It's not poetry, baby

by StickyDough

Axel and I were inseparable until he uncovered, in a haphazard manner, that I was gay. A fact that is unexpected in our homophobic environment. Years passed with my ex-best buddy and I keeping my secret buried. Deemed irresponsible at the ripe age of seventeen, my parents pushed me to seek psychiatric help and recruited the dutiful Axel to be my sitter. What a joke. [Akuroku, 18 ]

14. Chapter 14

AN:

"Defining moment; A tipping event in your existence when you are compelled to make a critical decision or when you encounter something that significantly alters you."

Why hello there~

This took me a month to simply write, and even longer to edit. Even still, it doesn't feel perfected. Anyways, this is like...18k words. So grab a snack...and some water.

Settle in, and I hope you all enjoy ╮(─▽─)╭

~Sticky D

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Chapter 14:

"Axel." My legs propel me away from the rungs and I advance on the redhead until his spine meets the porch's wall. "I crave being choked...with my ankles at my ears." My palm softly flattens on his breast and creeps downward until it is directly above his waistband while I continue, slowly enunciating, "A brutal smack to my ass…while being fucked so hard that I forget my identity and shoot come all over my own face." His pupils are vast as he blinks so rapidly his lashes could shed. I conclude confidently:

"Can you give that to me, Axel? Because to be frank, I don't believe you have it in you. So give up this insane concept and...stick to what you're good at."

The redhead had remembered. Whether it was on purpose or not, my libido was appreciative that my magnificent suitor provided something so genuinely exquisite. He exhibited his competence; he proved that he is skillful in all domains. Most markedly, my dubious assumption that he was envious was amply verified Friday night. I persuaded myself it was optimistic nonsense at the time, but I was utterly wrong. Axel emanated vindictiveness, whether he lucidly realized it or not, and this impression lasted with me throughout Saturday.

'Only I can have you, Rox.'

Axel was jealous. This noteworthy statement reaffirms the concept. His manner fluctuated far too many instances late that night and my wits have been amassing each reaction from him—assigning them into their corresponding reflex file for the past twenty-four hours. From the second my lips uttered the name Seifer or concluded with the word Riku, he became bitter and jealous. His erratic behavior toward me while we cavorted amid my bedding disclosed this unsure conviction of mine.

He was jealous of Riku. And I am jealous of Namine.

My personal emotions and love affair with him were the source of these unfavorable emotions towards the girl. And that understanding alone provokes me to sink into Axel's own grievances and perceptions concerning myself and my other partners. But most importantly, the justifications for his acute jealousy. After discovering that we both undergo a shallow darkness and resentment for each other's interests, the urge to open my mouth and press the guy to confess his intentions was like an unwanted itch that needed scratching. Suddenly, the drive to drag his feelings out of his throat was harassing my psyche. I needed to ask him about the things he had uttered that night. I needed answers. His feelings were teetering on a fine line, which had me squirming with confusion. However, getting these answers from him appears to be more difficult than anticipated. My lips remained sealed all weekend, my intellect pressuring my anxiety at the prospect of confronting him. All the while, the redhead was more or less quiet over the weekend. Apart from on Saturday night, when he messaged me and questioned whether I was alright. The man even went to the extent of contending that he 'went too far' and that he would 'make certain that it doesn't happen again.' My eyes narrowed as a result of the implication, and instead of engaging, I disregarded the text and remained in my bed, repeatedly combing through the phrases spilt that previous night.

My mind this morning was obsessed with rehearsing every conceivable way to pitch my speculations to the guy. I could not dismiss him any longer; it was not in my personality to wait idly and stay silent, hoping to gain answers through patience. That was Axel's shtick, not mine. It is the Lord's Day, which means the redhead and I will be meeting eventually, and if my brain had to postpone these critical matters another day, it may self-detonate. Another piece of me protests, readily attempting to flush away any of my theories I have on the man. Brush it aside and deny any feelings, questions, or unfounded accusations so that I am not hurt by his answer. That way, I may simply move on with my day-to-day via self-preserved determination. My mind tuts, 'as you should have done from the outset,' nip that troublesome bud in the vine swiftly and cleanly. But, fuck, It was far simpler said than done. Because my keeper seized my attention any moment he could, it proved impossible to steer clear of him from the minute my steps breached the chapel's entrance.

It is natural for dust to accumulate in a facility that only sees upkeep twice per week. A fine coating of grit caresses the margins of every furniture, literature, and sculpture. The robust seats are clothed in an unsightly yellow burlap runner that renders no one's backside comfortable, the material rankles to the touch. Before me hangs a leather pouch bearing the Lord's sacrosanct words, and only the stack of golden boundaries is visible. They are also coated with debris, mine more so than others, given my Bible has been unopened for ages. Except for the grandest and most decorative cross affront of the masses, the crosses that ring the square hall are crudely manufactured. In the peak of the ceiling, a visual portrayal of Jesus nailed for our sins stands. The sight used to nettle my skin and make my stomach churn with anxiety and despair. The uncomfortable experience may have foreshadowed my inevitable revolution and contempt towards religious doctrine. To avert any further prolonged eye contact with my 'savior,' I flip my focus to the corner of the room on the right, adjacent to where Axel and his family typically sit, to follow the fibers of an acoustic guitar, the grand piano, and a cello. The objects were perfectly situated and stood upright, ready for their owners to strum some celestial songs for the usual Sunday worship.

Speaking of worship…

My ankle squirms, jerking my dangling foot with visible aggravation. Aside from my inherent dislike for early Sunday mornings, a new annoyance has added to my already frustrated concerns about last Friday. The nuisance presents as a lively blonde. Mr. Vespertine's kin gathered in niche groups throughout the room an hour before he donned his rank on the altar. Namine participated in every intimate circle, clinging to Axel's side and adoring his every remark and movement. Their bright smiles and unguarded laughs resound about the narrow space, making my thoughts languish in revulsion. Every time the blonde bestows modest, discreet touches on the redhead—a tracing of her fingertips down his forearm, a tug on his sleeve, then a pinch on his side—my coffee-tasting tongue clicks faintly and my nose crinkles.

The scant soundtrack on the stereo softly covers the throng, and my vision remains static on Namine, who is hard on his tail throughout the cathedral. She is traipsing around the room in a low-cut flounce blouse. A slender looped string knots along her faint cleavage, and the thin silk material billows around her petite breasts, rouching accentuates the summits of her bosom. With his height, a quick glimpse beneath the pale blue chiffon to check out the goods would be a cinch. Her champagne-colored skirt hugs her tight waist and thighs till the base of her knees; the outfit is businesslike and somewhat aged her. Namine latches herself to his hip like a fungus, floats around him, and circles him and his family like a buzzard until it is time to settle down. My stiff muscles are relieved that I no longer must witness her frantically cling to my keeper. When I discover the blonde would rather not sit with her own company and instead plonk her ass right next to Axel, her arms wrapping over the crook of his elbow and dragging him into the seat, the comfort is rapidly swept away.

The air smells powerfully like beeswax from the burning candles beyond Axel's father. The odor merges with the traces of cologne, perfume, and mothballs which glom to every senior in the room. The pews creak and grumble as everyone in the congregation settles into their place, keen to remain immobile for the next few hours. As the service begins, my brain is working hard to convince me that her conduct is not consuming me whole from within, but his openly complacent and flattered mood sours the strain instantaneously, making me pout and groan in my chair. My mother's head spins to me now and then, confusion teeming her pale irises, but she soon returns her attention to the pastor's verses. My posture slumps farther into the lumber supporting my sulking shape whenever my view discovers him grinning fondly at her or returning her fleeting touches. My feet rap impatiently on the flooring. My focus is not in the least bit inconspicuous; I am not aiming to be subtle with my inspection; my eyes are obsessed with the duo during each holy testimony.

The scene is clashing with my already unruly emotions, and my mind necessitates that I should detach my attention in order to reclaim some semblance of composure. Rather than fixating on the two perfect figures packed into the chestnut benches, my gaze is diverted right ahead of me, to silky celestial tresses wound tight into a knot at the base of his scalp. My hand reaches into my pocket and snatches out my cellphone. My fingers quickly locate Riku's contact details, and my thumb fires out a distress beacon.

Me: You got a jay?

Riku's attention is drawn away from the Chaplin by a slight rumble against the back of his seat. His large hind fidgets in his seat before leaning down, apparently to read my unobtrusive appeal for herbal solace. His skull falls on the glazed plywood, his brow furrows, and his nearly translucent lashes flutter. My ass slinks to the edge of the seat, his lips grazing against the shell of my ear as he whispers, "Only if I may join you."

When my eyes shift to the side regarding movement, they are met with a caustic emerald. Our gaze is fixed; time freezes still as he dissects our confidential exchange. I reject the hyperaware tingling his scrutiny causes in my chest and retort, "I could use the company."

Riku climbs to his feet, effortlessly strolling to the side of the room, and excuses himself, permitting my own legs to transport me to the boy. My strides follow behind, and Axel's eyes inspect us from a distance until we reach the enormous dual doors. The two of us walk silently along the perimeter of the colonial edifice, the only sound being our rubber soles against the crunching brown leaves scattering atop clumped grass. My fingertips venture along the weathered paneling, the touch receptors pinging at every fracture and crook in the architecture. Riku plants himself ahead of a massive air conditioning plant. My steps slow as I near, and to properly unwind, I lean my spine on the face of the ancient foundation. The attractive man stands opposite from me on the turf, the crisp and ragged blades matting beneath each small adjustment of his loafers. He rummages in his jacket's inner pocket, removing a leather glasses case and pinching a flimsy scrap of tweezed paper from within. He ignites the end of the substance and presses it on his full lips. The unmistakable stench of something foul and earthy wafts through the open space as smoke collects in the drab breeze. He offers me the joint, the wrapper glossy but the fillings coarse and dense, and my fingertips deliver the herbs to my pursed lips instantaneously. As I consume the smoke, I notice a rush of therapeutic bliss creeping in. My sight is pulled to a lone ponderosa tree, its height soaring above the others, and its brittle branches dance and interweave as the arctic air pricking at my fingertips whips across the spacious empty lot. My gaze remains frozen, tracking the strips of bark, while my mind is consumed with Axel and the caution I should exercise over the risks and implications of becoming imprisoned in the void of my feelings.

Axel was a conundrum. After encountering me revealing my sexuality for the very first time, he became disenchanted in our friendship. He erased me from his life so effortlessly after that, as if the previous thirteen years had been insignificant. And just as I believed our friendship had perished, he emerges on a tremendous tidal wave, crashing into my world once again. All from a simple pledge to my parents—a pledge he accepted despite knowing my sexual identity. Everything that happened after that is a misty haze to me now. The reality is, I have feelings for him. My reasoning reminds me that Axel could not have foreseen this. After all, I had made it very explicit that sex was purely sex. Feelings were meaningless, and the only sensation I sought was pleasure. However, given our history and the way he was treating me, he should have suspected something might arise. Axel's intimacy became more than just a temporary remedy. In fact, any moment I spent with him became more essential to me than sex. I am chasing him. I want to experience what it is like to have him adore me as well, as more than merely a beloved friend, but as a lover.

