Harlem Sunset

"It'll be simple," Axel'd said. "We get a slant, bump off a few of them trouble boys, then hightail it home. Easy, yeah?"

Easy, Roxas scowled, if by easy you mean 'easily the worst fucking disaster this month' Axel.

The sky was full of smoke. Bullets cracked and pinged, ricocheting off nearby brick and bins and the beat-up Tin Lizzie Roxas had ducked behind. Glass shattered and he cussed, prayed and prayed there was a God he could curse for this, so that when he went up there to meet him (briefly, as Roxas did not consider his life the sort that got you a ticket to Heaven) he could bend him over and stick a revolver up his—

"Ass!" He roared, ducking lower as another bullet shot through the car behind him dangerously close to his head. "Axel!"

He turned to glare at the redhead. The flaming nancy was sitting comfortably with a building between his back and the bullets, the grin on his face insufferable. It was almost worse than his eyes—like absinthe, he thought, or a particularly obnoxious cat.

Another bullet, another hissed, "Fuck!" Axel's chuckle was the last thing he needed, but the redhead seemed happy to laugh from his position of (relative) safety. Roxas would have loved nothing more than to leap over and strangle him, but the gap between his current cover and the alleyway was enough that he was certain he'd end up shot full of daylight if he tried.

"View doesn't look so good from there, does it?"

"Oh close your head Axel!"

Another laugh. "No need to get sore with me baby. I was just about to offer you a holiday, if you'd like one, "Axel said, and twirled his tommy gun—reckless idiot. "Figured you'd appreciate a change of location?"

"How much of a chump d'ya think it makes me, putting my life in the hands of a grifter?"

"I'll always pull through for you babe." A wink. Of course. Roxas rolled his eyes.

"Cover me then. You know better than anyone I'm not much into Lizzies, even if they're made of tin, and I'd much rather not die in the arms of one." He gave the car a swift pat; as much to ease his nerves as to abate any superstitious notions that the car might take offense and decide now was the time to abandon him to his fate.

His very holey fate.

For just a moment all he could think about was guns, and how much he really didn't want to end his life just another stiff in the streets, one who'd run afoul of the hoods and the highbinders and hadn't been quick enough on the getaway.

Then there was Axel, eyes all absinthe. "Trust me?" He said.

"Not a chance," he said.

But when Axel started shooting he leapt anyway.

He rolled on the concrete, past Axel and into an assortment of dustbins. The scream of bullets kept on for a good ten seconds before they stopped. It was enough time for Roxas to jump up into a crouch, revolver in hand.

"Hit any of 'em?"

"One, but there's another four still hanging about. Think I did my job though." That grin again. "How're you liking the new view?"

Roxas let his eyes flick up, then down, then up again. Long legs and slim hips trapped in tight trousers, double-breasted vest beneath a single-breasted jacket, sleeves rolled up to reveal arms as skinny as his waist. Slicked-back red hair, still wild. The powder that hid his tattoos had melted away, sweat catching on his temples, by his eyes, trailing down, down...

"It'll do, but I'd rather appreciate it somewhere less likely to get us both killed." He glanced back, cocked his head.

"So you'll definitely be 'appreciating' later?"

Roxas snorted. "If you're lucky, which you might not be even if we get out of this." He grinned, made sure Axel saw all his teeth. "It's been a bitch of a day."

Axel laughed.

There really wasn't time for any more than that, gunfire starting up again. Roxas took the lead, racked his brains for the layout of the streets. Maps he'd laid out on their dingy kitchen table flitted through his mind; this alley, that street, watch out for the eatery and the bookstore and the tailor.

An afternoon in enemy gang territory was about the last way Roxas had wanted to spend his Tuesday, but that was Saïx for you. You can tell no one's sent him out to the stoolies in a good decade.

It should've been routine though. No matter how much Roxas badgered him about it, Axel was good at his job. A swindle here, a grift there, and a knack for getting people to spill what they shouldn't. It was hard to take such a blatant nancy seriously, though Roxas was glad he'd decided not to try passing himself off as a chippy this time.

They were in the Malefico family's territory, but they had good reason to be. None of the stool pigeons had been by in a month. That was a long time to be without real insider information. Too long a time, the boss had decided. Not when three of their shipments had gone missing and Saïx was running out of booze to put in his moonshine.

