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"About time," says the man with the braids. Zexion has never bothered to learn his name. Professor Vexen doesn't call him by name, and Zexion figures he's safer not asking.
"Next time you wish to triple your order," Professor Vexen says, "inform us before we have begun to prepare the original amount. Halfway through the process is far too late to amend quantities in the drums."
"Pansy," the man says, but he's counting out thousand-gil notes all the same. The whole experience feels more surreal than usual; Zexion's legs are cramping from exhaustion, his stomach roiling at even the thought of trying to use another potion to keep himself on his feet.
It's Lexaeus who makes the actual exchange, their carefully-packed drugs for the dealer's untidy stacks of cash. Zexion suspects that this is the real reason for Lexaeus's presence: not to guard the lab during the process, but because he towers over the braided man -- over all of them, really -- and discourages any treachery when they deliver the product.
"Thank you for your business," Professor Vexen says mildly, when the dealer has the case tucked securely under his arm. "You will call on Friday, I hope, to tell us how much you need next week."
The dealer nods. "Yeah, sure. You're a prick, Vexen, but you cook the best fireballs in Midgar."
When he's gone, Professor Vexen sighs, stripping off his gloves at last. "Thank you both for your hard work this weekend," he says, counting notes off the stack the dealer paid him. He counts out more than usual -- a little more than Zexion is expecting, even, for the long hours. "Now go home and get some sleep." He smiles humorlessly at Zexion. "You still have a midterm on Monday."
Zexion smirks, taking his share. "You mean this didn't count?" He's already shed his lab coat in favor of his hoodie, and now he stuffs his cash in the front pocket along with both hands.
"Independent study is only good for extra credit," Professor Vexen says. "You know that."
The attempt at banter abruptly feels like far too much effort. "Yeah," Zexion says. "See you Monday." By the time he gets to the door, Lexaeus is holding it open for him, like usual, but tonight even Lexaeus looks exhausted. It's sort of comforting, in a petty, small-minded way, to know that thirty straight hours of cooking drugs is enough to exhaust even a hulking bruiser like that.
Zexion doesn't complain anymore about Lexaeus walking him home; no amount of snarking or bitching or yelling made him stop, and once or twice it has kept some pretty unsavory characters from giving him trouble.
They make it from the university to the station just in time to catch the last train down under the plate. They're the only people in their car. Most of the people still above the plate at this hour are people who have the luxury of staying there.
When they get off at Sector Two, Zexion stumbles a little. Lexaeus catches him with one strong hand at his elbow, but doesn't say anything. "Thank you," Zexion says stiffly, and pulls away. He walks quickly; the night air has turned chilly, even under the Plate, and the sooner he gets home, the sooner he can collapse into bed.
Zexion's apartment is a cramped little studio on the third floor of an older building; it was the nicest thing he could afford when he enrolled, and he's used to it now, hasn't gotten around to trying to find someplace nicer. They get to his front door, and he turns, looks back at Lexaeus. "Thanks," he says again.
Lexaeus nods. "Good night," he says. He sounds completely drained, and he's swaying a little on his feet.
Zexion pauses. "Are you -- where do you live?"
Lexaeus blinks once. "Sector Four," he says.
"You can't --" Zexion stares at him. "There aren't any more trains, you know."
"I can walk," Lexaeus says. "I've done it before." There's a pained look on his face, though, like he's trying not to think about it.
Zexion hesitates for a minute. This might be awkward, but he thinks it's probably safe. Lexaeus tries to stop other people from hurting him, so he's not likely to get violent himself. It would be okay if some things happened, at least. And in the unlikely event that Lexaeus does turn out to be aggressive once they're alone, there's a six-pack of potions under the bathroom sink, so it shouldn't be anything lasting. Zexion sighs irritably to cover his nervousness. "Don't be stupid, okay? You've been up just as long as I have. You don't want to walk through two sectors of under-Plate Midgar when you're too tired to fucking see straight." He holds the door open. "You can spend the night."
Lexaeus stares at him in what Zexion suspects is actual shock. "You'd let me...?"
