Roxas is brimming with nervous tension as they slowly make their way back to Axel's room, shaking with it, hands wobbling and he knows if he tried to speak right now, if he tried to make the words come and the feelings slide out, he would lose it completely. They've been putting this off because he's nervous, he's unsure – Axel is his entire fucking world, has been since he was twelve and first noticed that hair, those eyes, the smile, the laugh, the tilt of a head, the turn out of a knee, every muscle toned and honed by ballet. He isn't certain what Axel wants of him, but knows he's inexperienced, lost, that everything is an unknown quantity – he will disappoint, he's certain, but it's not just that which is frightening. What if Axel disappoints him? Since he first knew he wanted men, he's wanted Axel, since that first glimpse of limber dancer, sweating, sipping water and laughing at a joke someone else made, he's wanted Axel to be the one to make him feel, to make him human, to dirty him up and let their passion pour a clean swathe through the depression, the misery, the lack of direction which life is full of. In bed, they will not be artistic director and dancer, they will be giddy, fragile partners in the ipas de deux/i of freedom, sex, life. What if everything he's put into this, everything he's hoped for and dreamed of, falls flat in the face of reality? He slips a hand into Axel's, gripping tightly without realising he's doing it, only loosening his hold when Axel chuckles, a low, dark sound. Roxas has been playing with fire all this time, teasing and taunting, and now he's pushed too far, just like Axel's been waiting for him to do. He's been waiting, that's what Roxas realises, that Axel could have had his pick of the dancers and the company, even, with the way he's going. Axel has been waiting for him, waiting all this time, waiting as he's grown into himself, just as Roxas has been watching Axel become a strong dancer, no longer lost in the fear of what he can do to others, or a lack of belief in himself. Neither of them is kept paralysed by their insecurity now, and so they move forward, together.
Roxas sort of expects Axel to fall upon him, like a starving man, but he steps back, taking his own hoodie off first, pulling the band off the end of his braid, unwrapping hair with one hand, letting it untangle in waves of red over his shoulders, which Roxas wants to sink his fingers into, and realises that he can, right now, if he really wants to, so he steps forwards, brushing fingernails along his lover's neck, scratching gently and listening to the resultant purr. There's something held tense between them, and Roxas thinks maybe it's just Axel's self-control, but it hasn't snapped yet, and he wants to test it.
"Maybe we should just do this, hm? Let me pet you?"
Axel groans into the hand, but rallies quicker than Roxas would have expected.
"Don't you dare. If you tease me any more, I'm going to be found in the lower quad, naked, ravishing one of the junior girls or something. Please, Rox." He turns, and Roxas can see the sincerity, the need, the desperation, and it still scares him, a little, but he remembers what they've had before, their two encounters, and then nothing but this awkward tension in the two weeks since he turned eighteen, as if Axel was waiting for a sign that he wanted it, instead of just taking the prize that Roxas secretly thought had been his for six years. He thought it would be easy – be eighteen, get laid, but it seems like Axel wants more than that, more than an easy lay and to finally get him in bed – he wants Roxas to give it up, to call him out on it, to ask. And Roxas is done with not asking.
"Let me see you." he says, stepping back, cursing himself when his voice breaks at the end of the sentence, but it is, without a doubt, what he wants. He knows what every inch of Axel is like, sees it all, everyday, in tights and leotard, sinking into stretches and rising into extension, and though he's been pressed to Axel's naked body once before, he's never really seen the full show, Axel dressed and getting ready for class by the time he woke up, and he'd stayed under the covers until Axel had gone – nervous and worried about what Axel would think of him. Now, he wants to see everything without the dance clothing in the way, wants to know what the back of Axel's knee tastes like, the side of his neck, the rise of his hipbone. He wants to know how Axel tastes in the back of his throat and feels inside him, pressing deep, so much more than the fingers when he's tried himself to imagine what it will be like.
"I want to see you." he says, again, and this time his voice is solid, sure, certain.