"Do not fail us," he'd said, looking like someone'd tipped Xigbar's piss-gin in his giggle water. Which might've been true, all things considered. They were running low enough that even the Organization's private stock was in peril. That said, it had definitely been someone else who'd tipped it in, because Saïx would never touch Xigbar's piss-gin knowingly, not even with a ten foot pole.

Bit of a daisy for such a goon.

The task had been theirs—Roxas, Axel, and Xion's. Xion would be off on her own. In Larxene's words, there're places the molls and dolls can go that not even a cake-eating fairy like you could get into, and Xion could pose as the perfect flapper kitten.

They'd parted ways with the promise to reunite at the Clocktower speakeasy in town to celebrate over a glass of the sweetest, saltiest moonshine around.

So boys and girl had gone their own way, work to be done.

The first step hadn't actually been a problem. The Malefico's had plenty of drums and dives where the less scrupulous members of the gang dipped the bill and hit the pipe. The girls that sung there were no canaries, dangerous chippies with chivs up their tiny skirts, but as much fun as Axel seemed to have in their company (more than a nancy should, but maybe hoofers with knives strapped to their legs were easier for him to relate to than the male hoods they found there—and if that were true, maybe Roxas could admit he felt the same sometimes) they were there for the boozehounds.

That had always been the most dangerous part. Roxas didn't have the charm Axel did, wasn't well-suited to conversation. As much as Saïx disliked him—and disliked putting him to work in such an inefficient way—he also knew that Axel alone in this part of town was as bad an idea as throwing a fit in front of Donna Malefico. It wasn't that he was likely to get swindled by the sorts you found in the dingier downtown speakeasies, but that he got too into the games he played there.

It wasn't something Axel liked to admit. He had a good head on his shoulders, and a heart small enough to survive in the underground world they lived in. Or a heart he pretends is small enough anyway. But what it came down to in the end was the addiction. Axel's job was to swindle and run, bump off the hoods and the heat alike.

But in a world where he was meant to be shadow, all he'd ever wanted to be was light. And if left alone he'd spend the evening cementing himself in the memories of anyone who looked his way, a flaming youth with a handful of cards and a fire-breathing trump.

But with Roxas looking over his shoulder on the this job he'd behaved, small mercies, and the boozehounds had spilled the truth without the need of a Mickey Finn and a few smacks from Lexaeus's nightstick back home.

The story was this; the pigeons had flown the nest. Two had been blipped off and the others had cheesed it. The parties responsible for the blipping were celebrating up at the Bastion, mid-ranking trouble boys drinking to a 'victory' over the Organization with their share of three shipments of stolen booze.

They should've gone home then, but Axel—Axel figured a quick nap in the rooms upstairs and they could have a little talking to the trouble boys in the morning. "No sense heading home. Saïx wanted the job done, didn't he? So we'll do it. It'll be simple. We get a slant, bump off a few of them trouble boys, then hightail it home. Easy, yeah?"

As it turned out, no.

Part of Roxas wished they'd called Xion in. As charming as the rest of the fairies at the Hamilton Lodge found him and Axel, a woman's presence got the looser sort of man spilling his goods everywhere—metaphorically, but also (unfortunately) literally.

But they'd had no way of getting in contact with her and by the time the sun had come up Axel had talked him round to his point of view. Maybe I'm the nancy fool though, cause I don't seem to remember all that much talk for the amount of work his mouth was putting in 'convincing' me.

Well, it'd been what it'd been, and he'd decided that Axel's nonsense plan made perfect sense. And it sort of did, in its way. Improvised work wasn't anything they hadn't done before; whether they were having a reckless day on the town, or Xemnas needed a job seen to, quick and dirty. They'd done it plenty of times.

It should've been fine (even if it were imbecilic). They'd got a good look, the Bastion itself looking worse for wear despite the healthy mid-morning din going on inside.

"Real ball they've got going on in there. Think they've got room for a couple of cake-eaters?"

"Speak for yourself. I'm not the one who flirts with my tailor to get my trousers that two inches tighter."

The inside of the Bastion wasn't much better than the outside. All the canaries up on stage looked like they'd rather be anywhere but there, bedecked in ice and oyster fruit and tarted up in powder and rouge. Hoods and their gun molls were swaggering about, the Organization's missing shipments being shared without a care for if the coppers came by.

It could've gone well. Could've, would've, should've. Didn't.

Roxas hadn't done anything wrong. The crowd had been too drunk to care about his revolver, or even Axel's more obvious tommy. He'd minded his business, bought a drink, laughed when the Bastion's resident boob made a fool of himself. Counted the heads, twenty, and decided he wanted to live another day.

