Revenge isnt as Sweet

Hello again, here's another famous DemyxXLuxord pairing. Personally, they're made for each other. Chapter two is in the making, patience. I do not own these characters, legally or otherwise. >.<
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


He so fucking deserved it.

Being a new member justified nothing. Hell, if anything, he should have been granted a few freebies as a complimentary perk. However, no matter how dedicated he threw himself into every task, everywhere he turned there he was, at the ready with a harsh reprimand combined with a sharp wallop to the face. Nothing much, just a torque and glide of a palm, but it was enough to leave Demyx’s ears ringing and nose numb. One time he even tasted blood on the back of his tongue.

So yeah, he fucking deserved it.

“Hey Demyx, what’re you up to?”

Demyx glanced over his shoulder at Roxas as he crouched outside the bedroom door of number 6. He brought his finger to his lips in a flurry of twitchy digits, trying to hush the insolent blond before his plan was ruined. He tugged Roxas down to his side by the drawstring to the hood of the long black cloak.


“Demyx? You’re doing something bad again, aren’t you.”

Now did he really deserve that? Sure, he’d performed a few half-hearted attempts at practical jokes, but nothing to serious. Hell, compared to the damage Axel caused with his everyday mischief, he was mere child’s play, just blowing off steam. But today, today was revenge. Ice cold bile-ridden hate at the ready to be unleashed on that bastard.

“No, today is different. You wouldn’t understand. Now go away.”
He saw Roxas frown with disapproval, but kept his lips together. He eyed the can of heavy-duty anti-run black spray paint eagle-clawed in Demyx’s tightly knitted hand. He left without another word, shaking his head with exasperation.

What did he know? He was never on the receiving end of Luxord’s unchecked anger. Sure, he never yelled, per say, but one could only swallow so much retribution, and decibels did nothing besides change the frequency of wavelengths in the air. Didn’t do a damn thing about the words. Those horrible, wretched words. How could one human being make such hideous, rancid chastisements? They struck down deep and peeled Demyx open, unwrapped his being, bone-bare. And in retrospect, Demyx decided it was worse when Luxord let loose on him with his cold, unwavering voice.

Demyx shivered. He didn’t do a damn thing to deserve so much punishment. He tried, he really did. But how much could a brand-spanking new member do with only two minutes tutorial before left to the wolves? Obviously Luxord believed he could take in everything within milliseconds, maybe absorbing all the information with a moment’s breath as he swallowed it up like a sponge, which would explain all the afternoons and evenings he was forced to his chambers without food because of his “blundering poor-excuse for civilized behavior.”

What a fucking ass.

So today was renovation day. With the paint, Demyx intended to decorate the whole room with black streaks, hopefully he had enough artistic passion to illustrate his envision of the blackness of Luxord’s soul. Luckily the blond man could sleep through, and was known to, an entire thunderstorm which caused a tree to break the whole west wing bay window, waking up three hours after the storm to shuffle into the hall, puzzled at everyone’s wet pale faces and the large discolored stain on the stairwell carpet.

Taking the liberty to avoid the creaky spots on the floor despite the thick carpet, Demyx pushed the heavy mahogany door into the dark room. Carefully picking himself around the shadowed forms of random furniture, he tiptoed to the side of the gambler’s twin sized bed, the sheets pulled tightly around his shoulders. His back was to Demyx and his face towards the wall, still breathing the deep banter of slumber. He didn’t snore, Demyx realized. He expected loud, obnoxious echoes of oh so many chainsaws on thick redwood trees in dreamland, but with Luxord it seemed the forest was currently protected by a group of naturalists clung together in a tight ring of defiance. So instead all the sitar player could hear was the deep slow, almost carefully chosen breaths of true, exhaustion-induced sleep. Who knew the man actually worked hard enough to actually be so tired?

Probably from yelling, Demyx decided. He grew angry at the soft, musical inhalation. Rage empowered him to roll the ball bearing around the bottom of the can before raising his arm up high and letting the can splutter a few pathetic drops of ebony before coughing into a flowing stream. Soon it was expelling a full flow with the audible psshhhh of airy flatulence as Demyx sloppily designed a dark mass of black revenge over Luxord’s surprisingly carefully painted burgundy walls. He remembered Xemnas making it perfectly clear each member was in charge of their own decorations and accommodations of their rooms. Demyx smiled wickedly as he imaged the hours of backbreaking labor Luxord must have spent on painting his walls so perfectly.

Actually, his whole room was rather lavishly furnished with somewhat modest decor. He had to admit, it took a sense of patience and beauty to create such a cozy room with limited materials and budget.

And so what?