My thoughts are interrupted short; the joint is lifted from my mouth and replaced carefully by Riku's lips. My lashes blink rapidly, perplexed and inquisitive. My worries had been weighing me down for so long that I had not seen the boy in front of me edging in. The warmth of the touch calms my spirit, while my diagnosis hums quietly on my surface. The open wound of Axel's own warmth, nevertheless, reverses the consoling effect, sullying the moment altogether and making me feel queasy. My hands grip his broad shoulders and draw him apart from me.

"I miss you." The silver-haired boy declares tenderly.

"You told me we wouldn't do this anymore." I advise him, and the boy glowers at me solemnly. He is busy formulating his rejoinder when my thoughts revert to their earlier musings.

Axel and Namine. Their friendship and past relationship must have been pretty close for both of them to seamlessly return to a comfortable routine together. They converse with one another as if the torment of separation had never existed. They appeared before the crowd as though they were still destined to be together. Axel desires children, which Namine can deliver. But the blonde darling has no idea that Axel has lately been engulfed in copulation with a man. The quiet drone of a song from within the church escapes, tethering my thoughts to reality as I ponder what her reception might be if I apprised her of this news surreptitiously. Axel having sex with a guy still puzzled me, but he did so with such ease and assurance that the mystery was continuously relegated to the back of my consciousness, until now. My affections for him are irrational. Out of all the lovers I have had, these instincts simply had to arise for the redhead rather than someone like the person standing across from me. The wind groans through the trees' lengthy branches, creating a sound similar to my own heartstrings tugging and bellowing. It would have been far more practical for me to harbor unrequited love for Riku, who is twisting my fringe with his pointer finger and petting the lobe of my ear.

"Confess to Sora." My internal concepts induce the phrase to come out cropped and brittle. It is paradoxical that my brain is fighting tirelessly to keep me from confessing to Axel while demanding that Riku do the opposite. My opinions regarding Riku and Sora have suddenly turned bitter. And as if tasting it in the air, the silver-haired boy backs away from me, his pleasant fragrance trailing as he goes, and he leans into the wall to my side, sighing and drawing a long drag. "Or at the very least…ask him how he feels about you."

"I'm positive his attention is exclusively on Kairi, not me." He offers me the joint.

"Still, you may be mistaken. How will you ever know for sure without asking?" Riku does not answer; instead, he flashes me a forlorn smile. My glance deviates from Riku and onto the church's well-tended property. There is a playset; it is modest and sparse, and it has seen a lot of usage during the warmer months. For the time being, it rests idle, coated in detritus and weather damage. My speech is on autopilot, as I add assuring, "He's a fairly accepting person—properly nurtured."

My orbs migrate past the collapsed soccer goal and center on the horizon, haloing the desolate corn field behind the lot, when he asks cynically, "You mean raised by liberals?"

"You say potato." I pause, and Riku's form appears in front of me, his visage mimicking mine. One strong hand ascends to cup my neck, his thumb resting just below the lobe of my ear while he brushes his forehead to mine. His free hand travels below my jugular, unclasping the collar buttons, before lowering his head and kissing my exposed clavicle lovingly. I continue my mocking and selfish critique, "Rip off the band aid so you can heal," ignoring his tender and reassuring treatment.

My gaze is pulled to the sky, my neck sags, and my crown falls against the wall. As my thoughts loiter on my point, my eyes are engaged in the push of the clouds. Sora is a nice, compassionate, and naïve young fellow. I have always thought Riku was overthinking things since, as a spectator, I have noticed the same glimmer in Sora's large blue eyes on more than one occasion. This sheen resembles Riku's, Xion's, Namine's, and now that I identify it, Hayner's. I could not see these expressions of passion, or perhaps I stubbornly preferred not to, and this slight shine of love and admiration in all my friends' eyes was suddenly so evident to me that I was snickering gently to myself, the sound echoing through the songs being vocalized within the chapel.

As my thoughts loop around the new and uncomfortable realities of my life, I pull on the jay once more and mutter, "Go in and tell my mom that I'm not feeling well and that I had to go."

Riku drifts away from me, his gaze sweeping across my figure; the sudden awareness of my feelings ruining what is between us wounds me severely, and I break the contact, turning away from his probing look. My eyes are starting to burn, indicating tears that I have limited control over, and my throat is thickening, as if the universe were pouring stones down my throat. Riku's footsteps in the lawn dwindle as he directs his intents toward the chapel before the first tear emerges. With the man out of the picture, I can finally cope with the burden of my sudden untimely meltdown. Axel was a gem; any time spent with him, past or present, was something I humbly revered. And recognizing this while debating whether to set fire to it or softly kindle it stung me tremendously. I sought being alone because the heaviness of not having him for myself is too much for me, and Riku could not bear witness to my pathetic breakdown.

The one-on-one time with my mind has me instantly grieving. As I pathetically lament to the clouds, my head returns to repose against the wall. I am praying to God for clarity on the path I should choose. I feel like I am surrendering if I do not let my feelings be known. But I might as well rip out my own heart and hurl it in the next hearth if I act and admit my love to Axel. All these emotions, especially the incessant weeping, are unusual. This inner upheaval blowing through my mind and heart is akin to what I felt years ago when Axel deserted me, and it felt so raw. As if no time had elapsed. I did not intend to hurt Riku's sensibilities by shooing him away but having him that close to me was unbearable. Not when he is wallowing in his own hopeless amorous delusions. His emotions paralleled mine, and it was a heartbreaking reminder of how wretched I am. It was stifling and made me feel even worse about myself and my future. The motivation to flee this place, to go elsewhere and hide, is overpowering. But my limbs are sluggish from misery, so I waver as another powerful cry rips through my weighty aching breast.

My ears pick up on low footfalls to my right, and my lower lip is snagged between my teeth, the fastening so tight that the bite may draw blood. My grief and nerves are eased minorly by the pain, and the instinct to plaster on a controlled façade resonates through me. My head lolls to the left, concealing my pathetic expressions, and my hands frantically wipe away the salty tears and snot in preparation. My face is swollen, and my sockets are heavy. My attention darts to the side, catching a glimpse of the stalking entity to my right. My vision is captivated by threads of vivid crimson swirling across the backdrop of a dreary sky. The irony of this being's approach causes my throat to choke on a pitiful scoff. A disappointed sigh passes through my ear canal, and his lovely voice tickles my brain for a short spell.

"Come on, Roxy, don't smoke on church grounds; God won't appreciate the disrespect." My keeper grumbles cautiously. The admonition hardly seeps into my gut when my attention is redirected to a sudden movement; the hem of his jacket confronts my cheek as he swipes for the joint in between my fingers. My hand slaps him away brutally as something inside me cowers. My vision eventually pivots towards him, my torso still bowed, and my hazy lenses peek past my shoulder at him. His knuckles tense from the sting, but his attention is diverted by my unkempt button-up and swollen lips as he expresses concern, "What were you two doing out here?"

My figure spins against the siding, my vertebrae unwinding with my head snapping back, my vision reverting to the needles on the skyscraper of a pine, and I sing, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Roxas...the Lord would not approve of such offenses, and to be honest, it's not right nor acceptable—"

My sneakers drive my frame away from the wall; Axel's eyes adjust to my sudden advance on him, but he appears suspicious. My fingers seize the opportunity to weave themselves into the neckline of his jacket, grasping the dense fabric with such zeal, all in the hopes of luring his lips to mine. Our burning mouths crush into one another hastily, passionately, and with such power, the driving force being my suffering and thirst. The profound loneliness fostered my malady, which ravaged my hormones and dictated my impulses.

Axel's palms flatten on my shoulders, his fingertips burrow into the material of my jacket, and he shoves me hard into the wall well before the flavor of pot can infiltrate into my partner's breath. The padding in my coat prevents the shove from jarring my chest. His arms are outstretched and fastened tight, and his chest is pulsing with oxygen, as he gathers his restraint. His cheeks are flushed with the brilliant vermillion of his hair, and his face swings around to inspect the region that is currently enticing the two of us. His jittery manner irks me considerably, and my sinuses send out a nasty sardonic snort. My own hand reaches for his wrist and rips his control on me.

"Save the lecture. I'm not in the mood." I disclose with a groan, and my bulk tumbles down the wall, releasing its pent-up stress in a pleasant manner. My backbone hunches over to appear smaller, disgraced by my thoughts, and my fingers snuff out the joint into the ground as I mutter, "Besides, I sent him away because I'm not feeling too hot."

"Then allow me to take you home."

"Don't bother; just go back inside and be with your family and...friends." My voice pitches; the final word a spiteful hiss.

Axel stares at me with incredulity, an expression of indignation flashing across his features. His eyes dart to the side, his jaw tightens, and his lids flick shut. When his glimpse returns to mine, a warm smile pinches the sockets below. He shifts his weight from one knee to the other, his hands in his pockets, and my brain follows suit as he continues to dissect me. My glance traverses his physique, his sophisticated disposition donned in a coal-colored wool coat, open to allow everyone to see his Sunday finest. The turtleneck that binds to his throat is a rich onyx that conflicts with his pale complexion; it is partnered with a hunter green sweater vest that emphasizes his shapely chest and caustic orbs. My own optics trail the bulge beneath the waistline of his tapered grey pants, the fabric snug and embracing all his honed muscles. The trim of his trousers is cuffed above his polished mahogany-hued Doc Martens, the seam of leather is tucked beneath argyle socks that match the color of his arm warmers. My cheeks flood with drool, and my addiction scrambles below my pores. My brain is pulled from the distraction when he enjoins charmingly, "Who peed in your Wheaties?"

"Piss off."

"I am serious. Why so glum?" He quizzes, and I do not bother answering him, my own patience testing his. Before I can object any further, his shoes carry his winsome face nearer, and he slumps forward to drag one of my wrists away from atop my bent knee. His warm smile passes into something akin to cockiness for a fraction of a second before he breaches the dramatic silence with suave, sympathetic phrases. "Hah…Listen, I'm not sure what's got you so riled up, Roxy, but I'm not going to take no for an answer."

His steadfast tolerance with my continual petulance nudges at my heart, and my deeply ingrained addiction kicks in. I leap to my feet, my hands wring his coat, their strength steering our forms to the building, and my biceps contract and launch the man against the siding, slamming his towering framework into it. Perhaps someone inside noticed the sudden jolt in the foundation; equally better, perhaps one of the cheaply made crosses toppled from its admirable position along the wall. My mouth latches to his bottom lip, sucking in the skin and tickling it with my tongue. My incisors puncture the cushy inner lining and tug at it; the assault causes his larynx to issue a delicious throaty grunt. My harassment is frantic and ardent as my mouth consumes him; desperation infused in every stroke. My fingertips run through the cashmere fibers of his vest, caressing the creases on his rippling abdomen and pectoral ridges. My lids collapse upon his perfection, clenching tight to focus on the mere taste, smell, and feel of him. His lips eventually merge with mine, sealing on my kiss, and his head lurches forward to accept my longing. His lips split and he murmurs into my panting mouth for a short moment.