Too many, Axel. Too many for a revolver or a tommy, too many for two.

If he could get 'em out back one by one, he could treat them all to a Harlem sunset, but like this?

But Axel had got himself tangled up in the party. Roxas was sure a few of the drunker sots had mistaken him for a rather tall, flamboyant woman, not helped by the fact he'd glaumed one of the canaries' big feather boas when the shadows and smoke had been thickest.

It was harder for Roxas. He simply didn't have the serpent's tongue Axel did. Among friends that was a blessing, but when among enemies with the redhead knee-deep in their beeswax, Roxas considered it a recipe for disaster.

Axel had ignored the looks he sent his way. Roxas couldn't blame him, because he'd got them talking. The hoods—all drowned in giggle water and gowed-up—let everything spill. What they'd done to their pigeons, how they'd treated the first two they caught, and then a couple of the ones who'd tried to get away. They seemed especially eager to talk about what they'd done to the one they'd discovered was a sissy boy. And then one of the blabber-mouthed Malefico gits dropped his drink down Axel's front.

Roxas thought Axel was more merciful than he'd had to be. He hadn't had to stab the man he'd set on fire after all.

What followed was a lot more bullets than Roxas really wanted for brunch, and him very narrowly avoiding singeing his jacket.  After that, the city streets and a Tin Lizzie, and—

Well, he wasn't going to be listening to any of Axel's plans for a while.

They pounded the ground, ducking behind cars as they made their way down another endless avenue. Roxas had the place mapped out in his head, but there were still too many bends, corners, dead ends. Too many second story windows with their shutters open.

Bad news.

Roxas huffed, caught a glint of sunlight off something in an alley across the street, three buildings down, and grabbed Axel. Axel's "Hell!" was drowned out by a bang, smoke rising where the bullet had connected with the brick behind them.

Just a few inches from where Axel's head had been.

They hit the ground with a grunt, Axel all splutters. No time to look back and see if there was even a lick of embarrassment or fear on his face now. No time for anything except scrambling to their feet and booking it.

He hadn't even realized he'd grabbed Axel again when he ducked into the nearest alley, though he felt skin and fabric where it had come loose from his rolled sleeves. Sweat, a little blood from a scrape —could've been from Roxas's hand or Axel's, he didn't know. No time to think about it.

Two more bangs from the street behind them. The clatter of crates and dustbins and other refuse left in the alley, stacked around doors. A hissing stray cat that went screaming past. Roxas could hear footsteps gaining, but only from behind.

Right?

"Roxas!"

The shout was punctuated by his body slamming into a wall, a bang from the front. Shit. But of course, this was enemy territory. Why would they need to run after them when they knew the buildings, the streets, the layout. He'd noticed the windows, hadn't he? Why had he thought it'd only be one street.

Because they nearly hit Axel. I didn't care what was in front of me, just that I couldn't leave him behind.

But this time Axel had protected him. Roxas's whole body shook.

"Axel?"

"Missed. Guess they're regretting drinking all our sweet, salty giggle water right about now." His voice was light, though labored by running, fear, exhilaration. Roxas slid his hands up his back, just for a second, just to feel there was no blood, no hole, no wound. Nothing.

"Wanna try a door?" Roxas asked.

"Are you inviting me inside sir?" Axel quirked a brow.

"Maybe later if you're lucky, when I'm done appreciating the view."

Roxas shoved Axel across the way, ducked two more bullets, and pushed a door open—not locked, small blessings. The houses here were made for this; mad chases at midday, bullets behind, bullets in front.

For one brief, heart-pounding moment he thought, I'm made for this. And then he realized all his earlier anger was gone. He realized, without meaning too, that his smile mirrored Axel's wide grin.

Did his eyes glitter as madly as Axel's too?

"Run," he said.

They ran.

The Malefico's didn't make it easy. Bullets chased them through the walls—almost kept them from noticing the moonshine kept in dry wood crates, half-hidden under old linens. Not your average storehouse. Maybe that was the point—or maybe the Donna's goons had gotten lazy putting them away.

They were nearly caught at one point, before they smashed down the windows on the other side of the house, leapt through—lacerations narrowly avoided. The only bleeding I'll be today's a bleeding fool for doing this.

He ripped Axel's tinderbox from his pocket and set the house on fire. Bad idea? Probably.

But Axel laughed and they charged on.

They made it to the edge of Malefico territory not long later, three more suspicious houses set ablaze. There were shouts and screams and the sound of coppers on the beat. Signs of a good day's work.