Zexion's estimation of the likelihood that Lexaeus would rape him drops further. "You're practically sleepwalking. Come in so I can close the door."
"Thank you," Lexaeus says quietly, ducking through the doorway. He stands there awkwardly, as if he's afraid of taking up too much space, while Zexion locks the door and throws the bolts.
"Go on," Zexion says. "Put your bag down. You're not going to break anything."
Lexaeus puts his book bag down next to the door, looking around. There's not much to see, really: one tiny window, bookshelves, a small television, the bed, a bathroom and one closet and a little corner with a vague attempt at a kitchen. Half of the dishes that Zexion owns are piled in the sink, waiting for him to use up the other half so he'll have incentive to wash them.
"There's sodas and clean water and stuff in the fridge if you need anything," Zexion says. He drops his bag and his hoodie at the foot of his bed, and toes out of his sneakers. He can see Lexaeus deliberately look away as soon as he reaches for the button of his jeans, and he hides a little smile behind his hair. He was right about this being low risk after all.
When he's changed into the ratty old t-shirt and flannel pants that he sleeps in, Zexion crawls into bed, the mattress creaking. He shoves his feet under the covers, his back to the wall, curled into the far side of the bed. Lexaeus is still standing there uncertain by the door. "Well?" Zexion asks.
He can practically see exhaustion warring with decorum on Lexaeus's face. "Ah, where should I...?"
"I've left you most of the bed," Zexion points out. "I don't have any extra blankets, and I can't imagine the floor is terribly comfortable without them."
"Ah," Lexaeus says. He takes a few cautious steps toward the bed, and stops again, kicking off his shoes and hesitating with his hands hovering at his waistband.
Zexion smirks. "Go ahead and get comfortable," he says. "I promise not to attack you or anything."
Lexaeus actually smiles back, briefly. "That's very kind of you." He unbuttons his jeans and steps out of them, and then Zexion somehow can't help looking for just long enough to notice that Lexaeus's boxers have moogles on them. He buries his face in the pillow, not sure whether he ought to be more entertained or embarrassed.
The mattress dips under Lexaeus's weight, and Zexion reaches up to flip off the light switch on the wall. His whole body aches with relief at being in bed at last, and he can't even manage a proper panic response when the mattress springs creak as Lexaeus shifts again.
Not, it seems, that he needs to. "Thank you," Lexaeus says again, more solemnly than the situation really calls for. "Sleep well."
As if that's going to be a problem, after how long he's been up. Zexion closes his eyes. "Sure," he says. "You too."
Zexion rolls over and flops an arm across Lexaeus's waist. The physical immediacy, the obvious strength in Lexaeus's body, is intimidating from this close up. "Stop moving," Zexion demands. "Go back to sleep."
Lexaeus goes very still. "All right," he says after a moment. Zexion curls up against him, breathing in the warm scent of sweat and the faint lingering traces of cologne, and feels sleep weighing him down again almost before he's stopped moving.
The second time he wakes is much later, the lights turned back up outside to simulate the daylight above the Plate, the wall in front of him a dingy warm gray. He seems to have rolled over in his sleep, so that Lexaeus is a warm, solid presence at his back.
A warm, solid, still presence, as though he's either woken again or else never managed to get back to sleep in the first place. Zexion smiles to himself. This could be interesting.
He makes a sleepy little noise and squirms backward, pushing against Lexaeus. He hears Lexaeus take a sharp breath in response, so he does it again. The second time Lexaeus almost moans, the sound choked and frustrated. So, his bodyguard is interested, but too honorable to molest him in his sleep. Both good things to know.
Zexion opens his eyes. He has one of Lexaeus's arms pinned under him, palm up against the sheets, veins stark in the forearm. He shifts position again, rubs his face against Lexaeus's arm like a cat. Lexaeus shivers, but still doesn't move.
Really, this is getting ridiculous.
Zexion turns his head and nips at the soft skin of Lexaeus's inner arm.
"Aah," Lexaeus gasps, shuddering, and one massive hand comes to rest carefully on Zexion's hip.