"What are you…" He simpers, and my lips pepper the corner of his mouth, his jaw, and his neck, "This isn't something we should be doing here."

When I order, "Don't talk," my intonation comes out gravelly, and one of my palms unwillingly extracts itself from his beguiling physique to clamp atop his mouth.

My lips and palms continue to explore his figure, revering him as if it were their final opportunity. Memorizing everything which makes him perfect. I nip hungrily at his mouth; his kisses are always so exquisite. My hands ravish the curvature of his body, from his tapered forearms to his taut breast to his sculpted hips and thighs; his anatomy magnificently divine. As his eyes monitor my activities, he chokes on sharp, staccato grunts and inhales through flaring nostrils; his sounds like a heavenly orchestra. His shower gel, cologne, and skin are equally and undeniably always alluring. My mind is preserving these sensory delights and every other tender moment for later rumination, for when my presence is inevitably no longer predominant in his life.

My eager adulation of him begins to erode his bemused exterior; his hands wearily creep over my own coat, nestling themselves underneath the hem to claw at my back pockets. His palms knead my round globes, and a gasp merges with my kisses. My lips pursue his madly, and we reconnect yet again, the kiss propelled by our demand for one another. His tongue cuts through and wrestles with my lower lip. It loops, squirms, and thrusts around my chasm. His flavor encourages my inner turmoil and nourishes the appetite of my affliction. His touch on my jeans accelerates, his fingers seize my cheeks and draw them apart, and the conduct induces my hips to lurch forward, seeking his yummy load. Our trapped arousals collide, and his savory attentiveness on me compels me to practically hyperventilate. Axel alone causes me to abandon every doubt that has ever been drummed into my skull; I am unable to think, see, or speak. I want and need him—right now and right here. Forever. My soul purrs, and I disregard the thought as my lips unfasten from his. His tongue slices through the fragile ribbon of saliva wobbling amid our steamy gasps and rushes forward to slurp at my puffy lower lip, allowing my knees to weaken and my form to gradually drop onto the ground. In the aftermath, our torsos and thighs slide against each other before my knees anchor my body on the frigid, unforgiving earth.

My numb fingertips tear at his buckle, button, and zipper using an uncanny ability, all in expectation of obtaining my ultimate prize for suffering. The redhead chirps, the pitch vastly higher than it has ever been. My mouth rims his pendulous shaft immediately to ease the thin flesh from the cutting cold air and my icy hand. My throat hums in satisfaction at the recognizable flavor of him, and his cock jolts in reaction. My head sweeps back and forth, guiding him further until my palms clutch the stems of his thighs and my skull bobs. His muscles spasm at once, my cadence is not nearly as placid as his, I am ravenous and bothered, and my yearning sexual deliverance is on tenterhooks. His tip grazes against my throat, and his breath gasps above me. My inspection tracks his quivering abdomen and rising torso. His hands are fists on his sides, and his gaze remain low, relishing in the sight of me fucking his dick with my throat. From the eye contact, his mouth emits a modest and disgruntled Tch, and one hand lifts to catch onto my stringy hair. He tightens his handle on the locks and directs my mouth atop him. The thick column of flesh burrows wholly down my throat, choking me, only to disappear quickly thereafter. Spittle escapes past my bottom lip and onto his polished footwear. There is really no option to gulp it all down considering he would rather I consume nothing except his dick right now. My thirst to have more is in full bloom now, and on the next retreat, I hammer my fists behind his knees, and Axel's towering height flops onto his ass awkwardly.

The motion leaves him startled, his hair tangled, his lips and cheeks inflamed, and his eyes wide open. My fingertips act fast to unclasp the waistband of my jeans. Shuffling the fabric below my butt, my fingers reach the seam of my lips, and my tongue loops around the cold digits before sucking them into the warm chasm. Axel watches with alarmed intrigue. He is motionless and enraptured with my actions. Diving my fingers in deeper, they tickle the base of my throat, where is large cock had just been slamming into, and a short gag liquifies the small space, saliva pools along every tissue and ridge. Yanking my hand away from my face, they recede behind me, and pry at my tight ring. Various scenarios of getting caught ricochet through my thoughts, momentarily distracting me with heightened senses and fueling my hurried movements.

My wrist pumps two fingers higher, reaching inwards, and massaging along my clinging muscles. The pull is tight, and the tempered burn of the devious motions have me whimpering above the sightly man. He hasn't spoken, he just sits still, batting his full lashes at me as though I were a specter visiting his residence in the middle of the night. Surely, this predicament I have put us into is a little bewildering, but this man has done far worse to me, there was little room for embarrassment now. The pad of my finger nearly grazes my bud of nerves, too short to truly please me, but their sole purpose was to ensure his large organ does not spear me in half. My lip quivers, and my lids pull as they squint in discomfort. My digits pump roughly into me, my hips writhe atop the redhead. My heels tremble from holding the squat for so long, and as though Axel sensed it, his arms cup my ass, and his palms plant themselves at the small of my back. The relief is quick, and I continue defiling my slick opening for him. My breaths are clipped and pitched from exertion. My aim to stretch myself top priority, and for the second time in the span of a minute, my keeper reads my thoughts once more.

There is a tickle trailing along the crest of my hips and ass, traveling towards the valley of my cheeks. His fingers swipes at the knuckle plunging into my own hole, before his long digit meets my own efforts. The extra push on my constricting rim has me keening. My forehead falls forward, and my chest heaves as my lungs exhale audible huffs and moans. The pain has subsided slightly, and his extra depth has my own intruders guiding him towards that swollen tissue in my slippery canal.

Fuck. That hits the spot.

"Uhn…yea…"

He already knew what I needed. He knew what my body wanted. After the second whine of pleasure, he adds another finger to the mix and my hips reel back, meeting both our efforts. There is a soft, wet sound emitting from below me, and the naughtiness of if causes my leaking erection to throb endlessly. Axel takes control of the moment, with his thumb on my spine drawing soft little patterns, he reflects those delicate little caresses with a sensually paced dive into my twitching insides. He directs each thrust of our fingers towards my prostate, and it takes the strength of every fiber in my muscles not to buckle forward onto him.

"Ahhhn—fuck yes!"

"Right there?"

"Yes…I like it there."

"Feels good, hmm?"

"Uh-huh…so good…so fucking—hahhh—good."

"You look like you're about to come."

My chin snaps up, and my attention is fastened on his. His expression is listless, yet there are tiny indicators of interest beneath the façade. His lashes are cast low, revealing only a fraction of his glossy irises; his cheekbones are powdered scarlet; and the interior of his lower lip is pinched between his teeth. His jawline is the only thing moving; the tendons are scrunching, betraying some of his underlying distress. My sight slips to his distended member, which is laying across his sacrum, convulsing with each stroke of our fingers.

"Now." I apprise decisively.

A single brow twitches with mirth, "Now?"

"I want you now." I divulge further while panting uncontrollably, and my inner lining greedily clings to our exploits.

"Hah, oh, well why didn't you just say so?" This time, each brow curves, and he grins coyly at me.

My forbearance was stretched thin on a good day, but today it was a bare page of rice paper, and there was no time to debate with his comment. My receptive taut ring tugs against our digits as our fingers coordinate their final exit, and my voice produces a slow and whiney mewl. My hands reach for his broad shoulders, and my knees capsize into the soil. My body sidles along his tall thighs to meet his hips, the new position is a million times more pleasant than the last one. Dropping into my back pocket, my fingertips clutch at a foil packet and hurriedly retrieve it. My impatience grows stronger with each succeeding second. Axel simply observes me, his head resting on the building's exterior. My eyes revert to my skull in annoyance, and he smirks at me as I coat my thrumming cock with the tacky rubber. The man shuffles below me, and without another glance his way, my palms are diving immediately into his own pants, looking for another condom—one that suits his size properly. My efforts come to a standstill when I uncover zilch. When I glance up at the man who is facing me, I discover a little purple sachet dangling between his pearly whites. My lips form a silly pout, and his dazzling smile sweeps across his features. My posture expands over him without hesitation, and my arm leaps from his thigh and rips the package from his teeth. My grasp unravels the plastic along his length, causing him to stumble on a lusty groan. My thighs lock around his, and my weight collapses quickly onto his lap before he can rebuff my advances.

Jesus.

There is so much pain. There were little precautions since I am an impatient idiot. My thoughts reminded me of where we were and that there was no opportunity to prepare myself fully for his intense girth. His impressive package was slippery enough, but he was not ordinary in size, which explained the excruciating discomfort. Even with both our efforts, time was not on our side, and to sink so wholly onto his perfect form was a piss poor move on my behalf. My intelligence chimed in shortly, informing me that the ache would be fleeting, so I rocked softly into the intruding, enormous length, slithering up and down.

My tunnel strains and quivers around him as it conforms to the mounting stretch. His cock is flawless, and my warm tissues devoured every inch of him. My efforts double its pace, fucking him voraciously, now that it is warmed up. Axel, on the contrary, had different priorities. His palm on my ass gently stroked the muscle, his thumb tickled the dimples on my back, and his lips nibbled at my ear. He groans and pants against it, flicking and sucking on the lobe. My vertebrae arches as the crown of his dick ruts into the pulsing bud within me, leading me to see static. My utterances are riddled with expletives. His other hand cradles the convex of my skull, barring my head from falling and trapping our gazes on one other. He is absolutely bewitching. The view feels unjust, and my prior misery unexpectedly overcomes my sex addiction. My view grows obscured as the tears from earlier begin to gather in, blurring his face. My heart bleeds out, and he simply grins at me, clueless to my grief.

"I can't stand you"—my fists swipe frantically at his chest—"Your faultless charisma—your twisted kindness." His grip catches my wrist, nonchalantly and pleasantly kissing it, "I can't handle your stupid face." The pads of his thumb and fingers pinch my chin to guide me into a tender kiss; the encounter has me bawling perfervidly.

My sight is stymied, but the wind blows my tears away as my body is carefully cupped and transported to the freezing soil underneath, and my bleary attention is pointed to a hawk wheeling above us high in the atmosphere. As he proceeds to delicately violate my hopelessly willing frame, my vision warps. He eased the blistering pace by carefully and methodically thrusting into me. He looms above me, his eyes tracing along my face and its worshipping appearance, his hands crushing on my shoulders. His hips brush up slowly and rhythmically against my quivering thighs. My concentration is snatched away from the bird in the overhead, the animal's voyage no longer comforting, as I realize I have caved to my addiction without regard for my feelings yet again. My palms suddenly ram themselves into his rib cage. My voice howls hostile and excruciatingly garbled remarks about him the entire time. My hands punch and slap at his chest and his lip pinches in his teeth as he squints at my enraged intonation. His gratified countenance is obscured by a spark of pity or apprehension. He reigns my flailing body in, his arms enveloping me, hugging me close, obscenely indifferent to my untamed antics. He smothers my sorrow by snuggling me into his chest and sheltering me from the harsh bitterness of my attraction and the environment around us. He possesses the gentlest soul I have ever encountered; no surprise my hubris is getting darker. My deadliest adversary is paranoia; it is perpetually chipping away at me; thus I find myself continually testing his boundaries.