Their stop was beyond it all though, just inside their own turf. Still too close to the other gang to get comfortable, but safe enough to catch a breath. They stood, side-by-side, back to the brick wall of another alley, eyes on the rickety stairs up the safe house apartment, and breathed.

Roxas's heart rattled in his rib cage, a bird trying to fly away. His throat rasped, and he was pretty sure if he had a penny for every scrape and cut and nick he'd got, he'd be able to bribe the coppers off their backs for a lifetime. His shirt was torn in at least two places, he smelled like sweat and smoke, and his entire body was shaking.

He looked right, only to find Axel staring down at him. He was in the same state, his wild hair drooping, ends of his jacket burnt so badly they'd just have to throw it away. Split lip. Roxas's eyes followed his tongue as it darted out, licked the blood away.

The force of Axel's kiss had him up against the wall. Hands in his hair, on his shoulders, then down around his back. Roxas had one up in red hair and the other clutching the small of his back. He let Axel push him back, felt brick catch on his shirt, teeth catch on his lip and tug.

It was all tongue then, moans and heat. One leg hitched up, pulled Axel in so he could grind against him, feel how hard he was in his pants. Hips rolled, ground together, and Roxas pulled him closer, kissed him deeper, his entire body begging, pleading with him to just fuck, get fucked, fuck Axel.

"Inside," he managed, pulling away before Axel's heat drew him back in.

"Is that where we're going or where you're coming?"

He laughed into their kiss, let his head slide down so he could plant shaky kisses on Axel's neck. "Both."

Their ascent up the stairs was clumsy at best. Roxas was glad this was a lower class neighborhood, that the dope fiends across the street were too busy lighting themselves up with stolen opium and the dummerers had better things to do than care what a couple of nancy boys got up to in their spare time. He was glad, because he couldn't even keep his hands to himself when he fumbled the lock and Axel's ass all at once.

The little apartment wasn't much. A bathroom off to one side, the main room a combination of sad kitchen, sad dining room, and sad lounge all at once. There was a bed in the back room—Roxas didn't think they could make it.

He had a hand in Axel's pants, fingers running over his cock. Coarse hair at the base, wet at the tip, soft skin, and burning hot to touch. Almost he wanted it in him. But he wanted a go more, wanted to bend Axel over and leave him screaming senseless on the table.

"Roxas, please," Axel breathed, groaned when Roxas finally managed to get his pants down. "Please." And well, maybe Roxas could have his cock in him. He wet his lips, swollen, and knelt.

A skitter from under the table.

"Ah!"

He fell back on his hands, hissing as scraped skin met the hardwood floor. The rat, apparently just as startled, fled across the room and out a tiny hole in the wall, leaving Roxas with a frantic, pantless Axel and a blush on his face that had nothing to do with any of the barneymugging that'd been going on.

"W-what happened?" Axel asked.

"Rat."

"Rat?"

Roxas nodded.

There was a brief silence. Roxas wished it had lasted longer all things considered, because Axel's response was to burst out laughing, pants still down around his ankles and dick already halfway to soft. He rose with a huff, dusting off his trousers, hissing when the fabric brushed up against the scrape on his hands.

"It's just like that time with Xigbar down at the Arabian, when we were in the back room—"

"I don't need to remember," Roxas winced. Still, memories flashed through his mind, all quite lovely. An entire evening of Xigbar somehow managing to show up in the middle of every attempted kiss and touch, his ratty face peeking through gauze curtains and peering up from under tables. "Did he ever tell you why he was under there?"

Axel shook his head, pants up but still unbuttoned. "No, and I've never been able to get him drunk enough to find out."

"Well if you can't do it I've got no chance." He sighed, stood back to take Axel in. His cheeks were still flushed, hair frazzled. There was nothing else he could have been doing, save all the sins known to man. Always a good look on him.

"So what?" Axel asked, leaning back on the table, "No more appreciating the view?"

"I think I'd like to," Roxas said, wincing as he caught a whiff of himself. "But since Xigbar's own animal self came running through I'm thinking it might be an idea to clean up first. You think Saïx pays the people around here enough to keep the bathroom stocked?"

"Demyx owns these streets actually. I can never tell if he's a lackadaisy or a genius, but the folks around here like him."

"I've heard Saïx tell him off for spending too much."

