reason!

His throat lumped up. How long must he go on? His body shivered. He could almost feel his arteries clogging up with anxiety.

One-sided; that's how it's going to be. What I want for us will never happen unless I make it happen. Roxas, you play so hard to get… What I want doesn't match what you want, and I can only hope for that someday when it does...

Axel could stand it no longer. His restraint, though impressive, was not enough.

…Because when Someday comes around, when we're united in wanting, I'll be there. I'll be there to watch the sunrise with you.

He could not be held responsible for what happened next. Wasn't enough will power stop him any anymore.

He had already wasted too much time on this whole "thinking"-thing. What chance would he get after this one?

In this Great War we call life Axel lost the battle with himself. Funny, he lost to a kid; hilarious that the kid would never know of his silent victory.

Axel gave Roxas a smile of bemused, awkward affection.

"Man, I'm such a loser." He sensually stroked his bottom lip with his finger as he said, "You win, Roxas."

He finally gave in.

"Let's let the losers win," he whispered, knowing Roxas couldn't hear him.

He reached out and pushed away an errant strand of sandy blonde hair from Roxas' nose. He tenderly tucked it behind his ear, the color reminding him of honey over wheat. As Axel pulled his fingers away, they lingered and softly brushed Roxas' earlobe. Axel could not believe how soft and warm Roxas' flesh was. So velvety and smooth. Sweet, deliciously sweet… He chewed his lip in thought, sensations tingling through him like termites in the swarm.

Axel sighed.

Sigh… Just, siiiiggghhhh….

There was no way in hell he was going to win.

He petted the side of Roxas' face with his hand. Leaning up over the table, he cautiously looked around him, then at the oblivious, sleeping Roxas. He thumbed the boy's flesh gently, praising that he wasn't wearing his regular Organization attire complete with gloves; if so, he wouldn't know how magically lush and delicious Roxas' skin felt. The touch was so gratifying he could almost taste Roxas on his tongue, his lips.

In that moment, Roxas was more a porcelain figurine than a fifteen-year-old boy. His skin was milky, star-kissed silk, smooth and satisfying to touch. It was everything Axel thought it would be and it exceeded all dreaming expectations. The boy's warmth tempted Axel to do other things besides caress his cheek, like nibble his ear, hold his hand. kiss his neck, squeeze his co—

Axel shuddered in distress with himself.

He thought wildly, Hold the phone! Not even gonna go there! Damn, I'm such a fucking pervert…

He sat back down, cradling his chin in palm as he crushed his crimson hair in his fingers.

I feel so dirty...

What was he thinking? Apparently he wasn't. (THANK GOD! …wait…)

Axel was frustrated with himself, with this moment. He fidgeted in his seat, picked off imaginary lint off his shoulder, wrung his hands together, and even picked at his eyelashes.

He couldn't just do anything with it. So much could go wrong. Too many risks that Axel was not willing to take—for once in his life.

Sure, he was a troublemaker but he would rather him be in trouble than letting his friends get heated. He always had that kind of instinct pushing him to think less and less of himself. Axel's worst fear, however, was not the getting "into" of trouble.

Rather, he was afraid of "who" he was in trouble with.

If it was with Demyx—Yeah, no biggie. Just act sorry, apologize, hug, and you're good and golden.

If it was with Larxene—Okay: end up in the hospital bay with body parts exploding in pain, a few (more) stitches, a concussion or two, and casts for broken limbs. Then, get out after a couple of months with enough scars to act as Post-It notes not to do it again. Knowing Axel, he would end up doing it again, and end up in the E.R. Again.

Dude, Axel was just good like that.

However, if he got in trouble with Roxas—that was a different story, something Axel found himself reluctant to write.

At that excruciating and frustrated moment, he feared further movement.

Axel wanted to do it—badly—but he was at war. With himself, the side that should have gone with the other part of his soul and his incomplete being.

He wanted to do it. God knows how sorely he longed to.

On the other hand, he didn't. At the same time, couldn't. Wouldn't. He was twisted inside out with ifs and whats, do's and don'ts…

All because of the invisible line drawn between him and Roxas. The line keeping good in and bad out, making sure the pure stayed as such and the otherwise never welcomed. The line alone in responsibility for Axel's conflict inside.

Do or do not. The act was waiting to happen.

Axel was unsure of what to do—

So, what was he going to do?!

Roxas seemed a little…jumpy, apprehensive—y'know, GUARDED. There was a specific degree of thought put into everything Axel planned, all to achieve the ultimate goal… Axel wanted to invade the fortress surrounding Roxas' inner being, break the chains locking him up inside. Roxas had secrets; Axel wanted to know every single one of them.