"I fucking hate you!" My voice roars into the slope of his shoulder, my palms gripping and pulling his scratchy wool coat with lethal force. I rear my face away from his coddling caresses, my vision sticking on two squirrels bickering in the grass. The vermin prance and scramble through the sparse trees, climbing and leaping through branches skillfully. The smooth rocking of Axel's pelvis dwindles to a crawl, his length a meager massage against my convulsing insides.

My beguiling bedfellow pulls back slightly, and my orbs lift from the lawn to join his. With his face hovering so close above my own, he is intently scrutinizing my expression. The man appears stunned that my pleas for pleasure were tainted by sincere grief. My nervous system scuttles beneath his sympathetic embrace, and he tilts his head to one side, his lids dropping into a slim line. His waist held steady, his pulsing rod still burrowed along the crevices of my inner depths, and his voice tickles my curled lips, "Should I stop?"

"Don't you fucking dare!" I sneer through clinched teeth. My words desperate to combat my inner emotions and their unavoidable outburst.

Axel cautiously slips out, then gently sinks within. His focus remains fixed to my face, scanning for evidence of any dishonest objectives. My teeth are cutting into my lips, spilling blood from the urgent need to divert me from the anguish in my heart and return me to my senses. The reality is that I am not a woman, the warmth of a gender that he would enjoy for a lifetime, not a couple of semesters. Because of this facet, every time he delves further into me, the sense of being special seeps into my soul, and the agony of my budding love for him persists. He has such a strong grip on me, metaphorically and figuratively, and this makes me want to clutch onto the redhead forever.

Don't leave me.

Tears stream down my cheeks, and my weary eyes are transfixed on the man who is studying me intently. His hips come to a halt once more, and the disruption prompts my throat to issue a faint whimper. His hands cup my cheeks, both thumbs nimbly swipe at the stream of tears spilling along my temples. The moment was tender, but brief, as he hoists himself over me, his arms unlooping from below my shoulder blades, and he blinks at me. My throat convulses, I hiccup, and the unmistakable experience of being utterly pathetic floods my system. He peers at me, perplexed, forlorn, and dazed. His thumbs search for his zipper, and my body and consciousness are powerless to object. He climbs to his full height, still staring at me from his new vantage point. The torrent of salty liquid will not stop poisoning everything in its wake, scalding my cheeks, ears, and temples. I am weeping and coughing and sobbing below him, and even I would be struck by the sight. Axel breaks the link, shifting his view from left to right to examine the landscape, then returning his focus to my trembling figure. His gaze is drawn to the tears streaming down my cheeks, lingering there the longest. To gain a semblance of privacy, my forearms climb to my face, covering my liquid expression from his view.

"Penny for your thoughts?" His tone hugs each of my senses and I peek below my arms at him. He cocks his head once more while extending me an upturned palm to assist me in returning to my feet. My legs are wobbling, and any movement appears rocky at the moment. In any case, I welcome his aid and adopt a complete stand. Rage and shame from the past and our current situation cause my blood to bubble. What frustrates me the most are his eyes—the gleam is unique and filled with a range of emotions. Fear, surprise, hurt, and pity. But, the most perplexing feature was, nothing. The expression of apathy is slowly rising above all others, further igniting my wrath. "What's the problem, Roxy?"

Our orbs lock with one another, and my mind contains its torrential sadness, adopting the new wave of emotion. Not sadness. Anger. The swings to our side are rattling against the hush. My sight trails the breeze as it pushes and pulls on the equipment. Another tear tickles my cheek, and the sleeve of my bomber jacket swishes at my swollen and wet sockets before whirling to face him, glaring, "You," I sniffle, "You are my fucking problem."

"What did I do?" He petitions, appearing taken aback by my unabashed honesty.

"You're the reason I'm a fucking mess." My state of being is embarrassing, but my nerves refuse to recognize it for long and although my throat trembles, my concerns continue, "I'm not willing to use you as a way to fix myself anymore. It's too confusing."

"Why do you keep doing this"—he lowers his face into his hand, the palm shielding his irritated gaze from view—"I've given nothing but consent to this. So, use me, Roxas." Ignoring his declarations, my brain strives to stick to its personal resolutions, determined to save me from impending heartbreak.

End it. End it here and now.

My thoughts beckon and my words spill forth, "This isn't about how you feel—or fuck—maybe it is."

"Roxas…you're not making any sense."

Ask him. Ask him how he feels about you and get this over with.

My brain encourages me, but my words cannot bring themselves to approach him about it. They favor just splitting my heart apart and saying farewell to our existing agreement. Just skip the interrogation and jump straight for the obvious conclusion.

"Just stop over doing it! Don't worry about me, I'll continue going to therapy. I can improve on my own now; I don't need you as a fuck buddy. And I sure as fuck don't need your feeble favors either."

"Feeble favors?" His eyes peek from between long fingers, the green so vivid, his pupils large and his tone strengthens with what appears to be offence, "I'll be damned if you squander this friendship without trying to consult with me first."

"I'm not convinced you didn't see this coming!" I shout and Axel flinches.

What am I even saying? Get to the point, Roxas.

My brain is muddled with too many options. Sentences and scenarios jostling like loose marbles in my skull, shaking me all the way to my core and yet, my mouth keeps moving, howling at my keeper with sarcastic and dry influence, "Friendship? Ha—what a fucking joke!"

"You're already giving up, then?" His brow quirks to the side with sheer disbelief and his stare is heavy like bricks of sterling.

"Shit, you're so clueless it's insulting." My tone finally softens, from physical exertion or plain mental exhaustion, it was difficult to differentiate at this point. Especially with my brain summersaulting and my heart preforming backflips every which way.

Any additional words that cross my mouth end prematurely. Axel's fingers ring my wrist abruptly, and his quick strides propel us across the grounds. My shorter legs compensate for his greater steps. When he steers our legs around the courtyard in front of the robust double doors, our covert hideaway is now a half-acre behind us. The cellphone in his back pocket is continuously ringing, yet the sound does not receive a reaction from him. When we approach the paved lot, my feet falter, stumbling on scattered pebbles. As he proceeded to urge me toward his own vehicle, the parking lot was congested with a whirl of different colored vehicles. With his target in line, every single question ceases to exist in my mind. My focus is taken to his arm as it slides into his jacket, withdrawing the tiny fob. The lights on his car flicker, and it makes a harsh whistling chirp. My knees lock, and he jerks hard on my wrist, jarring my shape from its rigid stance. He forces the door open and slings me through the opening before I can even argue or liberate myself. My body hops against the cushioning, without any time to adjust, my legs bow and squeeze into the compact backseat to accommodate his presence.

The ravishing man appears to be stewing in sloven anger, for my words or something else undenounced to me. And he peels off his coat, his top clings and pleats to match the lavish textiles. My field of vision is directed away to the intricately carved doors and lingers on the sculpture of the Holy Mary. My throat squeezes as I marvel at the graceful and despondent expression inscribed into the dense mossy marble, and my sight diverts to the clean interior of the man's well-maintained ride. A costly freshener prongs into his vents, delivering a mellow cardamom and cedar perfume. My fingers bristle at the mild scratching feel of the woven stitches as I nervously stroke my hands back and forth across the smooth leather of the chair. Axel remains silent alongside me, lost in contemplation, presumably deliberating on my prior brusque and nasty remarks. I gawk blankly at the isolated wreckage in the primped area: a little collection of schoolbooks and binders overflowing around the footwell of his passenger seat, in addition to some errant scraps of paperwork and receipts. My tongue is still musing on his distinct flavor; the buttery richness makes my skin itch, and I toss a glance in the direction of the redhead. His blazing green orbs were fastened on me, alys and appraising me; my shoulders shrunk in response to their fierceness. He licks his lips slowly and peeks around the parking lot before rearranging in his seat. When his weight swivels to greet me, the leather squeals; he is fully engaged, prowling and instantly lurking over me like a beast. My mouth is opening and closing. I was frightened and offended that Axel thought he could treat me so barbarically. To be fair, this is what I have always requested of him. Nonetheless, it was still unforeseen, and my lashes flap as my glare drills into him, the expression ultimately stunning him.

With so much confidence, he cautiously lays his palm on my cheek, brushing away the vestiges of the recent tears. The emerald in his irises is rich with questions and anxieties, and his tempered contact sears my soul. The image of him caused my skin to feel as though needles were being inserted into every pore. In an effort to thwart his advance, I automatically knock my skull on the armrest of the window frame behind me to gain space. His head weighs heavily towards the side somewhat in bewilderment, but the course of his lips remains fixed on me, carefully and steadily. My senses are enamored by his fragrance, and my tongue can taste him before his mouth effortlessly captures mine. The previous kiss was primal, caustic, and belligerent. And, as is typical of my sitter, this kiss was his ideal method of consolation, since he sought uncluttered pleasure in modest tenderness.

His aroma, flavor, and touch dissolve my entire identity. My face is encased by large hands; fingers extend from the corners of my lashes to the slight slope of my jaw. His hold is tight yet tender as he drags his lips against mine. The breaths that escape our noses tickle my cheeks, his chest warms mine, and his lids drift shut as he bows to fully relish the beauty of our kiss. My heartstrings are twisted, and embarrassment aches through my bones. Loneliness seeps into my cells. He understands me so well—better than anyone—that even though I assumed I had evolved during our time apart, I was mistaken. He was the one who had matured the most. And I have been hunting him. I want him—who he used to be, what he has grown into, and who he will become. And these emotions jab a dagger into my chest.

I can't give in again.

Axel gloats about picket fences with eggshell painted wood that can secure a comfortable life with a lovely wife and similarly lovely children. A future that will pamper his deeply rooted dreams. Something that my adoration will never be capable of nurturing. As a byproduct of these musings, my belief that he feels the same way about me wanes, however recollections of the night he held me down and swore that only he could have me make me feel faint all over again. The perplexity is weighing on my psyche, and the gentler he is with me, the more concerns bubble up and ferment within me. The compulsion to blurt, 'You like me—you want me—I want you too' is illuminating across my thoughts, but sheer will and Axel's own exquisite kisses keep me from making the aforesaid miscalculation.

His mouth caresses my own, shaping and smooshing the silky flesh, and I wonder whether my lips are as plush as a woman's, for that would explain why he would treat our embraces in this manner. I sigh reflexively against his kisses, and at some small juncture in time, while entangled in my loop of wayward thoughts, my own affections weakened, permitting Axel ultimate reign of my mouth. Without even touching the remainder of my body, he is devouring me like there is no time in the world, as if I were the only one with whom he wanted to share his mouth. He has not progressed far, and my consciousness is still plugged into a spiral, agitated by anxiety, nostalgia, and my own imprisoned impulses. We are both enamored with one another, him with my corporeal being and me with the entirety of him. His physique, his hands, his lips, his thoughts—everything about him. My thoughts were soley on the enticing redhead above me. We both are completely ignorant of where we were—tucked in the corner, behind a sea of cars and overgrowth—a few yards from the church.