Axel just grinned, headed over to the bathroom and peered inside. He let out a whistle, sound echoing against the walls. "Well I'm not complaining. 'sides, Demyx having one of the edge territories is probably a good idea. He keeps things other than the bathroom well stocked, such as—" and Axel trailed over to the kitchen, kicked open a cupboard, and retrieved a magazine appropriate for his Thompson submachine, "—and that's saved my life a few times."

Axel went and washed up first. Roxas wandered to the window, kept an eye out. Up here he could see back into the Malefico territory. With his gun in his lap and his eye on the streets, he waited, listening to Axel sing while he washed.

"Trouble, trouble, I've had it all my days
Trouble, trouble, I've had it all my days;
It seems like trouble going to follow me to my grave..."

His lips quirked. He wondered if the others knew, even Saïx or Xion, just how sad the blues sounded when it was Axel singing them. You'd never guess it was him if you didn't already know it. But Roxas didn't need to guess. Never had to. How did I always know he'd sing so sadly?

Roxas didn't have an answer.

The soft patter of rains started outside, though the skies were more glaring overcast than dark.

"If I go to church on Sunday
Then just shimmy down on Monday
Ain't nobody's bizness if I do, if I do..."

Roxas rose. Axel didn't usually take more than two songs to wash when Roxas had to have a turn too. If he went last the fairy in him came out to play, and Roxas would come back an hour later to find him still preening and fussing, but he was well-behaved when he went first.

They passed each other at the door, a brief brush of lips.

"The Downhearted Blues?" Roxas asked.

"Not like your bright-hearted ones," Axel murmured. He was all grins, but Axel's green eyes were more glass than glitter. Roxas bit his lip.

"Is what they said back at the Bastion still bothering you? About what they did to our pigeons, especially..." The sissy boy.

"Tain't your bizness if it do," Axel sung, and Roxas sighed, not quite willing to hold him when he was squeaky clean and Roxas was still filthy.

"We'll show 'em Axel. Get Xion in, make them wish that mess back there was the last of it." He leant up, pressed a kiss to Axel's chin. "And it is my business if something bothers you." Another kiss. "It bothers me too, but we'll give 'em Hell and then we'll feel better yeah?"

And there was the glitter. Roxas's heart started thundering again. It matched the light drum of rain outside, not quite heavy yet, but getting there.

Everything he needed was in the bathroom. A second pitcher of water had been left, tub and scrub brush at the ready. It wasn't warm but he didn't need it to be, rubbing himself over with soap and lather, scrubbing it through his hair, over his chest, his arms. By the end of it he smelled, if not like daises, at least a little better than smoke and blood.

He wrapped up the scrapes that needed tending and, taking a moment to think of Axel in this bathroom only maybe five minutes before, wrapped his hand around his cock.

A sigh escaped him. Fingers ran over the head, rubbed just under it, up and down, grip tight. Heat pooled back in his stomach, the steady beat of his heart kicking up that bit more. An image of Axel came to mind, bare, with his legs propped up and parted and—damn, he had good legs.

Roxas let go with a grunt. Wait. It was hard when he was hard, but the last thing he wanted to do was take himself over the edge. The good stuff was waiting for him just outside the bathroom after all.

He shrugged on his shirt and pants, slipt out the bathroom door and—

Axel was leaning up against the table, head turned to the window. In that moment he was ethereal, vest and jacket discarded, shirt unbuttoned and hanging off his shoulders. His pants were still on, tight on long legs crossed at the ankle. His face was limned in the overcast daylight, shadows from the clouds and smoke painting his features. The gentle touch of rain set the mood.

His hair and eyes seemed brighter, his cheeks red, and all cosmetic had been washed away so that twin tattoos stood out against his natural blush.

Maybe it was the pensive look on his face. Soft, distant, an Axel few people got to see. Sometimes when Roxas woke up in the morning he was there in bed, or sitting at the window, and all the madness of the world seemed like nothing compared to his beauty.

Then Axel turned and grinned, salacious and wild. One of his hands came up off the table, twirled a half empty bottle of oil. "Glad to see you didn't waste any time. Demyx really does keep this place well-stocked."

All the adrenaline from their flight came back, pent up and denied and desperate for the man on the table. Roxas crossed the room, caught his face in both his hands and kissed him, all tongues and fire. Axel gasped, grabbed the back of his shirt and moaned.

It was amazing, really, how absolutely mad Axel drove him. The whole of society could tell him he wasn't suppose to stick his hand in the fire, but Roxas wanted to get burnt if it meant being with him. He wanted the way he gasped, the way he pressed his hips up and squirmed as Roxas pushed down and ground against him.