Heh, only forethought and planning would ever bring Axel his desire.

Axel could never keep Roxas out of his head. He was crazy for the dude, and yet he knew practically nothing about the guy, and he WAS a guy! It was a little creepy, but Axel decided to over look that. He really just wanted to know Roxas like no one else's business. What was Roxas' idea of a pleasant evening? His favorite food? Favorite song?

So many questions that Axel had to sneak around to get the answers to; Axel wanted to be the keeper of Roxas' every secret, as secrets are precious gems shared by the closest of friends and the deepest of lovers.

If Axel got a hold of the secrets from the mind of his…obsession, maybe—just maybe—Roxas would see how close he was to Axel (even though it wasn't even for a day, as far as Roxas knew). Axel yearned for him to know, but the only way he thought of ever telling him wasn't through words. It was through action, and action needed to happen.

But that wasn't all Axel found out he needed.

Axel needed every inch of Roxas' body by memory, the sensation of his tongue, the honey-softness of his lips against his. Needed to know Roxas' every reaction, every quirk, every flaw. He was dying to find out how much Roxas' would squirm if Axel squeezed his arousal with a tight grasp; how much he would moan if Axel licked patterns across his chest and around the edges of his nipples.

How much he would writhe when Roxas felt Axel's passion in his body.

He had to know exactly Roxas' every fetish, his every kinky fantasy, every quirk of sexual deviancy. He wanted the perfect pitch of his pleading lover's voice thundering throughout the room, the glorious view of Roxas' absolute expression of paramount pleasure, the sweaty beauty of bodily love painted across his mind forever. He craved the sound of Roxas' calling out his name in ecstasy, burying his head into his neck and whimpering in sexual abandon as they rode out their finishes.

Axel had to know – There was no shame in wanting to know such things, only in what he would do, how far he would go, to find out.

Now: One moment in time, the Butterfly Effect could break reality in two… Axel felt he was changing in the smallest of ways with the biggest of results.

It made no sense. Could one person make all the difference in life, when so much is against that it just cannot be, should not be…? One person to make life more bearable?

One person who could bring both joy and despair? Pain and pleasure? War and peace?

Axel thought about it.

The answer was yes. God-fucking-hell-YES!

Nobodies, as beings without hearts, have little, if any, actual emotion. So, without a heart searching for truth in feelings, how could one ever know that the world was made beautiful by just one person? That's the thing. Axel should've never found out. But he did and so, how could Axel ever know that other side of the soul if that side was missing?

It's the ability to have memories and emotions that make humans special. It makes them who they are, and Axel knew—believed, was for sure—he was still human, although trapped in the purgatory of nothingness, an intermediate of light and darkness. The one who lives in twilight, in the deceit of his own mind…

How could it be? This feeling of feelings among none; shouldn't be, but it was. It was. Sure as fuck, it was.

Some cosmic joke? How is it that Axel, with no heart (and thus no emotion), had found the one person to surpass the unspeakable tragedies of life? One person making the world a better place simply by being—just living, breathing with him at that very moment?

The one person who proved that all things are possible, that nothing is as it appears…

Axel felt the hurt worsen, a most wonderful and glorious pain. Like he was bleeding inside. Bleeding for understanding, for miracles, for love…

For Roxas.

He made up his mind that instant; —

He was going to do it.

Damned if he did and damned if he didn't, he was going to do it. He hated himself for it but nonetheless he was going to do it. Yep, nothing stopping him. Nothing, nothing at all. Uh-huh. He was going to do it. Yes-siree, gonna do it.

He was, wasn't he?

Yeah, do it. Gonna do it. Like, any time now pal. Anytime now.

Yeah. Now. That would be good. Hell, it'd be great!

Fucking great…

Axel steeled his nerves—What could go wrong? He thought, cheerfully false with a smile to match. Effortlessly he killed his smile quickly and sobered up.

A lot of things, his conscious warned.

Despite all his thinking—and there was an awful lot of it—Axel hefted himself on his elbow on the table and leaned over to sleeping Roxas again.

He cupped the side of his cheek, relishing the softness of delicious warmth and skin. Axel watched the gentle rise and fall of Roxas' chest, noticed the child-like pucker in his lips as he snoozed fitfully. A soft radiance emanated from Roxas; the aura of angels, Axel called it. He was an angel out of heaven, that boy…

Ooooh, man! This was simply too much! And he decided he was going to do it! What was he, out of his fucking nut?!