Like any other treatment from him, this one harms my sensibilities. I will always feel this pining inside me, smoldering and ready to brim out, whether he is savage, offe, or delicate and compassionate. Something needs to be done. Yet my actions remain stationary. My voice has gone dead, unable to oppose his dreamy caresses or deprive him of my body. His palms gradually fall from my cheeks, one to the root of my skull and the other to my bosom, both massaging innocently. I wonder whether he can feel my racing heart for a split moment, but his touch casually slips downward, and his thumb twirls around the sliver of bone peeking out beneath my untidy shirt. When he drags my torso down with skilled finesse and tosses our waists into one another, his grip is pointed albeit cautious. The condoms were still on in our rush; I can feel the covering pinching around my developing thickness, and I can only presume he does as well. My cheeks color as his engorged heat sparks against mine. When he lifts his face overhead, a chilly rush disperses between us, slashing through our body temperature. His lids slowly open, and he resumes his earlier perusal of me.

Axel mumbles, "You're quiet."

"So are you." My voice sounds unfamiliar. It was softer than it had been prior, when I was yelling at him on the lawn.

His hand glides from behind my neck, and his finger loops around the hairs slipping alongside my ear, twiddling with the loose fibers weakly. He quirks his lips into a gallant grin, his next statement a faraway murmur so quiet my hearing barely grasps them, "Hmm, just admiring you."

"What?"

"A joke—just something you said once."

"Ha-ha. Very amusing." My eyes roll, and his hips move in unison to my quip. "Ahh." Axel's length presses into the seam of my pants; the heat emitted by his attraction is like molten lava in comparison to the stagnant, icy air housed by the inactive automobile.

"May I touch you more?" He proposes, and I catch his fingers halting their obsessive tinkering with my tresses in the periphery of my vision.

He shouldn't.

Yet, my head nods faintly, and his gaze explores the angles of my physique. Vivid green lenses travel from my own orbs along each curve of my mouth, chin, neck, waist, and thighs. The rigorous study carving his admiration all over, raking in the moment, and patiently drinking in all of me, causing my hair to stand on instant guard. His hand tracks his stare; it reaches my thighs and returns them to their previous pose, clinging to my sternum. My stomach folds, my knees clash, clumsily bowing to one side, and my ankles crisscross while they settle atop the peak of his shoulder. His other hand reaches below and drags the tricky denim and satin away from my waist, completing the undress below both of my patella. Moments ago, tensions were high, yet, a few delicate touches and steamy glances and Axel once again has me liquifying, pooling in his palms like clingy syrup.

"I'd prefer you naked." He laments, his sight transfixed on my bare ass. His efforts to strip me had been speedy, but we both understood that anything additional would have us neck-deep in scalding water within seconds if someone were to approach nearby. My voice shakes with a gravelly moan as his forefinger tracks a circle around my exposed rim, he evaluates our past work by prying me open and sinking his finger through the dribbling spittle and in to the second knuckle. He moans instinctively, "You're still wet."

His voice tempered with brazen need always strips away my sensibilities, preserving me in a tight hold, and I grasp onto the tune as though it is my vice, "Put it in me."

"Put what in you?" A twinkle sparks across his irises, and that fire erupts in a flash. His expression was mutating into something callous and cunning.

"You," I denote and his slippery digit wiggles around the shallow creases of my eager orifice, "Ngnnn…you—I want you inside me—please! P-put your dick in me!"

"I'm a fool when it comes to the sound of you begging."

Axel crouches ahead of me, his luminous crimson strands tickle my collar and forehead. The shuffling of his own clothes distracts me from his beauty, and before my vision can completely absorb his grandeur, my hole perceives the unmistakable thickness of his tip. My outer tissues greedily engulfed the tip, and my spine rattled from my body's own lechery. He groans against my face, prickling my skin as he progressively buries his arousal further within, as if it were his first time tasting my essence—as if he had not just rutted himself into me yards away on the grass. His hilt merges with the slick valley of my already filthy ring, and we hum in unison in the wake of the link. His breath rustles the feathery wisps of my hair; little humble exhales; the hushed breaths evolve into a charged groan as he gingerly lifts his pelvis, sluggishly pulling his long shaft out, and my walls seize on the length wantonly, slurping on him as if his cock was its favorite candy. His head whips up; he slowly grinds his hips into me, his dick carefully entering in before being elegantly withdrawn with relishing zeal.

"So good." His eyes glaze into his skull, his timbre tainted with lust. My keeper utterly surrenders to his own pleasure, and my dick trembles against my abdomen, a chill crawling across my exposed flesh from the cooled latex.

"More—tell me more." My stare bulges with wonder as I behold him deliberately rock into my frame with just enough force to keep my typically ridiculous whining and moaning in check.

"Soft"—his dick pulls along my wringing crevices—"Tight"—his throbbing member burrows within instantly—"Warm" —his tongue glides along his puffy lower lip—"So warm"—his neck tendons flex—"Nghn…n' slick."

I imbibe in his appearance, his sultry utterances, and the sensations he bequeaths on my body, and one word comes to mind, exiting my mouth in a hazy moan, "More."

His cock twitches deep within me, my toes curl, and he continues to siphon his magnificent length into me tentatively. The wheels are attempting to turn amidst his lust-filled thoughts; his lips are tight, and his lashes are flailing with passion; he finally gathers his sentences, "I want to...ruin you," he hummed into the shell of my ear, his fingers digging into the rear of my thigh, his other hand clenching the armrest behind my head. "Inside you—all over you."

"Hmn."

"Pry you open"—his teeth pinch my lobe—"Fill you to the brim"—his tongue slowly drags along the edge of my jaw—"Don't want to stop"—his lips press feather light against my temple—"Ever."

"Enough! Aghn…I can't—"

"You sought…and…hahh…I supplied." He grunts, and with his summation, he intensifies his descent into the recesses of my gut. His cock progressively stretches my insides apart, distending against my soft lining as he withdraws from its velvety sheath, before his hips spring forward with vicious prowess. His thick appendage pulsating from within, amplifying my experience. "You fit me so well—so tight—sucking…" He gasps and runs his tongue along his front teeth while concluding, "…All around me."

"Please. Stop it!" My hips wiggled underneath him. His demeanor is tainting the situation with those agonizing emotions from before. I extended my hands impulsively to capture his forearms, clawing at them in vain to push him away from me.

His imposing stature is suffocating in the cramped quarters, like a shark jammed into a sardine tin, and the man atop me refuses to budge. Instead, his stare bore holes into me, and he sent me a suave smile while priming, "Hmm, stunning."

"Too…ahh…kind." My brows scrunch tight, and my orbs jitter from the barrage of emotions and sensations deeply rattling my blood stream and soul.

He chuckles above me, his shoulders shake, and the curve of his lip catches in his canines as he jests, "Just being honest."

"Please…no more," my lashes bat wildly in bewilderment, and my voice trembles from all his efforts, "I can't stand it."

"You're enjoying this, though," he claims, "Your stomach is fluttering." My attention swerves from him to my abdomen, and I struggle to glimpse past my folding legs, but he immediately emphasizes, "No. Not there, in here." He ruts his hips into my body, delving into my silky lining and massaging my inner depths with his cock. "Ohhh—nghnn—yeah, just like that." He mumbles, the sound coarse as salt, and my walls quiver beneath the unexpected brutal treatment.

"Harder." I say instinctively, searching for the warped version of the redhead who knew how to channel his deviancy. "Harder, Axel!"

"No," he counters, rolling his hips into me like a seasoned belly dancer, as his face dips low before mine again, enunciating slow and fluently, "I want to savor you."

"Please…I can't do this anymore," my voice cracks as I adjure, "Too...gentle." My comments are interrupted when his magnificent column of glorious pleasure mournfully withdraws and then dives back into me, and the impact of his motion nearly throws my head into the vehicle door, feeding the craving for a more graphic romp. "Faster...I want it...faster."

My posture contorts to cater my imprecise grip on his thigh. My elbow wrenches back in an attempt to quicken his lackluster pace with guided strength. His gaze riveted on me the entire time. His attention monitors my actions as my ass swings back and forth against his firm thrusts and luring withdrawals. My ankles clap against one another with another deep thrust towards my prostate, and my free arm flies behind me, guarding my crown from the thick plastic behind it. His interest flicks to my quick catch, and his relentless drive into my writhing body subsides once more, but I can only focus on is his flesh shoving through my slippery confines.

As my panting calms, my acuity notices the windows around us have glossed with foggy steam, and my coat begins to feel stuffy. Yet, nothing else matters with that tiny amount of skin on skin. It is unclear how long our bodies have been steadily adoring each other, but nothing else matters when Axel is in the throes of temptation and marveling at me come undone for him. My lip's arrested between my teeth, and he hisses before moaning into the still air. His hands trail from my hair all the way down to my naked hips and thighs. When he squeezes them, his fingers drill into my skin, marking the muscle with minuet half-moons. His speech occupies the space with sweet praiseworthy phrases and reverence for how my alluring walls feel surrounding him, and his dark gaze never departs from my own.

The elegance of his hips on my flesh, the gleam in his eyes, and the dainty smile crinkling his cheeks leave a pleasant aftertaste on my tongue. My throat is narrowing from the gnawing ache of having to forcibly liberate myself of the radiant man in front of me. My ideas are like a pendulum, swinging back and forth between clinging to him as long as possible or simply letting go of my feelings because he will never want me the way I crave him. My body reacts rashly, with one hand pushing him away and the other gripping him tight. My legs slip down the slope of his shoulder and bicep, spilling over his elbow. His stare is unrelenting, consuming the totality of me, and something in my subconscious formally declares another meltdown. His face creeps ahead of my own, and he peppers my neck and cheeks tenderly with his lips. When I regain control, my hands crash into his shoulders as he proceeds to nip my jawbone.

"I told you to stop"—my palm slaps around his chin—"being so kind to me"—my hand wrenches his face away—"particularly when we fuck!"

Axel frowns at me from the new angle, a wry glint in his chartreuse lenses, and chides, "Now...is not the time…" in his preoccupation, he jerks his hips hard and his breath hitches before mentioning, "…To be criticizing me."

"Just…fuck me!" I grumbled bitterly, swinging my left leg around him, almost striking him in the skull. The attack would have been deserved, but instead, I carefully lowered my limb to his flank, hooking his waist with my foot, and shoved him in deeper and faster.

He chuckles, "Is that not what I am doing?"

"It's too tame." I curl both ankles behind him, my heels bury against his upper thigh, motioning him to strengthen the pace. "Not nearly unhinged enough." I am breathy from the tedious movement, and my hips rock in tandem with my legs' rhythm. "Touching me so…" my face forms a sour glower as he strives to resist my rocking motion, "…Sweetly."

"You don't want me to touch you?"

"Are you hard of hearing?" I bark, and he blatantly laughs at me, "Touch me. Kiss me. Fuck me—but don't be so sweet about it."

"Why not?"

"It…ahh…makes me feel weird." His hands burrow under my loose shirt, cupping at my flesh and massaging my chest soothingly, and I groan breathily, "I hate it."