He wanted that look in his eyes, all bright green and blown black. He wanted to watch it disappear as Axel closed his eyes, couldn't take the friction as their cocks pressed against each other, still trapped in their pants.

Roxas spun Axel round and had him face first on the table, one hand round his front ripping open his pants. He thought the button might've come off. He didn't care. The trousers slid down, caught round his ankles, were kicked off desperately as Axel presented himself. Roxas grabbed one of his cheeks, spread it to see the tell tale wetness of oil.

"Axel," he groaned, tugging his own pants free. "You really did get busy while I was gone huh?"

"Wanted you," Axel breathed, shifting so he could look to the side. His cheeks were pink, lips quirked in a softer version of his usual smile. "Said you were going to appreciate the view, didn't you?"

Roxas looked at him, spread out on the table. His head resting in his arms, chest heaving, hips tilted up, legs apart. Waiting, inviting, whole body shuddering when Roxas squeezed his ass, pressed a thumb against his rim.

"Yeah," he breathed. "It's beautiful."

He bent over Axel's back and pressed a kiss to his neck, felt him tremble. He ran his hands down his body, dipped under the shirt—all Axel had on—caressed his hips, his thighs. Every shiver made Roxas's cock twitch, pressed between the cheeks of Axel's ass.

"It's beautiful," he repeated, "but I'd like to come inside now. May I?"

Axel laughed, choked back a moan when Roxas pressed the head of his cock against his hole. "Yes. God yes, please."

Roxas pushed in, hissed as he felt Axel clamp tight around him. He was so hot inside, so wet and soft and Hell, Roxas just wanted to take him and pound him right into the table. All the fear, all the pain, all the anger from when they'd first come in fucked into the body beneath him.

But that would've just been another disaster. They had places to be; a reunion with Xion, and revenge on the bastards who'd hurt their people. Axel couldn't be hobbling about on the job, and even if he liked it rough, maybe he deserved something slow today, something soft.

Maybe Roxas had to appreciate that accursed rat. It'd slowed him down enough to think.

Hips met ass, Roxas deep as he could go. For a moment he just stayed there, still, fingers thumbing over the ink on Axel's cheeks. Keeps me from crying when it'd do me no good.

"Hey," he said.

"Yeah babe?" Axel breathed.

He pressed a kiss to his back. "Hmm, doesn't matter."

A low chuckle ran through Axel's body, vibrated against Roxas's lips. "Alright then. I think I get it."

Roxas shifted, moved back so he could grab Axel's hips. Slow to start, he slid out then back in, gentle thrusts that teased Axel, left him writhing and needy. No matter how he tried though Roxas wouldn't let him push back, made sure he knew who was in charge.

Axel loathed to follow orders if they did him no good. But orders he liked? Well unless he's feeling contrary...

But he wasn't. He was so good as Roxas sped up, thrust in faster, slap of skin against skin drowning out rain on tin and brick and wood. His fingers scrabbled against the table, slipt into his hair as he groaned. He rolled his hips back when Roxas let him.

Axel was only submissive sometimes, when the heat of the moment was snuffed and all he had left was skies full of rain. Roxas always felt warm inside when he realized how few—if any—other people had ever been allowed to see Axel like that, like this.

Roxas bent forward again, fucking deeper. Axel was making little moans now, whimpers that meant Roxas was hitting him just right inside. He slowed, slid deep, made sure to rub against his walls, so sweet and tight. Axel hissed, whined, managed a weak, "C'mon Roxas," which only made Roxas want to slow down even more.

But he didn't. He grabbed one of Axel's legs and bent it at the knee, pressed it into the table so he could push himself deeper, faster, harder. Axel practically bobbed on his cock, every thrust met now that Roxas let him move, begging and pleading, "Roxas please, please Roxas—damn it, fuck—fuck!"

Roxas grabbed both his arms and pulled them back, Axel whimpering at the loss of control. His whole body belonged to Roxas and Roxas wasn't going to stop, cock sliding in and out, throbbing when Axel clenched around him with a final cry.

Axel came. The image of it seared into his mind; the way Axel's lips parted, his breath catching on Roxas's name, his cheeks red, hair clinging to his face, eyes squeezed shut as his whole body shook. He squeezed around Roxas, just enough to bring him to completion too. Heat spread through him, made him tremble and gasp. He slid out halfway through his orgasm, left as much come on Axel's back and thighs as he did inside him. Then he slumped forward, panting.

