At some point, somehow, they had slept together. Saix didn't remember how or why.
The moon had been full and thundered in his blood and dizzied his mind, made him feel drunk on the very air. The world glowed in his eyes, as though he could see the very particles of his element adrift in the air; it smelled sweet, rich and thick. He did not become drunk on it; Saix did not drink, and those times he remembered another man drinking were a sickly, nauseous sort of intoxication. This was pure, fulfilling, enriching.
He didn't remember the conversation: only that Axel was there, with an infuriating smirk, lips moving and no sounds registering. He snarled something in response and Axel laughed.
The whole night was like that, a collection of images and impressions. Pale skin shining in the surreal light, spilled red hair so intense that it was the only color unstained by the risen moon. Heat, his very veins and flesh burning in the cool air, and laughter. Always the laughter.
Then in the morning Saix woke naked on the floor. There were lingering smears of blood on the floor and shattered memories of passion. And in the morning Axel smirked at him, laughing behind glittering eyes, and there was no change; no respect, no discomfort, not even shame.
It was as though nothing had happened, except that Saix remembered it in infuriating bits and pieces.
It drove him wild.
He cornered Axel finally, grim. "What was the point of that?" he hissed.
Axel's eyes widened, all innocence. "The point of what?"
"You know full well what!" Saix hissed. "The point of last night and everything you have done since."
"Last night?" A thin smile matched the laughter hidden behind his eyes. "What exactly happened last night?"
These games again; Saix shook him, hard, until his head jerked on his skinny neck. "We had sex," he hissed, "and I want to know what was the point."
He knew that he wouldn't get an answer, he could see it in the way Axel delighted in his frustration, in the way the redhead said elaborately, "Sex? With you? Why would I have done something like that?"
Saix slammed him into the wall, snarling, but this rage-- it only played into his game, only pleased the sly bastard further. He forced himself to step back, to hiss, "Enjoy your games. They're all you have left without your dignity."
But in the end it was Axel laughing at his back, bringing to mind broken half-recalled memories of that single night. They teased at his mind, haunted him with something he hadn't wanted, hadn't asked for, and now could never get back.
Saix/Axel: "An Inspired Madness"
The moon had been full and thundered in his blood and dizzied his mind, made him feel drunk on the very air. The world glowed in his eyes, as though he could see the very particles of his element adrift in the air; it smelled sweet, rich and thick. He did not become drunk on it; Saix did not drink, and those times he remembered another man drinking were a sickly, nauseous sort of intoxication. This was pure, fulfilling, enriching.
He didn't remember the conversation: only that Axel was there, with an infuriating smirk, lips moving and no sounds registering. He snarled something in response and Axel laughed.
The whole night was like that, a collection of images and impressions. Pale skin shining in the surreal light, spilled red hair so intense that it was the only color unstained by the risen moon. Heat, his very veins and flesh burning in the cool air, and laughter. Always the laughter.
Then in the morning Saix woke naked on the floor. There were lingering smears of blood on the floor and shattered memories of passion. And in the morning Axel smirked at him, laughing behind glittering eyes, and there was no change; no respect, no discomfort, not even shame.
It was as though nothing had happened, except that Saix remembered it in infuriating bits and pieces.
It drove him wild.
He cornered Axel finally, grim. "What was the point of that?" he hissed.
Axel's eyes widened, all innocence. "The point of what?"
"You know full well what!" Saix hissed. "The point of last night and everything you have done since."
"Last night?" A thin smile matched the laughter hidden behind his eyes. "What exactly happened last night?"
These games again; Saix shook him, hard, until his head jerked on his skinny neck. "We had sex," he hissed, "and I want to know what was the point."
He knew that he wouldn't get an answer, he could see it in the way Axel delighted in his frustration, in the way the redhead said elaborately, "Sex? With you? Why would I have done something like that?"
Saix slammed him into the wall, snarling, but this rage-- it only played into his game, only pleased the sly bastard further. He forced himself to step back, to hiss, "Enjoy your games. They're all you have left without your dignity."
But in the end it was Axel laughing at his back, bringing to mind broken half-recalled memories of that single night. They teased at his mind, haunted him with something he hadn't wanted, hadn't asked for, and now could never get back.