Axel gives him that odd, crooked half-smile he gives when he's genuinely pleased, not the grin he'll hand out easily but the one which means something true, something's genuinely tickled him, and strips off track pants and the soft split-sole shoes shoved on over blistered feet. Normally, Roxas would be enjoying Axel in just tights and leotard, but right now, that's too much, too, and the sight of those broad shoulders revealed when they've been hidden too long makes Roxas' mouth dry, and he swallows, hard, against the pale skin shining in what's left of the light streaming in through the small window. He doesn't stop himself from moving forward again, nipping at a sharp collarbone, leaving little red marks wherever his teeth press, and Axel keeps pushing the leotard down further, until it's around his waist and Roxas has all this bright skin to play with, all of this perfection, honed through dance, to lick and kiss and bite, hands roaming over Axel's back, letting his nails dig in, because he wants, so much, too much, and he has to anchor himself for a second, just to remind himself this is real, after so many nights willing this to happen. Axel lets him, for the moment, then moves him away, gingerly, and peels the tights off his legs, standing awkwardly, leaning on the dresser to get them off his feet, wincing as he gets them off his feet, which are still sore, leaving him in just the leotard and dance belt. It's not a performance leotard, which actually, Roxas is a little disappointed about, because, well – thong leotards. He makes a mental note for future reference that he wants Axel bent over in just the leotard, or maybe in the thin, gauzy women's tights he'll need for the pointe work, too thin to obscure anything, really, but now, he's pulling the leotard off, and dance belts really should not be a turn on, really – they're functional, 'nude', tight, restricting items, and yet, as Axel turns to put the leotard on his desk chair, revealing he's a traditionalist and believes in thong dance belts, they're suddenly the second most sensual thing Roxas has ever seen, close behind Axel's ass revealed to him. Axel looks over his shoulder – he's done it deliberately, of course he has – and grins.
"You want to see all of me?" he says, and it should be teasing, should be mocking and sly, but it's just breathless and raw, and they need this so much.
"All of you." Roxas replies in a whisper, and he's breathless as Axel wriggles the dance belt off, then turns, indentations at the waist where the edges have been digging in, cock raised higher than is usual from having been held in that position, full and heavy, and Roxas wants to kiss all of the marks away, lick and suck until Axel's begging, and there's absolutely nothing stopping him. He doesn't realise he's dropping to his knees until Axel's pulling him up.
"No, no… I mean, fuck, yes, Rox," and Axel's losing it, he is, Roxas can hear it, "But I want your skin on mine, right now."
Roxas is easier to undress, jeans and a t-shirt, sneakers and socks, boxer-briefs, but there's two sets on hands now, tangling, getting in each other's way, nails grazing over the backs of hands, and Axel's practically tearing the clothes off Roxas now, this is how he thought it would be, this rush to get him naked and ready, but he wasn't expecting Axel's slow revelation first, wasn't expecting how much he would need to be naked, need to touch Axel skin on skin, the way they had only done after, in awkward conversation, once before. He's brushing Axel's cock with his fingers and being led to the bed, and he doesn't think he's ever wanted anything else, thinks this might have been everything he expected when he stared at Axel dancing, puberty barely blossoming, and hungered, wanted, had to leave the room, embarrassed, because he wanted Axel, all of Axel, and there was nothing greater, nothing better. Now he has what he wants, on top of him, and the heat is unbearable, the feelings, the thoughts – it's everything he ever wanted, and it's right here, kissing him, with fingers in his hair, hands large and heavy, everywhere.
"Please." He begs, and he's not even aware he's saying it until his voice echoes in the silence previously filled only with panting breaths, "Please, I need you."
Axel bows his head for a second and Roxas can hear the harsh indraw of breath.
"Fuck, Rox, you talk like that and it'll all be over far too quickly. You want – "
"Yes." Roxas says, not even waiting for the rest of the sentence, "Yes. I want everything, now."
Axel doesn't ask for another all clear, just takes him at his word, sliding down his body to kiss him there, and there, and there, to press his lips to places only his lips have ever touched, and Roxas is spreading his legs, wanton, uncaring now, because this is the only person he's ever wanted to touch him like this, and who else gets to say that? With Axel licking at him, making him ready, it's all Roxas can do to bury one hand in that hair, the other in the sheets and try not to cry out, the walls paper-thin in the dorms, and no matter what the joke was, he doesn't want anyone to hear him. This is theirs, and theirs only, and someone listening in would spoil it, stain it, make it different. He bites his lip as Axel's tongue goes deeper, wrenching a sound from him which in turn draws a gasping breath out of the redhead. They're a feedback loop, every ounce of pleasure growing as it's passed between them, and Roxas caves, letting go of Axel's hair and rolling over, legs still wide, and looks over his shoulder at Axel.
"I need you." he says, and it's as if it's all he's ever needed to say.
The feeling's sore, tense, but welcome, when Axel finally presses into him, condom in place despite Roxas' wants to the contrary, there's nothing but a blur of sensation, it's nothing like the fingers before, nothing like trying this himself, nothing like websites and porn have made him think – it's like being home, like reminding yourself that you have a heart, that it beats for one person, one reason, like the smell of salt in the hair makes you think of the ocean – it's everything, all of this and nothing at all, one small step to what they already were. They are wound close, like one soul, split only by skin, and Roxas can't imagine ever wanting to be anywhere else.