Pairing: Axel x Roxas
Warnings: Implied torture, implied character death, foul language, Axel being cavalier about things he shouldn't be.
A/N: I seem to be in a rather sadistic mindset, I don't know where all of these upsetting fics are coming from. Like I've said before, I don't like being mean to my boys.
Axel shivered, his shoulders stretched and uncomfortable on the cement. The steel encircling his wrists bit in, rubbed until his skin turned red and raw and blood slowly trickled to his elbows. He couldn't see, and nor could he feel the tell-tale brush of a fabric blindfold; where ever he was had to be this dark.
His tongue slipped from between his lips to wet his chapped mouth. His head pounded, the after effects of a heavy blow or a drug slipped into his drink - he couldn't remember.
"No point in getting upset," he thought to himself, trying to wiggle into a more comfortable position and finding his legs tied to something stationary, solid. "Not much getting upset will do, at this point." Despite his calm inner voice, he could feel his heart beating faster, feel panic and anger and confusion congealing to form a lump in his throat. He swallowed it, shaking his head to rid his eyes of any tears it brought forth and wincing when it caused a sharp jolt of pain behind his eyes.
It was only a matter of time before the Organization realized he was selling their information to the people trying to flush them out. This was just karma coming to bite him in the ass.
"Or the Superior," he supposed, his heart beating fast and still struggling slightly against his very sturdy restraints.
Axel, Number VIII, the Organization's best liar, cheater, and information-finder - all technical terms - had been wheeling the people he worked for since the beginning and had finally been found out.
The red head lay there for hours, waited and waited for someone to come kick the shit out of him - until he was no longer scared of the inevitable, just bored out of his mind. He absent-mindedly picked at his fingernails, at the handcuffs, at the blood drying on his skin; he started squirming when his muscles started cramping, screaming at him to stretch, pick a different position, fucking anything.
Finally, Axel's attention was drawn to the sound of a door shutting and a light turning on in another room, making him squint. There was shuffling, clothes rustling - but no talking.
"If this clown came in here for anything that doesn't have to do with me, I'm gonna fucking scream." The dim light let Axel see that he was, indeed, in the basement of the Organization; his legs were chained to a thick copper pipe, while his hands were cuffed to a ring in the cement floor. He recognized the room as the 'interrogation' room, looking over to see the one-way glass - on the other side of which being where the recordings were listened to, where the torture would be watched. Axel fidgeted, waiting for whoever it was to come in and let him have it.
"I wonder who it'll be? I sure as hell hope it won't be Larxene, I could do without being electrocuted today. I doubt it will be, she's always partnered with Marluxia, anyways; and he's the resident assassin. Why they'd be sent down here to fuck with me would be far beyond my understanding. Probably not Xigbar - for all of his big talk, torture makes him queasy. I doubt it'd be Demyx, either, they know how much of a slacker that kid is. He'd probably bring ketchup to splatter on his clothes and a deck of cards. Oh, god, what if they send Vexen? He'll inject me with shit and record the observations on that stupid fucking clipboard and then burn my face off with acid. I do not want it to be Vexen."Axel was still flipping through his mental catalogue and going through the pros and cons of Lexaeus being sent to deal with him with the light went on and temporarily blinded him. He made a small noise of displeasure, squeezing his eyes shut to shield them from light that made pain bloom in the back of his head.
"Well, Axel, look at this. Seems like all your shit finally caught up to you." Axel froze when he heard the voice. It was a voice he knew all too well, a voice that yelled at him for using up the toilet paper and cheered him on when he was fighting the final boss in video games and whispered declarations of love with husky, sleep-rough vowels. His eyes flew open to take in the artistically swept hair, the pinched mouth, the blue eyes set wide in his face that was twisted into a deep scowl.
"Rox." His voice croaked when he said it, voice unused and throat dry from a lack of water and breathing in the dust in the room.
"Yeah, it's me, douche bag." Roxas turned his face away from the red head, stretched across dirty, uneven pavement and looking at him like he was the messiah. He started picking through the duffle at his feet, crouched down and refusing to look the other in the eye.
"Aw, man, Rox, you fucking came! I can't believe this, babe, I owe you so hard!" Axel's face had split into a grin, lips cracking in the centre and dripping blood into his mouth. And Roxas -
Roxas stood up, shaking his head, holding the pistol that he'd taken out of the duffle. Axel knew that gun; he'd seen it on many occasions, watched the blond clean the barrel lovingly.
Roxas only carried that gun when he meant to use it; it was a morbid, violent promise. Axel's dry mouth went impossibly drier.
"Baby, what are you doing with that?" Axel saw dancing spots in his vision when Roxas slammed the butt of the pistol into the crown of his head, felt blood well up and pour into his hair. Quickly, Roxas shot the lock keeping his legs chained and the handcuffs above his head. The shots echoed through the room, so loud that he almost didn't register the pain in his hand. When Axel pulled his hands into his dazed eyesight, he saw that one of the bullets had grazed his thumb, taking a chuck of flesh and bone with it.
"Hey, bastard, look what you-" Axel was cut off, letting out a small yelp of pain as Roxas gripped the hair at the back of his neck and dragged him to his knees.
"Axel." He said it with a tone of finality, cold and clipped and almost broken. "All of your lying has built up. The Superior is not happy."
"Yeah, I kind of figured that when I woke up in the basement." The defiance of his words was countered by the softness of his voice, the air of resignation in his drooping shoulders. Roxas ran the barrel of the pistol down his face, gently drawing it over his cheekbones, caressing him lovingly with the shining, cool metal.
"What do you have to say for yourself?" His voice was quiet, dangerously so, and as Axel opened his mouth to beg, the blond thrust the muzzle of the pistol into his mouth. It hit hard against his teeth, pushed against the back of his throat, tasted acrid on his tongue. The force pushed tears into his malachite eyes, and he looked up at Roxas as the other began to pump the gun between bleeding lips.
Blood dripped into Axel's eyes, but he was sure he saw the blond shoot a glance to the one-way glass.
"A show. He's putting on a show, he doesn't mean it." But those blue eyes were drowning in sorrow, the sadness spiraled into a never-ending cerulean.
"The Organization doesn't want to have to clean up your messes anymore," Roxas said, voice deadly calm, as he pulled the gun from Axel's mouth. The red head's fingers scrabbled for purchase on the blond's thighs, fully supplicating to his partner, his friend, his lover.
"Roxas, fuck, tell me this is a joke, that it's a dream, just-"
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