He leans in, suckling on the feverish skin and lapping at the throbbing pulse in my neck while the pads of his fingers deftly press, pull and tweak at the stiff buds on my chest, rolling them suggestively through the caress. When my hands pound harder on his chest, my complexion burns scarlet with a mix of resentment and ecstasy. He continues to degrade my leaking rim using his most genteel persona, and the vexation begins to exceed the demands of my sexual dependency.

"I hate how kind"—Axel kisses the shell of my ear—"gentle"—his fangs cut around the hanging loose flesh —"nice you…mmm…are!" His obvious dismissal of my words makes two equal flames ignite through my veins.

The ghost of his smile travels along my skin as he whispers assuredly, "No one has had complaints about it before."

"Exactly my…hgn…point!" My limbs succumb to my brains bold anger, and my heels dig into the svelte muscles of his flanks, "You are nice to…" I pause to breath, mentally noting all his gentle gestures and warm smiles that he gracefully gifts friends and strangers. And then I scatter punches messily at his collar and torso, "…Everyone!"

He halts his machinations on my body, and his large hands capture my own assaulting ones before uttering, "It's simply my nature," while shrugging until nonchalantly humping into me again.

"Well, fucking knock it off!" He squints at me and begins to rock against my ass again, finally putting more passion into the motions. Yet it is not enough, my addiction and sanity yearning for more. "Fuck—I really can't stand you!"

He beams impishly, clearly finding my irritation amusing, "You're such a brat!"

"I'm —ahhh—serious! Don't treat me like everyone, or else…fuck…" My voice had eroded to a paltry whimper, and there was no time to be ashamed. He stares at me, satisfied and content, and it rips at my core, flooding me with anguish and equal parts contempt. My lips purse and I whine hopelessly, "I hate you," even though I most emphatically do not.

My actions are actively campaigning against my logic, which stands beyond confounding; it is hurting me, driving a symbolic blade into my lungs, and my rage at the circumstances makes the situation feel bleak and claustrophobic. My fists mangle into his chest, pounding on his sternum and ribs yet again. The leftover reservoir of patience is expended, and although my hips gyrate into his, the heels of my palms slam into the acute bones and sculpted muscles of his admirably proportionate anatomy.

His head cocks, and his gaze turns steely as he observes me emotionally unravel once more, and he contemptibly commands, "Stop it, Rox."

"Asshole!" My hand claps at the sharp angles of his face and my nail clips his ear. My arms are responding in line with my personal grievances, attempting to mirror their own suffering onto him. "I can't stand you!"—my feet beat on his back—"Perfect little shit!" Subsequently, he thrusts his flaunting stalk, crudely, with so much pent-up aggravation, into my prostate, and one of my hands return behind my head. He stares at me, inquisitively, like he used to from afar, and I find myself attempting to spit venom at him once more, "I hate—fuck—mmm!"

Despite the fact that my remarks were snatched away, he still winces at their intended poignancy, and I exploit this moment of surprise or hurt to gain influence on our positions. Regardless of how furious I am, my body craves this contact; it demands our connection, and rather than allowing him to break things short in lieu of my spiteful comments, I shove Axel into the floor mats below. The tall man is sprawled across the surface, one leg on the leather cushion of the rear seat and the other cocked against the passenger's frame. His hands, both palms level on the wall behind him, bracing him from behind. I rollover onto his silhouette, place my hands beside his, and nestle my knees next to his torso, compressing our bodies even closer together in the confined area.

After memorizing his impeccable physique, my ass sinks flawlessly over his flinching and firm manhood, slipping the length directly into the farthest depths of my insides. From the friction and incredible depth that only he can provide, my throat releases a sharp cry, my spine curls, and my hips shake and sway pornographically atop his bulk, instructing the tip of his dick to twist into my stomach, and bulge below my navel. When I proceed to ride him enthusiastically, his limbs quake and his muscles tremor from head to toe. I sprang on top of him at a blazing tempo that I had been praying for. His raspy sounds are corrupted by my own distasteful judgments about our opposing tastes, as well as my criticisms of his intimacy, which are not the true key issue of my provoked rage. The statements are a hodgepodge of petitions for Axel to simply untether himself from his idealistic obligations and feed my addiction in the way it demands. There was no point in being kind, my words are cruel and unkempt, no matter how pathetically, and lewdly, my tone was delivering them. He appears mesmerized and mystified by my tantrum, as he has all day, with his brows crimping and thick lashes flickering, my vocal insinuations are clashing with his intoxicating lust fueled expressions.

"Compared to before…mmm…you're so much better…hahh…when you fuck me…like you mean it!" With my impassioned confession, his jaw stiffens and his nostrils flare, and it is easy to see his restraint tangibly crack as his palms suddenly push off the wall and latch with the globes of my ass, hauling me up for his hips to smack viciously into my rear in vitriol. His anger and the fast jab and strain of my tight insides being filled and emptied cause my figure to shudder and bind indefinitely, while my inner tissues wince and coil in on itself. The heat in my gut constricts, and my balls tingle with a budding orgasm.

As if sensing my impending arrival, he suspends his brilliant cock's siege on my slick walls and transfers my undulating frame into the center seat of the bench. My fists slam at his chest again, fighting his overpowering will over me. I was easily pleased utilizing his dick to complete my climb into sexual fulfillment, rather than the other way around. As my anger strives to recover control in his grip, his cumbersome staff dives right into my crest of nerves, and my intentions crumble, coasting the waves of his dominance. This was the type of unchained man my lust was craving, my legs inadvertently parted wider for him, my heels clinging to the edge of the cushion, and his hands secured my wrist behind my head into the tight space below the back window to bar my attacks. His hips press and pull at a staggering rate, darting back and forth into me, and my muscles jostle from the flurry of activity. My tongue is parched due to my frantic cries and whimpering, and my chin is dowsed with saliva.

With his newfound dedication, it is difficult for my subconscious to bask in its sentimental affections for him, even if my brain knows that, come post-orgasmic glory, it will be wallowing in them again. My feet merge quickly, binding my torso and colliding with his chest. I push at his staggering weight, tossing my head side to side and shouting at him before his chaining grip breaks off of my arms, encircling my ankles. At this point, my own childish pleasure in fighting him has us both visually displaying and acting against each other. Our animosity was palpable as we wrestled over the confined area. We both engage each other, myself with my fists and words and him with his belittling gaze and profound sighs. Our limbs take turns commanding one another, selecting for a variety of fresh and different acrobatic postures in the rear seating area. Axel would modify his rhythm or coax me into a different position whenever I felt the urgency to shoot into my now-loose condom. In retaliation, whenever I felt he was about to leak into his own latex within me, my actions would devise methods to edge him from the summit, forcing him to submit to me. The atmosphere was sloppy and overheated; strong percussive noises filled the space; slick echoes rattled off the ceiling; and sensual groans and moans continued to further occlude the windows. Whenever we switched from offender to victim, we would violate the other with ever growing ardent ferocity. Further exciting the sex in the air around us, and Axel ultimately bending to my earlier claims.

His lumbering form eventually cages me in from behind, clearly identifying the most effective technique to control my rage and lock me into servitude. My pelvic bones ache against the center console, my knees throb on the abrasive aisle carpet, and my head tosses above the gear change. Axel's enormous hand clamps around the base of my neck, the grip stifling like cement, crushing me beneath him; his other palm traps my hip, his well-groomed nails digging into the flesh as his thrusts bounce dangerously against me. My hands are gripping the console, my elbows are curled underneath my sternum for stability, jabbing into my ribs, and my frail tissues shake from his fervent impact. His cock hammers into my inner depths, and my ass slaps back towards him, dedicated to his brutal torture. For only a second, he teasingly swipes his length down the messy seam of my ass, further testing my comparably puny amount of patience, only to fiercely burrow it back into the caverns of my sumptuous lining. The strain causes my muscles to spasm, and my plump package slaps along the back of the console, rubbing into the rigid, frosty plastic. His hand glides upwards along the crook of my neck and his fingers knot in the tuffs of my hair. Suddenly, he tugs on the jumbled strands, and I whimper in delight; the pull is so hard that it pricks my scalp.

"Oh fuck! Good…sooo good." My skull sags backwards, and I huskily pant like a sexed-up harlot pleading for more of his delectable cock. "More Ax, hurt me more."

"Oh yea?" He responds immediately, slamming into me and throwing me into unbridled pleasure, "I have your favorite places memorized." His grip on my hip disintegrates to caress the contours of my anatomy. His fingers graze my spine, knead the muscles behind my shoulder, tease my ribs, and cradle my firm pecs. I squeal strenuously as his fingertips resume to defile my pert nipples, curling the buds and mischievously yanking with tantalizing vigor. After another agonizing yank that bristles my flesh, the pain disappears. My lungs barely have a moment to draw in oxygen when the sharp burn of calloused skin against supple flesh jolts my nerves. "I have the power to bend you..." He begins, his admittance brusque, when another harsh smack sears into the sensitive flesh, my alabaster ass cheek blisters and my vision blurs. At each fresh plunge of his dick and rhythmic spanking, I'm howling and sobbing shamelessly. He growls into the damp fine hairs along my neck, "…And break you."

I laugh meekly, "Mhmm…ha-ha-ha—ahhn!"

He is hitting too close to home with that one statement. I've been breaking.

He rears my head back even more, his fingers roping tighter in my hair; he bends over me, and his breath fumes along the sensitive region behind my ear as he chuckles, "Still hate me?"

"Fuck!"

"Tell me, had I let you go, were you going to simply look someone else?"

"Shut…hgnn...up!"

"Because…ngnn…I was under the impression that I felt the best. Is that not…hah…what you claimed?"

His impatience is unannounced; there is no opportunity to retaliate. He painstakingly adjusts the dip of his hips, his cock's aim is superlative against my prostate, and he menacingly pounds the bulb of his penis into the knot. "There! Oh, fuck yes, right there! Yesss—oh God, fuck Axel—aghn!" My voice is chanting him plaudits, but his arrogant assumption of my inner agony for him has me seething and raring to go toe-to-toe with him once anew. My previous rage was still unvarnished, and it was even more enraged from his notions.

"You really want to give this up?" With a contemptuous sneer, he mulls.

"Hah…you cocky little—"

"Just give in to your passion." He propounds loosely against the crook of my neck, and he kisses the skin softly before assertively declaring, "Stop thinking." He releases his intense grasp on my hair, and his arm slinks around my ribcage, drawing me closer to him, attempting to muffle my reverent sounds, "Don't cry anymore. I won't let anybody hurt you, Rox."

"Hah...such...promising...falsities," my hips buck, "You really don't get it, do you?" My words are dancing on a whimper as he continues to trail moist kisses over my exposed jugular, sheathing his tremendous length into my contorting wet seams with juxtaposed grace.

"Shh," he soothes sweetly, "let me ease your tensions," before clutching my upper thigh, raising his hips higher, and thrusting his swollen shaft inside of me with bloodthirsty tenacity. His palm paints tight circles into the scorching tissue of my ass as he mumbles, "I'm not sure what's going on with you…mmm…but let me fix it."

