The Choice

They met through a mutual fuck, that's how Reno phrases it, with a smile, although he thinks up something a little more polite when he calls his mother to let her know he's bringing an extra for dinner this Christmas.  Axel is everything he's ever wanted; sarcastic and bright, a beam of energy and a force of nature, until he gets to bed and then he goes pliant, biddable, the best kind of submissive, the one who'll fight you every step of the way, but never enough to actually win the battle.  He's got a sharp tongue, but a smile behind it to soothe the way, to take the sting out of it.  He's sweet, that's what his mother says, grasping his wrist by the door, Axel already in the car – sweet, and good for him, and it's so nice to see him smiling, so nice to see him filling out a bit, too, eating like he should.  When he gets in the car, he kisses Axel, slow and gentle, before waving goodbye and setting off, his hand on his boyfriend's knee, like it belongs there.
"You're the first person I've ever brought home." Reno admits, and Axel's face splits into a smile which is bright enough to burn retinas, so Reno looks away, concentrating on the road.
"I'm glad." Axel says, softly, like he knows it's a delicate subject, and slides his warm hand over Axel's, squeezing for a second before letting go, tucking a loose strand of hair behind an ear, a pink blush staining his cheeks.  They don't talk, the rest of the way home.  They don't need to.

They've been together for two years, and yet still live apart, both claiming they enjoy their freedom, but secretly longing for more – at least, that's how Reno feels when he turns up at Axel's house late one night, just dropping in, using the keys he was given a few months back.  He freezes when he steps into the living room.  There's a bloodied boy in the corner, a scrap of blond hair and terrified blue eyes, and in the middle of the room, Axel, arms wide, pontificating, a snarl painted on his face.  A snarl which drops the second he sees Reno.  The other redhead doesn't try to meet the blond's eyes, doesn't try to show him that he understands, because the truth is, he doesn't have a clue, didn't have a clue – had no idea that this was happening.  His Axel, his meek, subservient little thing – mouthy, yes, but sweet and sleek in bed – has blood on his knuckles, and the blond is covered in bruises, some old, some new, showing through the blood leaking sluggishly from his head and lip.  
"This isn't – "Axel starts, and then stops, a vicious twist to his mouth, biting a little at his lower lip.
"It's exactly what it looks like." Reno says, coldly "I'd appreciate it if you gave me the courtesy of not assuming I'm stupid."  He casts his eyes over the boy, spitting up blood and coughing, like a lung has been punctured by a broken rib.  He needs medical attention, most likely, a hospital, and Axel's just stood there, blood on his hands, staring at Reno like he's the answer to this whole fucked up situation.
"A-Axel…" the kid stutters, and the other redhead doesn't even look at him, has eyes only for Reno, only for the one who stands to end everything they've been doing for the past two years.  And this is Axel, the one who clung to him after a bar brawl, the one who dragged him to bed with a wicked smirk and let him do everything he wanted, let him pin him down and struggled so beautifully, never really wanting to get loose.  He has a choice, now, seeing this, seeing those green eyes looking back at him with all the lust drained out, just cold and calculating, a glitter of menace, like a lizard.  He has a choice.

They move in together the month after, Reno's hand tight in Axel's, his smile slow and hesitant as the sunshine adds depth to that blood red hair and makes his lover look like an avenging angel, bearing down on him.  Axel never tried to explain, and Reno is glad of that, knows he wouldn't have listened, knows that any words would have just convinced him that in that second, facing that decision, he made the wrong one.  He didn't know the kid's name, didn't want to know, didn't want to know if he was as young as he looked, because all of those things would make Axel, his Axel, a monster.  Instead, he grasped Axel's hand that night and dragged him out of there,  took him back to his place where he cradled that slender frame to him and petted red hair absently, as if that would make the image fade, as if that would take the blood off those skinned knuckles.  Reno made a choice that night, and he's stuck by it, despite everything, when he walked past the bleeding, sobbing boy, and took his lover home.
"Our place." Axel says, softly, with a hint of reverence, like he never thought it was going to happen.
"Ours." Reno replies, swallowing back a lump in his throat at sharing this, at this moment coming to pass, despite, or perhaps because of, what has passed since then.
And if he holds Axel's hand a little tighter now, if he's a little more suspicious when he goes out alone, he has only himself to blame.  He made his choice that night, in that room with the blood on the carpet, and he has to live with it.

A year passes, and Axel is nothing but meek, sweet and gentle in Reno's arms, soft and kittenish when his hair is stroked.  It's as if nothing has changed, and so Reno doesn't ask mutual friends if they'd known about his lover's bit on the side, doesn't ask mutual fucks if they'd ever experienced violence from him, if they had ever been afraid of the other redhead.  Sometimes, Reno thinks he imagined it, that room, that night, the boy crying in the corner, when Axel's being a gentleman, when they lie together, hands touching, in the sunlight dappling their garden.  Axel looks frail, lonely, like he needs someone to care for him, sun bringing out golden tones in that impossible hair, and Reno's heart melts, like butter, and he curls himself into his lover's side, sliding his fingers through soft, red strands.  
"We could stay like this forever," Reno says, as gently as he can, to avoid disturbing the peace, "Just us and the sun and the grass, like nothing else would ever touch us."
And then Axel meets his eyes, and there's an understanding there, a touch of something feral and dark – and Reno knows, Reno knows for certain that night was real, that boy was real – and wonders, not for the first time, if Axel's only playing the devoted lover for him, only biding his time, waiting for the chance to strike.  Axel smiles, and that coldness is chased away, and Reno closes his eyes, not wanting to look any longer.  He made his choice.  He just wishes he could be certain it was the right one.