For a moment they just breathed, Roxas resting his head against Axel's back, shifting so they could twine their fingers together.

"Didn't quite come inside," Axel murmured.

"Shush," Roxas laughed, smiled, heart warm. "Things are always easier to clean up outside."

"How considerate."

"Glad you've noticed."

A laugh. "Hey Roxas?"

"Yes Axel?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For helping me clean up my messes. For being there with me through my disasters."

"Your disasters are my disasters," Roxas said, and meant it, no matter how much it drove him up the wall some days. "But you know what?"

"What?"

"We have our little reunion with Xion and we can make them her disasters too!"

Another laugh, and then Axel rolled over and kissed him.

Clean up didn't take too long. They moved to the bed when they were done, plans just as easily made on a mattress as they were at a table. And maybe it's nice to be close too. It wasn't often they had time to themselves after all. The Organization didn't care too much about the preferences and inclinations of its members, but they were expected to work when they were told too, and for all they liked a little risk the truth was neither of them liked to kiss or fuck for an audience.

Maybe if the world were a different place...but as it were, they still had trouble dancing around the others. It wasn't like they were all guaranteed to be 'ordinary' folk. Neither Roxas nor Axel really knew much about what their lives were like behind the curtains. But it paid to be discreet with anything more than flirting—except at the Hamilton Lodge, bless its soul.

They huddled close on the mattress, resisted the urge to clamber under and snuggle. They were still too near the Malefico's border to be truly safe, and they'd taken enough risks already to vent their anxieties without taking more. So, with a plain map that'd been stored in the bedroom drawer, they took stock of the situation.

And if, before they left, Roxas dozed with his head on Axel's shoulder for maybe a half hour, well no one was there to comment on it, and Axel had his gun.

"Sorry I made a right mess of things," Axel murmured into his hair.

"I said I don't mind, didn't I? Just be there to make sure I don't end up full of daylight and I'll do the same for you. That's what friends do, right?"

"Heh, friends."

But even as he laughed, Roxas felt Axel's arm slip around him. It didn't matter if either of them needed water to soothe a burn, or warmth to comfort in a cold world.

The other would be there, and that was that.

 

---

"Oh boys, you made a right mess of it," Xion laughed over a glass of sparkling moonshine. "Even Axel dressing in drag and doing the hoochie coochie uptown with me wouldn't have been such a disaster."

Roxas and Axel shared a glance and sighed. She wasn't wrong. Word hadn't traveled quite so far as to get Xemnas mobilizing any more men, but Xion had been given a superb view of the Bastion burning down from her balcony at the ritzy Enchanted Dominion.

"I'm not sure Roxas gets nearly as much credit for that as I do," Axel put in, simultaneously defending Roxas and propping himself up in the process.

"We got each other out of there," Roxas sighed, swirled his drink. "That counts for something, right?"

"Sure," Xion grinned, "cause if you didn't you'd be knocking on ol' Sam Hill's door, and then who'd I go out for drinks with?"

"Glad to know we're good for something," Roxas put his drink away.

It was evening down at the Clocktower, patrons of middling and lower class mingling on the dance floor. The Usual Gang were up on stage, instruments backing the singing of a lovely lady from New Orleans—come up to visit, earn some money with her jazz and blues to pay for a future dream or two.

They'd recounted what had happened, Axel back in the swing of things once they'd arrived. Xion nodded along, brow furrowing at the bad moments, laughing at the good. Neither of them mentioned what had happened in the safe house apartment, but Xion had given them a knowing look over the top of her drink.

Now they'd put a few away though, they had to get down to business. Their reunion was worth celebrating, but they had revenge to see to, preferably only disastrous for the other guys.

"I managed to meet with some of our lot over at the Dominion," Xion started. "Remember Naminé?"

"Yes," Axel hummed. "Sad-looking blonde, yeah?"

"Yeah, I met her and her—" Xion hesitated. "Well I'm not sure what they were to each other. She was..." She tapped her fingers, nails clicking on the wood. "The other dame, Kairi, she asked me if I wanted to 'get out of the business' as it were."

Roxas choked, would've been gratified to hear Axel doing the same and louder if he weren't busy trying to get the wind back in his pipes.

"She what?" Axel asked.

"Relax you melodramatic pansy, I told her no. And don't kick up a fuss, Naminé's still feeding us information. I get the feeling after this though she's going to head off for a bit."