Demyx tossed the can into the air, catching it again in the same hand in a pleased movement, quite surprised how well his art held up, and the paint didn’t streak either. Biting back the yearning to whistle with careless amusement, he began the shuffle to the opposite wall, where Luxord had a marvelous collection of posters and pictures of large cities. A kaleidoscope of colors and textures embellished the wall with bright festive images. On one side was Las Vegas, the sun already tucked behind the tall buildings, the lack of natural light brining out the intensity of city lights, so many neon-filled letters spelling out the current flavor of the week, depending on the tastes of those who desired specific delicacies. Over another portion was a vividly clear shot of Venice, the water of the alleyways shimmering like so many diamonds as the gondolas skimmed over the glass surface, sleek wooden wings of the people to enable them to glide over the water as the sky was reflected hue for hue, so much so it was almost as if the people, with their wide grins and glittering eyes, could actually walk in the sky much as they imagined angels did.

Of course these were only a few of the many pictures. There was Cairo, Venezuela, Honduras, Pompeii, Japan, Mongolia, Russia, Romania, Turkey….. All these pictures carefully spread like autumn leaves on asphalt, the bright jovial colors improving the bland backdrop. Luxord’s passion for travel was an understatement as the young Organization member looked over the pricey posters with amazement, not even able to calculate the estimated price for those still-life captured in clear crisp moments, almost like encasing the moment in a snow globe, protected for and by the owner, so as to be looked upon with awe and adoration, as Demyx imagined Luxord doing as he dropped off into his deep, silent sleep.

Oh well.

After a full twenty minutes of fumy whispers the whole wall was decorated with an advanced game of tick-tac-toe, toning down the vibrancy of the multitude of colors. Now that the appetizer was picked clean, on to the main dish.
He turned and started for Luxord’s sleeping form, doing a small dance of clumsiness as he stepped on a pile of strewn cards and ivory dice carelessly scattered on the substantial carpet. Cursing silently, he arrived at his destination at the side of Luxord’s bed. Now that he was at an angle above the man, he could see the profile of the sleep-ridden face.

Now that he could study the face without it becoming contorted with anger, he realized how handsome the older member was. Being one of the cleanest members of the organization, he took care to make sure his hair on his head as well as his neatly trimmed goatee was even and clean. Even at this height Demyx could catch the scent of soap mixed in with the musky smell of overnight sweat. The three piercings of his ears were lined up like soldiers, not one out of step with the others, even though he insisted on wearing miss-matched earrings in each ear. Rather taken with the man’s façade, he leaned closer to study the more minute details. With a carefully placed fingertip, he gently pressed the pad of his index finger to the gamblers cheek, running it lightly over the pore-less skin, still damp from drying perspiration.
Luxord didn’t even flinch as Demyx’s eyes trailed down from the spot his finger last stopped at and examined his lips. They were femininely plump, almost as if they were permanently kiss-bruised even though Demyx was well aware that Luxord steered clear of any intimate notions with anyone. They tightened in a thin line, as if he were entrapped in an unwelcome dream. Luxord sighed anxiously as his long eyelashes fluttered while his eyes darted back and forth lazily, as if reading something written on the insides of his eyelids.

Demyx became nervous as Luxord let out a sharp breath before settling back, letting out a sigh of content. Demyx watched in wonderment as Luxord’s lips parted, shiny with moisture.

“Mom?” The single word broke the silence. It was enough to make Demyx drop the near-empty can of spray paint in shock.
Luxord started to stir, and Demyx was rooted to his spot, unable to break away with the fear of making a noise. One eye opened experimentally before his mind okayed the stamina of both two-toned eyes for the abusive punishment of light.
His eyes focused on Demyx, who still stood at his side.

“Demyx? What the hell are you doing in here?” the grogginess educed by sleep caused his question to be removed of all gruffness and sardonic composure. Sitting up and rubbing the last bits of magical sleeping dust from his lashes, he looked again at Demyx with hardened eyes, but said nothing as he looked the boy over.
The boy was wide-eyed, tears full to the brim as he breathed shakily through quivering lips, swallowing hard over and over, his Adam’s apple working up and down. Luxord took the time to notice the discarded spray paint can, a few drops of after-release juice staining the lush bronze carpet. Then his vibrant blue eyes did a camera pan of the room, becoming even brighter as his pupils receded, becoming pinprick dots as if personifying the rather small surface area of his anger control. And growing smaller all the time.

Demyx waited for the other foot to fall, ready for Luxord to snap like the tightly drawn cords in the man’s neck. But instead Luxord drew his sheet-swathed knees to his chest and draped his long satin-adorned arms across each knee.
“Personally, I think your talent lies in music kid.”