Morally Dubious

Marluxia meets up with Vexen again at the weekend, back in the café, where they discuss cheerleading and chess and foreign languages (they’re both, as it turns out, dismal) and - predictably - sex, and then the hot summer days are sliding past and Marluxia becomes torn between two worlds, that of his friends and bedmates who seem to have lost their lustre, and the shiny new plaything that is Vexen. He finds free afternoons to spend in the shade of the big tree in the courtyard, setting up chess boards and being brutally shot down just minutes later. He smiles at Vexen in the corridor. He surprises himself at the frequency and intensity of his dreams, of groaning the wrong name in bed, of catching himself in class just thinking about how he would love to run his palms up the back of Vexen’s legs and inside his thighs. But Vexen is Out of Bounds; he’s flattered, even significantly disturbed by Marluxia’s enthusiasm, but he’s made it clear that when he loses his virginity he wants it to be with someone special, not just a slut with self-restraint issues. And Marluxia makes the painful decision to respect that.
Two weeks later, it happens. He’s hanging at the edge of the canteen with his friends, mostly the volleyball players (they’re lithe. Marluxia likes lithe), when Vexen suddenly appears in his peripherals, hanging nervously around like he’s not sure he’s allowed to talk to Marluxia unless they’re alone.
“Hey, Mar, is this one of yours?”
“Oh, I wish.”
Marluxia amiably shoves the others away to talk to Vexen; he’s surprised to say the least to find Vexen somewhere other than holed up in a deserted classroom, or camping out under their tree.
“Hello there, sweetheart.”
Vexen coughs. He’s looking a little distressed, and Marluxia soon drops his arm from the wall, straightening out.
“What’s up?”
“I… I need to ask you a favour. It’s, uh, it’s something pretty big. Can I talk to you?”
“Sure,” Marluxia says. “Need privacy?”
Vexen nods, glancing at the bustling life of the canteen. He looks out of place here, intimidated.
“Please.”
Marluxia leaves with a few words to his mates and follows Vexen down into an empty corridor.
“You know this, uh, chess tournament?”
“The national one?”
Vexen nods.
“Well, the finals are the week after next, and…”
“Want me to cheer for you?” Marluxia asks, grinning. But Vexen just hangs his head, sighing a little.
“Well, my Dad and step Mom were going to take me up there, but, uh, something came up and they can’t do it any more.”
Something came up, Marluxia thought. What kind of something was so important to stop them supporting their own son play chess for his state?
“And, well, Larxene’s busy,” Vexen continued, his voice weaker by the word; “I think she’s got a party out of town or something, and I don’t really have any friends I could ask to come spend a weekend with me…”
“Weekend?” Marluxia echoes.
“Yeah, it’s a big ask, I know-“
“Sure.”
Vexen glances up, and Marluxia sees fleetingly a redness in those beautiful green eyes. He wants to hold Vexen tight and kiss his forehead and stroke his hair, this new desire almost irresistibly strong. Vexen looks a bit like he wants to throw his arms around Marluxia too, but somehow they both manage to restrain themselves, just smiling a little awkwardly at each other. Marluxia’s not used to awkward. He’s used to attraction, flirtation, foreplay, sex. Awkward is new, and strange.
“Thank you,” Vexen says eventually, breaking the silence. “I’ve, um, booked a hotel room, but my Dad was going to drive me up, there, so…”
“I can take you in the Whoremobile,” Marluxia says without thinking, and then instantly inwardly cringes. “Jesus, sorry. My car. Larxene’s stupid name is sticking.”
Vexen shakes his head, but to Marluxia’s delight he’s smiling.
“It’s kind of fitting.”
“Ouch.”
“I didn’t mean it like-“
“That’s okay,” Marluxia laughs; “I can’t take offence if it’s true, can I?”
Vexen’s smile widens a little, and somehow the two of them are very close, their eyes blazing together, and Marluxia’s hands are on the lockers behind Vexen’s back, and the world has grown strangely still.
Marluxia can’t ever remember wanting so badly one simple kiss, and he can’t even make his head jerk back as he leans forward into Vexen’s smell, a clean, sterile aroma, and feels puffs of startled breath against his lips. He needs it, the contact, the intimacy and the taste of Vexen and nothing but Vexen in his mouth-
He just feels Vexen’s lips brush against his when the bell rings and suddenly there’s a rumble from the very foundations of the school and the second is lost and Vexen has moved sharply away, staring wildly.
“Did you just-“
“No,” Marluxia says, crushing the disappointment in his stomach. “No, I didn’t.”
Vexen just keeps staring, mouth slightly agape, his fingers of their own accord touching his bottom lip, a fact that he doesn’t seem to have noticed. He looks scared, Marluxia realises with a jolt. Terrified. And Marluxia just craves contact, any kind of contact with the beautiful young man who stands before him, to kiss his lips and fist his hands in his hair and grind their crotches together and hold his chest close and stroke his hips and spread his legs and lick his stomach and suck his cock and caress his skin and keep him close forever until he’s forgotten what it’s like to be alone.
Then somebody bumps against Vexen’s shoulder and the spell is broken, Marluxia comes crashing back down to the Earth where Vexen is a prude and he is a filthy slut and they nod in each other’s direction then make their own ways to class.