When my vocal inflection wilts, my skull swoons into his shoulder, my gaze cast low, peering at the decaying plants adorning the church grounds. "You think...with a few nice words..." my voice falters with a frenzied pant, "...It'll all be better." My low murmur clips as another searing lance pierces my convulsing walls. My lips quivered from the emotional rupture, and I find it difficult to hide my feelings as I mistrust his intentions. My heart splits, and I bawl, so close to his ear, "I hate you." His sharp canines pierce the flesh of my shoulder as he flinches behind me. His cock grinds meticulously into my prostate, and I pour within my unkempt condom. The flimsy layer's capacity to persevere in difficult conditions outperforms mine. My insides stiffen around the prodding member within me, juicing the hard shaft of his own deserving climax as he growls low into his bite.

He sluggishly fine-tunes his jumble of clothes, while my efforts contrast with his. My distaste for the day and our current circumstances expedites the rate at which my fingertips address my own clothes. The need to escape before my thoughts continue to rip out of me has me fleeing the scene. My body carelessly creeps across his tall figure, my legs lunging over him and my arm rushes forward to grab the handle. My knees propel me through the threshold, and the biting air spurs my pyretic skin. My legs fumble out of the car, and my palms dust off the linen of my clothes, patting down creases and small debris. His steady tenor spindles my capillaries as my frame ventures out into the open air.

"Wait, Roxas." My steps have only taken me a meter away when his hypnotic tone arrests me completely. "Where are you going?"

"Anywhere away from you." My tangled portfolio of exasperated emotions convulses my throat.

"Tell me what's wrong." He cadges, his inflection mournful and unsettling—last moment I heard it this way was when we were eleven and I had duped him into believing I preferred Hayner over him.

"No."

"Please."

"Fuck, Axel!" My figure jerks around, and a strident howl erupts from my chest, "What the hell do you want from me?"

"Take it back." His arm bursts through the aperture, his fingers besieging my wrist, and he heaves my floundering frame back into the seat. "Tell me you lied." He entreats coercively, peering intently into my eyes and virtually draining all the oxygen out of my lungs. My head tosses away, out of his view, to instead glance into the horizon, while my eardrums register him reiterating his contrite appeal for reassurance. "Tell me you don't hate me."

"What's the point?" I hiss, whirling my face back into his line of sight, my molars grinding coarsely.

He blinks at me owlishly, "It just matters."

"Damnit—why does it matter, Axel?" I have to say something before I am imprisoned; sanctimoniously admiring and pining for him for the rest of time. Calling Axel out on his bullshit was the only way to gain a sense of ease, my sentiments needed to receive answers and move on. Riku may be too cowardly to fess up to Sora, but I refuse to suffer from afar the exact same way he does without digging for my own answers. I have never been a coward; to put it mildly, I am outspoken and forthright. As a consequence, the urgent need to articulate these preconceptions consumed me, my conviction adamant like twills of titanium, and the question proceeds to pour from my tongue. "Why?" My voice reduces somewhat with a plaintive note, "Tell me."

His choice to neglect my demands is demoralizing, and as a result, my limbs bolt from the vehicle again, desperate to get away from the unpleasant mood. Axel's soles crackle against the sprigs of withered weeds filching through the gaps in the tarmac when he trails closely behind me, trying to steal my serenity. My strides lengthen; my muscles are torching, and my ego is in tatters as my brain battles to discern the right and wrong approach. The antique brass bell, crowned by the crumbling steeple, barrages through the hush, the baritone gong reminding us of the hour and how shortly the assembly will stream out of the chapel. My legs have carried me just off the pavement, but his ceaseless persistence in chasing me has me promptly circling the yard's curb, my movements plainly pressurized by him. For a brief period, my attention is drawn to the sign protruding from the grass. 'When life isn't a bed of roses, consider who wore the thorns,' says the ancient brick with a mildewed plastic cover, and my larynx scoffs. My thoughts take me to an era when reality felt like a smothering field of flowers, when my parents were proud of me, I had the best of friends, and my emotions were better managed. Yet, life has recently been anything but a picturesque field of daises. Time has not been in my favor since he learned I was gay. But today it appeared time was of the essence, as they say, and we either must discuss this issue here or not at all, giving way for tortured clarity. My courage and self-respect were bolstered by this fact, and desperation to conclude this chapter swarmed my growing internal battle.

'Rip off the band aid so you can heal.'

My attention shifts to the man a few inches beyond who was unnecessarily analyzing me. As I gaze into his eyes, he offers me a sympathetic palm, "We shouldn't discuss this here. Let's move someplace else," he encourages, coaxing me with curled, stiff digits.

Instead of pacing, I lock my legs precisely opposite of him and dramatically stretch my palms wide over the yard. "Always so careful—you can't tarnish your precious reputation, can you?"

"I'm only looking for an explanation for your outburst." Axel's long limbs gingerly situate himself a few inches short of my shaking form, and his palm cautiously cuffs my shoulder, as if I were a fragile and battered piece of clay. "A little privacy isn't asking too much."

"Fuck you!" My fingers rip his hand away, and my palms connect with his chest, his sturdy stance wavering. He swiftly regains his equilibrium, and my voice blasts through the silence, "I'm not going to wait any longer. I don't want to keep pretending that this doesn't affect me!" My blows will not stop; my strength persists to hammer and ram against his strong form, propelling him onto the pavement and mistakenly directing us back to our safe refuge on the lot's perimeter. My muddled thoughts fly out at him as his spine clashes with his passenger door. "You have no idea what you've been doing to me; you have no clue how much stress this brings!"

"Calm down, Roxas; you've got this situation all twisted up that neither of us can think properly." My flurry of strikes has officially affected him, and Axel abruptly swats aside my frantically swinging fists, his face painted with deep concern.

"Oh no-no. Don't you dare speak for me!" My upper lip curls and the bridge of my nose wrinkles with disgust. "I've been thinking clearly for quite some time. And for your information, if our impulses were lighter, it would be easier to take what we have been doing in stride." My legs cornered him against the glossy black finish of his vehicle. We are face to face; my glare is eating through him, and his eyes are expansive with panic. "Trust me, I want things between us to be normal; so, don't push me to unveil what's lurking in your pretty head and make things worse."

"I don't have the heart to tell you what you want to hear." Finally, he submits to my initial question, 'Why,' but Axel's attention shifts away from my keen focus; having immersed himself on each of my broken innuendos, he attempts to draw farther away from me, as it appears that it is his turn to battle for space.

"Fucking coward. I'll ask once more." My grip wrung into the unkempt cotton of his vest, causing him to reciprocate my cold stare. "Why does it matter to you?"

As though he were a Buddhist monk undergoing a vow of silence, the man sits mute, and for the love of all that is good, his tongue best be literally tied if he intends to keep ignoring me, for my knuckles are screaming to beat him in his gorgeous face. With a deep breath I retreated, creating room for us, but in my unkempt rage, I slammed him back. While my limbs skirt in the opposite direction, my fingers rush through my twisted strands, pulling and twisting as my face soars towards the sky and my throat emits a guttural cry for the heavens. My rage is torquing and exploding throughout my vessels, and my attention whirls back at him impatiently. My pupils track his slightest movements. His quivering thigh and restless toying of his fingers. Memories of the previous months storm my psyche: Axel's jealous rants regarding Riku, demanding that my flesh be his. Axel's resolved gaze on Terra as he interrupted our chat, his palm gliding down my spine. His confession to observing Seifer violated my body that lured the redhead to succumb to nefarious sexual advances at my instruction. Above everything, my thoughts circled the warm compliments throughout our recent intimate times together. Only for my brain to redirect itself towards the more pressing matters. Such as his obstinate refusal to admit that he is homosexual, and his opposing eagerness to fuck me out of due compassion and obligation. The overwhelming number of loose memories and their linked emotions makes me suddenly want to hurl. No matter my jostled nerves, these recollections guide my determination to lash out at the collected man ahead of me.

"Dammit, Axel! You're going to make me say it?" He just stares at me blankly; his fallen stare has clouded with disinterest at some point. My hands sprout towards the sky before crashing onto my flanks, and my speech is instantaneously possessed by irrepressible laughter. Anger fueled by unkempt passion bristles my nerves, swarming every groove of my brain. "It matters so much to you," my pointer finger stabs at the air directly towards him, "because you"—said finger reverts to stabbing at my own sternum—"like me."

"I don't have feelings for you, Roxas." His shoulder blades sag into his car, suggesting obvious fatigue. Axel's jaw clenches, his lips form a closed line, and his attention dashes around the yard, homing in on the building behind me. "That's a sin."

My shoulders slump forward, my chin obscured behind the fabric of my jacket. My lips form a wistful smile, and a single tear slips out of my lid, scampering down my twitching cheek. My head snaps up, and my erratic emotions beam forth on the clueless man, who appears to have all his emotions within control. When his restrained visage strangles my words, my palms begin to rap frenetically and brutally into my breast. "Fuck! You make me feel like a Goddamned fool—why did I even bother working up all this courage to ask?"

"Listen, I commend you on your…absurd assumptions...but I have nothing more to offer you." Axel collects himself, no longer humble and perturbed, but demure once more.

Absurd? For Christ's sake!

"Did you even consider that I might be right?" My feelings are gushing like gasoline, and his words are the lone ember that fires my roaring fury and burried hurt. My steps retrace to him, putting me solidly opposite him, and my knuckles form tight, quivering fists. For a split second, his knee jumps uncomfortably before he expands his spine, puffing up his chest and looming in front like a menacing tempest. He relaxes against the car, hands in his trousers, poised and unfazed, and my bubbling promise is acute enough to shave glass. "So, you're just going to hope I'll still be here when you decide to move it or lose it?"

"I'm sorry, Roxas. I must have given you the wrong impression." Axel nestles his head into his collar and sighs, wagging it side to side, as if I were someone who needed to be let down lightly.

"Are you sure about that?" My twitchy weight sneaks closer to him, breaching his personal space, and the aroma of our coupled sweat tinges my sinuses. "You asked me if I wanted you to make love to me—who even says that?"

Frowning at my unsteady countenance, he illuminates, "It's a figure of speech."

"Oh? Explain why you told me you'd gladly welcome any task from me." Axel's phrases and deeds never coincided; he was perpetually warring my emotions, and my limbs were spinning around with wide, exaggerated gesticulations. "Better yet, explain why you think I am beautiful, incredible, addicting, seductive—perfect!" I roared at him, pummeling him with his own words using punitive enunciations.

He recoils from my reutterance, "What?"

I've gone crazy.

"'You're perfect, Rox', remember?" My head tilts to the left, while my palms clamp around my hips. "If you're still unsure, how about 'I'll make you come as much as you need' or 'I can't stop myself from having you'?" My brows arch as my skull tilts to the other shoulder, awaiting his justifications. "'I'll do it for you, but only you'," I remind him, "Ring any bells?"

"Semantics. I am doing this for you. I'm under the stipulation of aiding you in your betterment, as we both agreed."