"Mmm," Zexion agrees, nuzzling further. He bites and sucks at Lexaeus's wrist, the tendon sliding against his teeth, and Lexaeus moans aloud, shifting to press against him. "Ah, sensitive here?" Zexion asks, and bites again.
Lexaeus's mouth is suddenly warm against the back of his neck, and Zexion's breath catches in his throat at the way that simple touch sparks sensation all the way down his spine.
"More," Zexion whispers, letting his head fall forward. His hair brushes the pillow. Lexaeus's hand tightens slightly on his hip. He braces his hands against the mattress, pushes backward. Lexaeus is hard for him. Zexion moans, and the helpless undignified sound of it makes him blush.
He rolls over slowly, until Lexaeus's mouth meets his for an actual kiss. It's warm and slow for the first few seconds, apparently until Lexaeus realizes that he doesn't intend to back down -- and then, abruptly, Lexaeus's arms close around him and for one brief moment Zexion does panic, but he gets through it by kissing harder, curling his hands tight in Lexaeus's t-shirt and holding on. He chose to do this, demanded it explicitly enough for anyone, and it would be stupid for him to have hysterics over it now. Not to mention the fact that it would probably make Lexaeus too paranoid to ever touch him again.
When he shifts again, really just looking for some friction, Lexaeus misreads the push, rolls onto his back and pulls Zexion on top of him.
Well. That works, too. "Aah," Zexion breathes, holding onto Lexaeus's shoulders and rocking his hips, planting his knees on either side of one of Lexaeus's thighs so he can grind his hardening cock against Lexaeus's. It's much better like this, now that he can really move. "How long have you, ah, wanted this?"
Lexaeus nearly smiles. "How long have we been working together?"
"Hmm." Zexion shakes his head. "And you weren't going to do anything about it?"
"Looks like I didn't have to," Lexaeus says, shrugging. His expression sobers, and he slides a hand between them cautiously. "Is this all right?"
"No," Zexion says dryly, "I've only crawled on top of you and started grinding my cock against you. But don't touch me." Only then Lexaeus stops moving, and Zexion sighs in exasperation. "I wasn't being serious," he says. "Go ahead."
"Sometimes," Lexaeus says, his tone mild, "it's better to say what you mean." His hands are surprisingly gentle, untying the drawstring of Zexion's pants and easing them down off his hips.
"Aah," Zexion agrees, closing his eyes, trying to keep himself from saying anything else obnoxious or defensive. Then Lexaeus pushes his own boxers out of the way, and their cocks touch, and the wittiest thing Zexion can think to say is, "Oh god."
Lexaeus rumbles with pleasure under him, spreading one broad hand across his back to hold him close. Another careful shift of weight, and then Lexaeus's other hand traps both of their cocks together, warm dry skin sliding against Zexion's, and there ought to be something to say here, something that would keep it from feeling so damned overwhelming, but the heat of Lexaeus's cock and hands drives thought right out of his head.
"Oh god," Zexion says again, pushing into Lexaeus's hand now, curling his hands tighter into Lexaeus's t-shirt until his fingernails dig into his palms even through the fabric. He still feels so fucking vulnerable, even on top, even with the care that Lexaeus is taking -- his legs are still spread, with Lexaeus's thigh between them, and Lexaeus's hand wraps easily around both of them together. "More," Zexion says, "fuck, more," pushing into Lexaeus's hand. He can worry later about what it means, about the way he's still hard for it -- the way he's getting harder for it -- because Lexaeus is big enough to break him if he struggles.
"Yes," Lexaeus whispers, his other hand sliding up Zexion's back to his shoulder, to his face, and Zexion turns his head to lick at Lexaeus's fingers -- he tastes salt, and Lexaeus shudders under him, moaning, so Zexion opens his mouth wide enough to get Lexaeus's fingertips in his mouth. Just two of them is plenty, stretching his jaw wide, pressing against his tongue, and he catches himself imagining how it would feel to try to fit Lexaeus's cock in his mouth, thicker than this, hot and hard and -- he leans forward so he can take Lexaeus's fingers deeper, so that they brush the back of his throat, and he almost chokes. Lexaeus moans helplessly under him, back arching, the look on his face so stunned and lost and needy that it's worth all the discomfort, so Zexion pulls back slightly and tries to work up a little more spit to make it slide easier, and then sucks harder on Lexaeus's fingers again.
