Sweet as Sin
AkuRoku, how I love it. This was written for the loverly chiiaroscuro, who is amazing and awesome and made of win. Enjoy~
It hurts. Fuck. It hurts like hell.
Axel doesn't know why. It shouldn't. Not at all. He shouldn't be feeling a gods-damned thing.
But there you have it. The world seems to delight in tormenting him like this.
Why the hell did he let the boy go, anyway? He didn't have to. It wasn't sane of him at all. It should have turned out like those other times, when he would push the blond down and make him feel a mockery slightly closer to the original deal, and the whole ordeal would overwhelm that pretty boy baby boy Roxy-boy Roxy-baby does it feel good Roxy-baby? And it did. Of course it did. Because it was feeling something. Feeling so much, and his little-boy body just couldn't take it, couldn't adjust, he'd be screaming every time with the sudden unknown sensations flooding over him, every single time, and Axel was a bit proud of that. With just a touch he could make his little Roxy-baby forget all about stupid things like that.
But that time had been different. Maybe he'd intended to let little Roxy-boy go without his drug for a while, so he'd be satisfied for weeks with the barest of touches Axel could offer him, the way it had been when they'd started, when things had been simpler and that pretty perfect boy had had so many questions they drowned the unanswerable one in sticky sap, crystallizing it beyond where anyone could ever hope to reach it. It had to be that - baby boy needed his medicine, Axel was making him see what'd happen without it.
But it had hurt. It still hurts.
And then things hadn't gone according to plan. That bastard, that utter bastard - he was afraid of his own shadow, literally - had somehow lured baby boy away to play, entangled him in an intricate web, woven from gossamer sugar-spun strings of memory that flickered and faded and cocooned him invisibly. Axel thought he'd taught his Roxy-babe not to take candy from strangers. But that little hedgewitch had wormed her way in with poisoned honey, sticky sweet flooding his precious baby boy's senses till he didn't know right from left unless he was told. They'd tamed him. Axel would never forgive them that. His little wild thing of the biting teeth and clawing nails was someone else's bitch.
Perhaps the worst part is that it's all his fault. He looks at the other boy, little baby boy who understands so much and so little, just like the one Axel let slip away to play - it seems like forever ago and yesterday - and yet so different. It doesn't help. It just reminds him of his perfect precious Roxy-baby, baby who was all his, just his. This one isn't his at all. He glares at the black cloaks in self-righteous disgust and never bothers to think of them as people. He can't. They aren't. They're beneath him. Little Roxy-baby was right on Axel's level. Then again, maybe he wasn't. Maybe he was better. Maybe that's why -
What had possessed Axel to ever let him go?
Axel watches the girl and considers his options. The one with eyes like sugared violets and a personality to match, and he thinks: he can't ever make this right. Never. So why even try?
Baby boy, come out to play.
It hurts. Fuck. It hurts like hell.
Axel doesn't know why. It shouldn't. Not at all. He shouldn't be feeling a gods-damned thing.
But there you have it. The world seems to delight in tormenting him like this.
Why the hell did he let the boy go, anyway? He didn't have to. It wasn't sane of him at all. It should have turned out like those other times, when he would push the blond down and make him feel a mockery slightly closer to the original deal, and the whole ordeal would overwhelm that pretty boy baby boy Roxy-boy Roxy-baby does it feel good Roxy-baby? And it did. Of course it did. Because it was feeling something. Feeling so much, and his little-boy body just couldn't take it, couldn't adjust, he'd be screaming every time with the sudden unknown sensations flooding over him, every single time, and Axel was a bit proud of that. With just a touch he could make his little Roxy-baby forget all about stupid things like that.
But that time had been different. Maybe he'd intended to let little Roxy-boy go without his drug for a while, so he'd be satisfied for weeks with the barest of touches Axel could offer him, the way it had been when they'd started, when things had been simpler and that pretty perfect boy had had so many questions they drowned the unanswerable one in sticky sap, crystallizing it beyond where anyone could ever hope to reach it. It had to be that - baby boy needed his medicine, Axel was making him see what'd happen without it.
But it had hurt. It still hurts.
And then things hadn't gone according to plan. That bastard, that utter bastard - he was afraid of his own shadow, literally - had somehow lured baby boy away to play, entangled him in an intricate web, woven from gossamer sugar-spun strings of memory that flickered and faded and cocooned him invisibly. Axel thought he'd taught his Roxy-babe not to take candy from strangers. But that little hedgewitch had wormed her way in with poisoned honey, sticky sweet flooding his precious baby boy's senses till he didn't know right from left unless he was told. They'd tamed him. Axel would never forgive them that. His little wild thing of the biting teeth and clawing nails was someone else's bitch.
Perhaps the worst part is that it's all his fault. He looks at the other boy, little baby boy who understands so much and so little, just like the one Axel let slip away to play - it seems like forever ago and yesterday - and yet so different. It doesn't help. It just reminds him of his perfect precious Roxy-baby, baby who was all his, just his. This one isn't his at all. He glares at the black cloaks in self-righteous disgust and never bothers to think of them as people. He can't. They aren't. They're beneath him. Little Roxy-baby was right on Axel's level. Then again, maybe he wasn't. Maybe he was better. Maybe that's why -
What had possessed Axel to ever let him go?
Axel watches the girl and considers his options. The one with eyes like sugared violets and a personality to match, and he thinks: he can't ever make this right. Never. So why even try?
Baby boy, come out to play.