literature

Looking at Yourself: Pt. 10

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Part Ten – So Far, So Good

The next few weeks seem to fly by, the two of them immersed in themselves, still shy about asking for what they want, but able to spend time together, able to see each other as people, rather than either embodiments of desire or hatred.  Summer has come upon them, suddenly, and every day is lit with sunlight, golden and pure as the boy whose hand he gets to hold.  Roxas and Naminé enjoy the sunshine; a lot of the corps de ballet never venture outside in too much heat, for fear of either sunburn, or a tan which might be counted against them in auditions, unsightly lines which couldn't be hidden by a leotard or make-up.  Now Naminé didn't need to worry about that, she and Roxas tended to spend at least an hour in the sun every day, giving them both a rich, deep tan.  Sometimes, Axel would join them, lying in a patch of shade nearby.

"Oh, come on, a tan won't ruin your glowing beauty," Naminé scoffs at him, from her place on the blanket, "A little bit of sun is good for you."
"Yeah, what are you afraid of?" Roxas adds, grinning.
"I'm a redhead.  We don't do sun well, I'm afraid.  I'll stay here, for fear of resembling a lobster in my next class." Axel says, pouting for effect.
The blonds laugh and Axel, for a moment, doesn't know which one to look at.  He keeps his eyes on Naminé, in the end, because he thought he'd never see her laugh again.  And because Roxas is beautiful all of the time, it seems to Axel, no matter what he's doing.  He's golden brown, they both are, contrasting heavily with their hair.  They are nothing but wonderful, and Axel wonders how there are people who can't see it.

A butterfly alights on Naminé's ankle, to taste the sweat there, and she giggles, carefully, so as not to dislodge it.  Axel looks at the twist of scar tissue, something which will never be beautiful again, then back up at her face, gleeful and carefree, safe now from the harsh words of the girls in classes, the smiling face that future prima ballerinas would bow to, send flowers to, and remember that she was the first person who gave them that taste for ballet, the first feeling that they could do this, that they really could achieve something in this new, terrifying, painful world.  She was, and would always be, the beautiful one of the twins, and whilst Axel feels a shred of guilt at thinking it, he knows that, in a heartbeat, Roxas would agree with him.  A ruined ankle hadn't spoiled her, at all.  Instead, it made her, if possible, more perfect than ever.

Eventually, Naminé has to go inside to teach, so she pulls herself to her feet, complaining jokingly, and heads back to the ballet school.  She pretends not to notice the way that Roxas almost immediately vacates the blanket he sat on with her, and hunkers down in the shade with Axel.
"I saw you watching her."
"She's beautiful." Axel says, and then realises that perhaps this wasn't the correct answer, "I mean, she's – "
"I know what you mean.  She is, isn't she?" Roxas watches her slender figure disappear around the side of the building, before sighing and leaning back against Axel's side.  Swiftly, there are fingers in his hair, stroking gently across his scalp.  The blond murmurs, and wriggles in a little closer, until there's no space between them.  Axel finds himself dozing lightly, and muzzily feels a kiss pressed to his cheek, then his arm is being moved.

Next thing he knows, he's woken up and is cold and yet burning all at once.  He sits up and winces, staring at bare legs.  He'd come straight from class, hadn't he, so he'd had dance pants over the practice leotard, and… someone's stolen his pants.  And he's lying in the sun, and now he's sat on it, he's aware that his ass is fairly sore.  So, either Roxas decided to bugger him in his sleep, or the cheeky bastard stole his pants and left him to the sun.  The second is more likely, especially seeing as his neck and arms feel sore, too, but he lets himself fantasise for just a moment about what might have happened if he and Roxas had been left alone for a little while longer, if they hadn't been in public, if, if, if….  It's at this point that Axel realises he's filling out his leotard a little better than usual, has no pants to put on, and is going to have to limp back to the dorms like this.  When he catches that little blond, he's going to… do something.  Ah well, Axel thinks, maybe by the time he catches him, he'll have thought of something, too.

In the end, Axel has to go to class, wincing every time he tries to plié, most of his redness hidden under tights and long sleeves, despite the temperature.  He doesn't dare make a misstep, though, because Marluxia's been known to get the stick out at the end of the day, and tap the offending parts of any dancer foolish enough to let their concentration falter.  He doesn't even want to think about how much that would hurt against his burned skin, although as it is, he's barely coping with clothes on his sensitive skin, abrasive and rough over the pinkness.  He's not exactly happy with Roxas, because, as amusing as this may seem, if he's too sore to dance, then he's not learning anything, and then he's wasting time in classes.  Still, maybe the kid didn't mean to leave him out there that long and, to be fair, it was Axel who fell asleep.  It wasn't anyone else's fault that the shade had moved, just his.  He's still not happy with it, but he considers that he can take it out on the kid with teasing, making him blush, making him reveal just how shy he really is, for all his posturing.   He's finished his last of the day when someone comes past and smacks him on the ass, right at the crease of buttock and thigh, where he's the sorest from constant movement.  He turns slightly, but Roxas sprints past him, grinning, and speeds down the corridor, dodging the ballerinas littering the halls, as the last class bell rings and more spill out, blocking Axel's view of the maddening blond, though he gives chase anyway, knocking past people, ignoring the shouts of those he barrels past, giving them no thought.  He only has eyes for the glint of blond ahead of him, those laughing eyes, that smile.

He catches Roxas by the side of the school, both of them panting, slightly out of breath, laughing, and before he knows what he's doing, he's pressing Roxas back against the bricks, gently, their eyes meeting as Roxas looks up to him, mouth slightly parted.  His tongue flicks out to lick his lips, and Axel's leaning in, too far gone to wonder if he should stop, and Roxas is stretching up, they're so close that they're almost touching, one more inch, and Axel's eyes flicker shut – and then slam open as there come sniggers from behind them and a class of young danseurs, probably, Axel reassesses, no younger than Roxas, file out and slip in through the side door of the main school.  Axel shakes his head and goes to lean back in, but Roxas has gone still in his arms and his face is shuttered, closed off, no longer open and alive.  Axel pauses, then leans a little closer, but Roxas simply flinches, chin down, and doesn't meet his eyes.
"Rox, what is it?"
Roxas doesn't say a word, just pushes Axel gently away from him and walks back into the school, heading away.  Axel is left facing a wall, without a clue as to what just happened.
This was supposed to be written to Shasta (Carrie's Song) by Vienna Teng, but was instead half written to Placebo's cover of Running Up That Hill.
As for why it's taken a turn for the worse again, well, the certain lady who prompted the whole fic was given the choice ofit going nice and ending, or turning down and carrying on, and she chose carrying on.

Short because I'm on a lot of painkillers and can barely talk, never mind write.
© 2011 - 2024 Neffectual
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ReveChanson's avatar
I'm 'pet' now? OSM :XD:

Sometimes shorter is better (shorter?...)

:iconalienplz: Hope you don't see evil things. Not sure if saying this helps, but get better soon, we all love you.