He isn't quite sure how they came to be doing this, breath coming hard, body aching and sore, being pushed into new positions, pushed to the very limit of his strength. She's pressed against him, mouth slick with lipstick, exhaling against him, rolling her hips and pulling her shoulders back, arching into him.
"And, rest." Marluxia says, and the two of them come apart, Larxene pirouetting away to take a swig of water, remaining ien pointe/i and making a point to bend from the waist when she puts the bottle down, before she moves into second on the floor, stretching herself into the familiar cool-down movements. Axel watches her every move, and she has a half-smile on her face as she discusses, in French, her progress, with Marluxia. She speaks French easily, the way the natives do, a Gallic shrug and a wave of her hand, the toss of her head when she laughs at something Marluxia has said. She sneaks a look sideways towards him, then flicks her eyes back to their instructor, and Axel feels that look travel down his spine. Something tightens in his stomach, and then she's taking her shoes off, slipping them into her bag, and padding out of the room, arm in arm with Marluxia, leaving Axel sat in frog on the floor. Well, he thinks, pressing his knees flat and his forehead to the floor, two can play at that game.
Larxene can dance rings around him when she's concentrating, but she's too busy playing the game for now, too busy leaning into him, sharing their breath between them, and he's pushing himself as hard as he can, so he's surpassing her, just for the moment, and Marluxia's praising him, he knows, can hear it distantly, but the real sense of achievement is watching her face, the shock as he out-dances her, darting through positions almost too quickly for her to keep up, and it's a chase, now, something playful and cunning, trickery wrapped around a dark little sense of satisfaction. Her foot slips and he catches her, smug grin on his face until she turns it into a lift and he's spinning her, flinging her like she weighs nothing, setting her back down carefully as Marluxia claps and gives little exclaims of excited French. He stalks away, switching into dance pants and outdoor shoes, and leaves, looking back over his shoulder. Larxene is still in the middle of the room, where he left her, and the look on her face makes him throw his head back and laugh. He dances back through the corridors, a mix of jazz and modern and pure joy as he weaves his way through other dancers, who smile back at him. It feels right, like nothing else has.
She finally corners him after a hard session, both of them panting, out of breath, despite Marluxia telling them they can stop, giving it their all even after he walks away with a shrug, leaving them to their stylised battle, driving in hard against each other, pressing in close, until she has him against the wall and takes a second to meet his eyes before diving in for a kiss, not much shorter than he is when she's ien pointe/i, able to take control from him, although he's breathless anyway and she's the same, the two of them panting as their tongues duel just as they were doing with dance. Axel can tell that this isn't going to be a calm, settled relationship, but he wonders if any with a ballerina ever can be, with them all trained to hold so much passion in every move their bodies make. She's wobbling a little on her toes, so he slouches against the wall so she can drop back to flat feet, making an audible clack as she comes down, their lips still touching.
"I was wondering when you'd make your move." He says, grinning.
"How like you, to expect someone else to do all the work." She mutters, her accent sharpening on the harsh words. He pulls her in for another kiss, instead of listening, and lets that sharp tongue duel him in other ways.
She's a wildcat in bed, and Axel thinks he really should have suspected this, but he hadn't, not like this, not taking control, riding him, leaving him holding the headboard and panting, his limited experience with women not having prepared him for the idea that skinny, delicate, graceful women would want to give him orders and tie him down.
"Like the power, do you?" he hisses out.
"Shut up." She moans from above him, riding him a little harder, he thinks, though he's not sure what's really happening right now, because he can't really believe that this is the prima ballerina in bed with him, begging… well, okay, not begging for his cock, more like demanding it, really, but he's fine with that. She's a strong woman, of course she is, to have made it this far in a career which breaks girls not up to the task, and he doesn't mind being bossed around a little. He gets the feeling that even if he did, he wouldn't really get a say. She rolls her hips, arches and shudders, and then purrs, climbing off him.
"Um." He starts to say, and she shoots him a look, but he still gestures down his body.
"Oh, darling." The ballerina says, primly, pulling on her clothes, "We have to leave you wanting. Otherwise, where would all our chemistry be for the auditions?"
She wanders out of his room, leaving the door slightly ajar. Axel stares at the empty corridor.
"Well… fuck."