Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts.


Axel was sweet when he slept, Roxas thought, propped on his elbow in bed, watching Axel smile and sigh at some dream fancy. It always amazed him, watching his lover sleep, seeing the grin soften, the eyes slip away behind eyelids, dark lashes gentle on cheekbones that didn't seem so sharp in the soft light from the moon. His hair was less dangerous when sleep-tousled, and his hands relaxed to where Roxas could almost see them painting or playing the piano.

To think that the man asleep beside him had orchestrated the downfall of six of the most powerful men in Ireland, plus their nine assorted underlings, chilled his bones and set his blood aflame at the same time. How could anything this beautiful do something that ugly? And yet, it was exquisite, that Axel had not bloodied his hands once, had not ever incriminated himself or performed an ill-deed—his dead gangmates had done it all themselves, killed each other, all on the promise that he would love them if they did, and Roxas had won that love, even though he had had it from the beginning.

That was the joke, right there—that all of them believed they had a chance with Axel. None of them knew that, the whole time, it had been Axel and Roxas staging the coup, that it wasn't choreographed to end with anyone other than him at the redhead's side, that Kairi would inevitably fall at Roxas' hands, all because Xemnas had tried to keep Axel to himself, and Saïx Roxas. All because Marluxia had been the one to find them after that one perfect, soul-shivering night, and had said that both of them'd be dead in their beds if their respective lovers found out about this.

That was where the idea had started, when Roxas had looked at Axel, seen the fury and the hopelessness tumbling and twisting in his head, when he had said:

"Let's kill them first."

So they had laid down the plans, made lists and schedules, and it had all gone to hell in the end, and they had just decided to start the killing spree using Axel as a temptation, a bounty of sorts. And it had worked. And here they were, sharing a bed without a care in the world, the underlings already replaced with a bunch of dumb, serious kids with death wishes and the idealistic loyalty one can only find in eighteen-year-olds.

And here Roxas was, watching Axel sleep away, skin bare to the air and the covers and Roxas' hands as he dragged his fingers over Axel's ribs and sternum and collarbone, loving every inch of him like the day he first saw the hair and the eyes and the hands, felt the addiction swelling within seconds, heard the call of a tall, grinning fire-wielder, the boss's puppy, the boss's bodyguard, the boss's plaything, and he hadn't been satisfied with Saïx ever again, because Roxas had never been one to settle for second-best. Except, of course, when it came to Axel, because Axel bested all.

Fingers slipping over his arm, Roxas smiled the smile that he never let anyone see anymore, the one that didn't belong on the face of the Organization's second-in-command, and Axel's eyes opened, gentle in the haze of sleep, a smile growing lazily.

"Why're you awake?" He was so quiet at night—such a contrast to the daytime.

"Not tired yet," Roxas said simply, shifting a hand into Axel's hair, stroking out a few tangles.

"You should be. Big day tomorrow."

"Yeah, I know."

He kissed him, and Axel tugged him down to lie next to him, and Roxas curled an arm around Axel's torso and fell asleep with his nose buried in that hair, both of them biding their time, because they knew it wouldn't last forever.