"This—this Kairi dame, you think she's—" Axel stuck out his thumb and gestured toward the ceiling, "from up top? Like proper up top, not some mob boss?"

"I don't know. She's not some John's frau or anything though. She's underground but not...our underground. More goody-goody than we are at any rate."

Axel whistled. Roxas just rubbed his chest, still sore from the day's exertions, which now included nearly drowning in his drink.

"What matters is that Naminé got out. But she...let me know what happened to the others. Not in any detail though. I'm not some frail Jane but I think whatever happened wasn't...pleasant."

"Certainly not the sort of thing I'd tell a lady of any good standing about," Axel snorted.

"It was bad," Roxas frowned. "Definitely 'Axel setting hoods on fire' bad. Even I wanted to..." He sighed. "Well the worst of them got taken out, I think. No one's surviving that. But a few of the others are still around. I got a good look, got their names from one of the boys at the Bastion when Axel was chatting the rest of them up."

He plucked a cigarette free when Xion offered him her deck, let Axel reach past for one of the Luckies. The three lit 'em up, took a puff.

"So we're going after them right?" Xion asked.

"Of course," Axel replied.

"He's already told Pence that 'Axel Jack and his boys'll be out late tonight', and something about a few sunsets at sunrise," Roxas snorted. Xion's laughter came out a bright titter to his left, Axel a splutter to his right.

"So we're gonna give 'em Hell?"

"Was there ever any doubt?" Axel asked, held his glass out.

Three clinks were lost in the evening din of the speakeasy, three gulps had, and three shadows departed, cigarettes snuffed on the side walk.

 

---

The sun rose over a city changed—a few more babies born, a few more men dead.

The sky stretched out all red and pink, orange and yellow glow, still dark at its uppermost point. Roxas thought it looked pretty over the river water, as if fire and blood had painted the world in its most beautiful colors.

The Bastion was well and truly a wreck. What little had remained after yesterday's arson was gone, properly blown to bits by a few gifts of Axel's making. Any houses they recalled with stolen shipments—or any alcohol at all— were marked, and by morning the Organization's thugs had ripped them to pieces, left only husks behind.

They'd tracked down all the survivors. Roxas's memory of his past was often hazy, but his memory of faces he'd glimpsed and seen in the present was startlingly accurate. When he couldn't place someone, Xion could, having spent her evening in the Dominion with Naminé as she sketched their foes down to the tiniest details.

And well, who'd know if they got a few wrong ones anyway? The Malefico's had caused enough trouble to warrant a few 'warnings'. If it wasn't Roxas's preference, it was still the way of their world.

It had been something of a chase. Dark alleys and dingy lights, the occasional shock of gunfire in the night. Now and then, a grunt, a scream, sometimes a shriek as some bystander went scurrying behind whatever cover was closest.

Wonder how many Tin Lizzies got dressed in lead?

They'd chased the last few survivors down to the river, Xion cutting off their escape routes with a few of Axel's explosives and some of the Malefico's own brews for fuel. The couple who'd tried to cross through the houses had been chased upstairs and toppled over the banisters, sinking in bloody sunsets.

She really was good with a knife. I'd hope so since I taught her.

Axel had gunned down most of the rest of them, but one guy just hadn't known when to quit and Roxas—well, he hadn't seen Roxas. Too busy backing away from Axel to wonder if there was anyone lurking down by the riverbank.

The man had gurgled when his knife sunk in; small, pathetic. Roxas had pushed, twisted, then turned him round. "Just so lovely isn't it, when the sun sets at sunrise?"

He'd pulled the knife, kicked the man's gun away. A quick once over for weapons and then he stepped back, strode over to the river while the man bleed out on the ground. Doubt he's got enough blood in his body for it to taint the water.

Footsteps.

"Which do you think is prettier?" Axel asked, coming to a stop beside him. "Fires at sunrise or a Harlem sunset?"

"Fires at sunrise," Roxas smiled.

"Really?" There was an arm around his shoulder, the other offering a cigarette. Roxas took it, let Axel light them both up. "Interesting."

"Why?"

"I was just thinking," he said, "I'm more a sunset kind of guy."

They stood silent together until the sun had fully crested the horizon, the world ablaze, and Xion's shadow came to stand by their own. Somewhere in the city there was a clamor, shouts and cries and smoke and flames, but the three of them were quiet.

"Not our disaster to deal with," Axel murmured.

"Simple as that huh?" Xion asked.

"At least something is," Roxas replied, and watched the sun bleed out on the new day.