The other man; significant other.
Applying descriptors ate away at the ‘once upon a time,’ skinned what Axel still fetishized as good. Not good as in ‘satisfaction, quality service, cash refund,’ but good as in ‘wholesome, the giants birthed from angels, heavy clusters of black grapes on a vine.’ There’d been a point in their three-year dalliance when he saw Roxas Knight and was certain of The Immaculate Conception. But the culmination of cum, blood and tears had rectified that misread scripture with screaming matches and the crumbling of Innocence’s pillars. When they were together it was burnt bones stomped to dust in the desert to hide the murder of sweet nothings and the belief that the red string would save them; not hang from their throats like intertwined nooses.
“My place?” Axel asked and his catty stare flitted to the left, then right. He smoothly traced one boot behind the other and turned toward the door. His fingers, long and precise, caught Roxas’ shoulders and he directed him in front of him before leaning over his shoulder. “What’s at my place? You know it better than me, House Sitter.”
It was him. Him fucked until Roxas raised the dead from his chest and quite literally reveled in the wicked plumes that followed their euphoria. Sex that made his thighs sweat and teeth chatter only to be accented by the garlic scent of pizza and Roxas joking about how nicely his balls hung on Axel’s chin when he swallowed his ‘half-babies.’
And why did the love Roxas Knight?
Because no one else dared to love him back; Haagenti, Baphomet, Abaddon. Axel was a trifecta of demons and instability that no one but a special breed could love in its bloodiest form. Not that Roxas was better, and that evened their playing field, opened the doors to a slaughterhouse. Those voices that were neither ghosts nor entities blossomed behind Roxas’ eardrums and drove him into whispery fits in the darkest recesses of wherever they lived. But it was everything Roxas hated about himself that allowed Axel to feast heartily, because unbeknownst to the blond, Roxas was oh-so beautiful. Archaic beauty, prince charming; “Save me from the tallest tower, Roxas. Kill for me.” A culmination of perfection that Axel got on his knees to encourage Roxas to recognize even though Axel knew, once he did, he’d stop loving him.
Suddenly, Axel laughed and cut Roxas a knowing overlook before taking his hand and silently striding across the lobby and onto the wet sidewalk he’d just escaped from. They were a vision together; light and dark. Strong shoulders brought back and narrowed cocky stares bred through their self-aggrandizing wealth. Though Axel was taller, he didn’t outshine the intimidating nature of Roxas’ halo, and people stopped. Just for them, the world stopped and embraced the cataclysmic event that was saints and the forsaken staining sheets and squealing like pigs ready for the butcher’s block.
They turned a corner toward Axel’s Upper East Side flat, entered through the fingerprint-less rotating glass doors and made a beeline for the gleaming elevator. Axel fleetingly glanced over his shoulder to ensure no one would follow, and he gripped Roxas’ forearms.
There was a divine tug between the two men’s chests that Axel failed to conceptualize, but he smiled with a wolfish gleam of canines as the stainless steel doors shut. “Do you love me?” He asked tauntingly, knowing the answer, but yet still doubting it. “Tell me.”
Love was asking to be strung up and bled out in the claw foot tub. Stringy abdominals opened like books with its contents drained and clogging pipes. When he was with Roxas he circled the drain and thought about eating the heels of his palms. Visions of biting into the pulpy flesh and screaming, ‘This is love! Pluck the skin from my fucking ribs and suck the marrow because this -- this is love.” But he didn’t scream. He waited and hummed along with an eye roll due to repetitive nature of the elevator music he heard every morning, night and always.
germansingergirl
turnnoffyourmind
titsay
yousharknotpass
gummygunk
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stormborns