This time when Lexaeus starts to tremble he just doesn't stop, making harsh broken noises and shuddering and his eyes squeezing shut and then Zexion's cock is sliding against slickness and the sensation is breathtaking but it's the knowledge that he's just made Lexaeus come that puts him over and he moans around the thick heat of Lexaeus's fingers and the sound is pathetic and needy but he can't help himself because he's coming so hard it almost hurts.
His first impulse, afterward, is to bury his face in Lexaeus's neck so they won't have to look each other in the eyes. But that would be stupid, pathetic and weak in all the ways he's told himself he won't be, so instead he rolls over -- Lexaeus lets go of him immediately -- and gets up, his pajamas sliding the rest of the way down his legs to puddle on the floor. He's not going to be self-conscious, he's not, he's going to just walk to the bathroom like he does this all the time and he's not at all uncomfortable with the idea that Lexaeus is probably staring at his ass.
By the time he's done cleaning up, Zexion is starting to realize that he's shaking again, and that he probably hasn't had nearly enough sleep yet. He looks in the mirror, and then wishes he hadn't -- between the mess of his hair and the flush to his cheeks, he looks ridiculous. A moment of pawing at it at least does something for his hair, makes it more like an intentional mess, and then when he can manage to fake a decent amount of composure he opens the door and heads back out to collect his pants.
"You can, ah," he says, and then feels like a tool. "You probably want to clean up, I mean."
Lexaeus looks...worried? disappointed? Something. "Thank you," he says gravely, and gets up.
Zexion crawls back into bed, into the warm spot that Lexaeus has left behind, and closes his eyes. Odd moments or no, he feels...accomplished, he thinks. Satisfied with himself.
He's half asleep already when Lexaeus comes back, pausing at the edge of the bed and leaning down to rest a hand gently on his shoulder. "Will you need to lock the door from inside?"
"What?" Zexion rolls over and blinks up at him. "Where are you going?"
Lexaeus just looks at him. "I thought...."
"Come back to bed," Zexion demands, scooting over a little further to make sure there's enough room. "You're not going to just leave now, are you?"
"No," Lexaeus says slowly. "I suppose not." He pulls back the sheet and climbs into bed carefully, and Zexion squirms into his arms, fidgeting until they both manage to get reasonably settled. It's warm, curling up together like this, and the solid bulk of Lexaeus's body is comforting now that it's not intimidating anymore.
The next time Zexion wakes up, it's hunger that's nagging at him. He opens his eyes, and finds he's staring at a curl of hair against the side of Lexaeus's neck. On impulse, he shifts so he can press closer, so he can lick the spot where Lexaeus's pulse beats visibly beneath the skin.
Lexaeus makes a low throaty rumbling sound, like the way Zexion imagines a coeurl would purr, and tilts his head to meet Zexion's eyes. "Sleep well?"
"Yeah," Zexion says, and shrugs. "Hungry now, though."
"Ah," Lexaeus says. He looks like he's considering this for a minute. "I, also."
Zexion hesitates. "There's a -- a pretty good pizza place that delivers around here. We could call out for some." The whole fucking weekend is gone already, he realizes. "I mean, I probably need to get around to doing some studying tonight, or Professor Vexen will still fail me tomorrow. But...."
"I have reading to do as well," Lexaeus says. Zexion blinks. It hadn't ever really occurred to him that Lexaeus would actually do any schoolwork; he'd just looked at the build and assumed.... "I could keep myself busy, if you wanted to do some work before the food arrives."
Well. That doesn't sound so bad, really. Zexion sits up, scanning the room to figure out where he left his phone. "What do you like on your pizza, then?"
He doesn't even manage to be really embarrassed by the warmth of Lexaeus's smile.