"Fucking go figure—"

"Everything else is the enigmatic dazzle of passion. As for the compliments—it's hard not to—you are rather…effeminate…in the bedroom." His face darts away from my combative stance, and his fingers card through his hair, wafting his magnetic shower gel through the air. He sucks in a deep pull of air and imbues, "Roxas, just calm down—you're overthinking things."

My fingers clench into a stiffer fist and smash into the trunk of his car, the noise rippling through the ether and making Axel grimace. But my rage was amassing at our feet, funneling over and flooding our confined space. "You were irritated that I wanted to fuck Riku! You said I'd only want you inside me." I wail, my lids prickling with tears and my lashes furiously bat them away. His face hardens, and my nostrils flare with a deep draw before a gravelly snicker leaves my throat as I proceed to harangue him goadingly, "Fine then, explain, 'Only I can have you, Rox; this hole is mine'. Sounds like pillow talk, hm?"

"Passion pairs well with platitudes," he shrugs, "Lip service—ever heard of it?"

My face blisters, "Condescending fucker—"

"You aren't fascinated with dating or love—so, why are you so preoccupied with this?" His head settles, his eyes finally establishing a foundation with mine as he begins to verbally humiliate me with sweet and devastating statements, "You are beautiful—I'll admit it—but we agreed this was just me helping you out. And that's all there is to it." His cheeks curved and his gorgeous dimple pinched as he queried, "Are we clear now?" with a deceptive half-smile.

To hell with this bullshit.

"Fuck you, Axel!" My fingers are chafing from the cold and the sudden violent press into the cloth around his throat, but my strength is more visceral than ever as I shake him back and forth. When my arms drag his face to mine, he grunts. "Ever since we were kids, only you could make me feel this pissed off." I growl into his indifferent expression. Axel's attitude slips, his lids quiver, and my vision blurs with frenzy. My heart is screaming and howling and splitting apart in my chest as a result of his pitying stare, and my lips wobble, my lenses sear, and then my claws unexpectedly abandon him. "I hate you so much..." my voice has finally dulled; it wobbles, and I sneer at the ground, sniffling, "For always misleading me."

For making me want you.

"Think about what you're suggesting, Roxas." Axel attempts to navigate my sight, bending low to stare at my weeping face. "You don't honestly hate me; you are just dissatisfied that you are wrong."

My head jerks from left to right, and my lids lock. My emotions have gone numb, and my resolution has worn thin. "I can't believe you're that naïve; I thought you were sharper than that." My gaze is compelled to him, staring as if he were an ant, filled with icy disdain. My lips twitch, and I find myself spitting on the ground in front of his feet. "I can't fucking stand you."

His eyes are wide as he stares at the filth before his perfectly shined shoes, nonetheless, he addresses me with remarkable patience and placid tact, "It'll get easier with time. I'm learning to accept your sexuality as well as your other personal issues, and I'll always be there for you if you decide you still need me, but that's all I have to offer you."

The artery in my neck is pulsating, trying to burst through the thin layer it hides under. My skin is vibrating with murderous intent, and my feet, no longer numb, propel me away from him. And then my speed zips into hyperdrive, kicking up dust, delivering me and my burdensome loathing away from him. Axel's voice is distorted as he roars brusquely at my fading silhouette, "Roxas!"

---

Diz was not pleased with my admittance of shortcomings this week. The more that was disclosed, the less disappointed the specialist was. Yet, to my surprise, there was no mention of chastisement; instead, he applauded me on my willingness to venture outside of my comfort zone and challenge Axel about his true motivations. He was pleasantly surprised, in his words, proud—that I had the courage to object to my addiction and seek what my worries deserved. As I told him about the evening, he stared at me skeptically for a period before throwing my own argument back in my face: "And why does his answer matter to you?"

He presumably knew why, but my thinking was fraying, and I was quickly constructing my boundaries between him and my current lifestyle. In the meantime, I was unwilling to say anything, returning him with a stoic glower. I've been rebuilding my walls tirelessly, piece by piece, to alleviate my anguish and achieve some psychic and, evidently, physical distance from Axel during the last few days. The scruffy blonde eventually broke through my uneasy pause and offered to talk with my parents, offering: "I can request for Sofie to find someone more suitable for the task at hand, if this man is causing you so much distress."

My shoulders tightened in a forced shrug, and with a simple shake of my head, I rebuffed his request. That was unexpected, because my sentiments for Axel were reverting to hatred, and yet the prospect of him being substituted made my chest heavy. There were just a few months left, and with Diz's guidance and abundance of expertise, I was certain that I could effectively navigate through all this chaos. Axel chose to spend the remainder of his winter vacation at home. Since his absence, the remainder of my reprieve from classes was nothing but dreary emptiness. My thoughts were my only company throughout the course of the days. Sunday was looping over and over, muddying the crystal-clear waves of my thoughts. It was a hell of a way to begin the new year and nothing near what I had planned. My expectations for that evening centered on a late-night date with my attractive lover. But those notions vanished the moment I unleashed my big mouth.

On Thursday, my cellphone was continuously buzzing, and my attempts to remain alone were hampered by Hayner's deluge of texts. I eventually picked up the phone and called him back. After hearing my sour tone, he hurried over and pounded on my door, jarring the house. He slept soundly on my bed; his body squished against the wall that night. And we agreed this morning to spend the entire weekend together, making up for missed time. He has not yet touched me, but the concept has certainly been on his radar. We ran about the home after my parents disembarked for work, rummaging through records and old toys while eating anything we could get our mitts on. The sky had been overcast throughout the morning, but the climate was warmer than usual, so we eventually made our way to the trampoline. With him around, the ambiance became serene and vibrant. It was tricky to stay engrossed in my own personal drama in the presence of a person who would rarely shut up.

We had only just finished dinner—a pizza we purchased using the funds my parents had left us—and are now settling into the evening by playing a video game. The sun had set at four o'clock, and the temperature had dropped with it, opening the way for bounding snowflakes. The delicate patter of the freshly created storm was scratching my window, and my vision was resting above the top of Hayner's skull at the monitor affixed to the wall ahead of my bed. While our characters tussle, his wavy blonde tuffs flash and are emblazoned with a spectrum of bright palettes. His laughter is raucous, bouncing throughout the room as he lazily chats his way through the simulated skirmish. I mentioned that I was interested in finding part-time work, and we both brainstormed occupations that I would be most equipped for.

While I manage to occupy myself with my close buddy, my tummy sinks into the pillow mattress as my feet pump behind me, upsetting the springs underneath. My stomach gurgles from the aromatic odor of the fried dough discarded on the floor, but my concentration is solely glued to the screen. The controller in my grip is moist with sweat after hours of use. As the battle ends, my thumbs tinker with the joysticks as my eyes obsess on a speck of dust clinging to the border of my television. My sight wanders to the left; a banner of my favorite band is on display for me and my visitors to view, serving as a talking piece for Hayner and myself at the time. The edge was folded, the tape having outlived its usefulness after a few years, and now wobbles in sync with the ductwork. Our discourse ceased, and so did our desire to keep this game going. Hayner is silent despite a whole day of being a professional motormouth. My vision travels from the fluctuating screen to the scruff of his neck, and my figure scooches nearer; my nose sinks into his cowlick, breathing intently. His shoulders jerk, but the rest of his muscles remains inert.

My grasp liberates the controller, and my muscles stretch my tense tissues out briefly. In an instance, I drape my arms around his collar in a soul soothing embrace. He still smelled like he used to—cheap body spray and camphor. My nose nuzzles his skin, and my gut swirls. I missed him. His head rests on my temple, and I hear him drop his own controller. His fingers are stroking my cheek, sweeping my tresses, and his palm is awkwardly maneuvering my chin away. He transfers his weight so that he can address me, and my sight is driven to his flushed skin. His hazel lenses skitter nervously over my face, and my body surges into action; my nose brushes across his, and my lips sink onto his own chapped mouth. My arms enveloped his shoulder blades, dragging him closer. His tongue flicks across my bottom lip, and my jaw relaxes to allow room for him. As opposed to our steamy gasps, the main hub sounds like a dull whistling in the air. His hands are scrubbing my hair, tugging and petting me in equal measure. My tongue twirls and coasters along his, the two muscles circling and dashing against one another. When the thick appendage marks my teeth and digs into my inner lip, wheeling his unmistakable flavor across my sensory receptors, my pulse hitches. He groans in reaction to my abrupt intake, and the sound is foreign to me. The euphoric cloud I've been surfing on since he landed at my house evaporates, leaving me plummeting. My thoughts instantly retreated to Axel—his tongue, taste, scent, and noises. Hayner's current actions feel alien and unsettling, and my arms rake back, my palms grabbing his hands free from my hair.

"Wait…something doesn't feel right."

My hands, which are shaking, clutch onto his, and those stunned orbs fall to my trembling limbs. "What's wrong?"

"I think…I shouldn't succumb to sex whenever it is offered to me." My eyes avert from him, and a cold sweat percolates down the knob at the crest of my spine. Strikingly, I confess further, feeling obligated to provide Hayner with convincing grounds for my sudden change of heart. "I have been dreaming of my future—focusing on getting better. I don't want to mess it up," I gulp, "so I suppose I should just focus on Diz's advice."

"Oh?" His forehead furrows and his lips compress; his demeanor is completely dejected, and my heart feels gripped. I have seldom felt regret for hurting someone else's feelings, let alone my own, but this adorable, gentle golden retriever of a guy was not due to have his heart crushed all over again. He lowers his hands, and glances at the ceiling before exhaling and remarking, a touch too perky, "Whatever you need, Roxas."

"Actually, I could use your insight on something." His attention drops from above, and he cocks his head to one side, inquisitive. My chest releases some held air, and my anxieties about the upcoming issue make me feel insecure and wary. "I have been considering becoming a school counselor. What do you think?"

"That's a solid choice; it suits you." He nods proudly and crosses his arms into his chest. Flashing me a cheeky grin, he asks, "Is it weird to say I am proud of you?"

My snicker was unexpected, but I lamented, "No, and I haven't heard honest praise in a while."

"Well, I could be complimenting you while fucking you." My eyes roll into my brain as his brows wiggle playfully.

This boy and his one-track mind.

"You still want to?" I inquire, a bit too incredulously, to conceal my childlike shame. "Even though…"

He reverts to the end of the bed and positions his head atop the cushion, gawping up at me as he sighs, "It's difficult. But it's probably for the best that we don't."

"Because…" My glance flits to the television set, then back to his, as I can feel his heart thumping into the grains of the mattress. "…You love me?"

His focus is directed to the stucco on the ceiling, and he takes a brief breath before enlightening me, "My love for you has lessened, but those feelings will always exist. I can ignore that when we have sex now that I've moved on, but fucking you would still—"

"Feel hollow?" This round, I interrupt him, but I soon must cope with his comment. I recognized exactly how he was feeling since I had just tasted them myself, so I said quietly, "I know." We cannot return to the way things were, and the same can be said for Axel and me. And although Hayner's wounds now healed, they were too callow a sensation for me. And we could no longer be friends with benefits. I suppose it is just another lover lost, a lesson life is adamant on constantly schooling me.