Yes. Yes, he was out of his fucking nut.

Yes, he was insane and yes; he was still going to do it.

Who has to know? Axel thought… You do.

Nothing else stopping him. Nothing. Nothing, but himself. His dirty little secret was nothing he wanted (but could have been something) to regret.

All he had was hope, which was quickly slipping away.

I'll keep you, my dirty little secret. Don't tell anyone—

Nothing else against him, with courage coursing through him, Axel made his move. He barely had a breath in him as he did what choked him of logic; his heart skipped a line of beats, and he was sure death would claim him before he got any further.

That, or Roxas woke up. Either one was bad considering his dirty little secret…

— or you'll be just another regret.

Axel won the battle versus himself.

The Something inside him fractured violently, then pleasantly. It cracked blissfully, unleashing true intent. It flowed in him, empowered him, and he knew it was part of the vague feelings he held for Roxas and Roxas alone. There was a word for it but using it implied having a heart, and Axel decided to stay off that battleground. If he were to say it, everything he had made sense of would become nothing. Saying it bound his soul to Roxas'. Saying it changed the fabric of destiny.

All and all, it was a very dangerous word and combination-phrase to say to anyone, which you couldn't say to just anyone. Saying it required planning, required incredible inner beauty and strength. To say it to anyone would either bring great joy or great pain, perhaps a wonderfully painful mingle of the two. It held in its very articulation a promise of danger, grief, and suffering. Rejection. Depression, following sadness following suicidal hate; consequences and risks in plenty. But, with all things dark and bad, there is light and goodness. Telling someone that dangerous, destructive, life-changing, horribly amazing phrase, that sums up everything and all, could open doors to the better of all things. It could bring a clarity unto all that is and is to be in the future of their everything. However, the final, zero hour moment of confession can make a man a man, and just as easily unmake the poor fool…

Understanding that, a sick-knot in Axel's guts told him to back off.

Inches away from victory, he stopped. Entrapped in a lock step, cold with clay-feet. Deadlocked.

Could he do it? Should he? He answered himself with powerful, silent action.

Rushing forward, he willingly committed sin against the better self. His body abandoned his mind; his mind abandoned reason, and he abandoned dignity. His mental chalkboard dusted itself clean and he forgot all his trouble and weariness, feeling them melt to nothing as his lips tasted a heaven not of the rim of the sky. He didn't think to think, and thus, to save himself the agony, he didn't think. He lost himself in himself, and thus, was not himself as he suddenly realized what he just did.

He had just kissed Roxas.

With just his lips, he conveyed a strong understanding to himself that had lost nights of sleep about. That understanding brought satisfaction, along with slight confusion.

With only his lips did he find an answer he had been searching for. With only his lips did he raise more questions that demanded answer, and, in turn, he would lose even more sleep. The answers found became questions needing answering, and so he just made more work for himself.

Even if his lips caused more trouble, Axel admitted it was wonderful finally getting to know a secret part inside himself.

He kissed Roxas in fire, out of wicked impulse with such heated passion—on the forehead. Yep. All of that mental preparation, worrying, and self-bullying for a kiss on the forehead. Just the forehead, nowhere else.

What a fucking waste.

Fucking chicken-wuss, Axel scolded himself mentally, settling back into his seat again. Should'a went for the lips!

Despite the disappointment with himself, Axel was relieved. He was glad it was over and he was proud that he hadn't abused the situation as much as he could have.

He could have, but he didn't; he was the Axel of Now, not of Yesterday, after all.

Thinking that made it seem that it wasn't such a waste at all. To Axel it wasn't a waste to begin with; he was a better man for what he had just done. Changed for the better, he thought. Becoming, just becoming…

He just became a new man; he liked what lay behind his reflection. There was no shame in who he was or what he was, and so, he wasn't afraid of who had become.

Smiling on the outside, Axel inwardly congratulated himself. There was something ultimately satisfying about all that had just transpired. He had the taste of victory on his tongue, the song of triumph playing in the back of his mind.

Self-control is knowing you can, he thought with pride, but deciding you won't.

--
; I own nothing but the words and situations I control, and...
The quote at the beginning is mine.
This chapter took a long time to edit. Went through six re-writes.
Sorry about update-lack. Life is busy. School, friends, and work are important.
MOST IMPORTANT: I am in love. Most of everything in this chapter is from my own love experience.
In November I am writing a 50 000-word novel in 30 days. Expect no updates until 2007.
Thx for reading. Thx for reviews.
I love all my reviewers!
Stay faithful.
See you next time. :-)
Love to you all and stay friendly.
TBC

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