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He had figured that Xion, of all people, would be able to help him. Sweet, good-natured Xion, kind, helpful, determined Xion, who has spent the last three years figuring out how to dress so well that they have a minor, very obsessed Instagram following about it, and who looks formalwear in the face, laughs, and twists it around their delicate fingers, should know what to do about this. He had texted them with the sort of desperate hope felt by men who, in a dark place, suddenly see a beam of light. Of course Xion will be able to help.
He had not expected the unsympathetic text currently staring him down.
I don’t know, Axel, you didn’t have to say yes! Couldn’t you have just told him you were busy?
His heart is thumping loudly in his ears.
no, i have to go he needs me to go he invited me that means something???
please please help me
you look so good all the time can you make me look good for one day
You already look good! I just, well. Have you met Roxas’ family yet?? At all? Any of them?
just sora none of the crazy rich ones
i have to look not poor
just one day i swear
Okay. Listen! You know I love you. You also know that I think you dress just fine. Great, even! You have your niche cornered. I think you should ask Roxas. Before you get weird! It’s not pathetic, it could be a cute date, and believe me, he has a way better sense of what his family will find appropriate. They’re kind of a lot, is all!
fuck really
you met them???
how bad of an idea is this
Do you want the real answer?
Axel stares that for a second and sighs.
no
fine
Which is how he ends up in a dressing room in the fanciest store he’s ever been in in his life with his boyfriend outside the curtain. He has an array of shirts, ties, jackets, and slacks in front of him that Roxas pulled for him, having glared the attendant off.
Well, time to suck it up. He starts with the most plain looking thing Roxas picked: black slacks, a white shirt, a black tie. He coughs, and asks quietly, “uh, you know how to tie a tie, right?”
Roxas’ voice definitely sounds amused. “You don’t?”
“…I thought I did,” Axel stares at the piece of fabric, baffled.
Roxas snorts. There’s a quiet rustle of fabric from outside. “C’mere, I’ll do it. Can’t believe you don’t own a button-up. Have you ever, like… had a job interview?”
“Yeah, I wore a T-shirt,” Axel mutters, bending down a little so Roxas can reach. Roxas snorts at him, reaches up and lets his fingers trail pointedly against Axel’s throat while he ties it, neat and efficient.
“It’s like,” he’s saying, quiet, still grinning, “a basic life skill, man.”
“Yeah, well, you burn toast,” Axel mutters, bracing himself to move away if Roxas decides to retaliate, which he does by yanking on the tie, pulling Axel down harder until he abruptly lets go and steps back.
“Stand up,” it’s an order on his tongue, “lemme see. What do you think?”
Axel takes his time straightening up, and looks Roxas over before turning on his heel to look himself in the mirror.
He’s never seen himself like this. He looks… good. Kind of. The shirt is fitted and the slacks make his legs look long, and the tie does sort of set off the look even though he doesn’t like it. It’s tight on his throat, and the shirt is stiff. The whole thing is stiff.
“I look like a high class waiter.”
Behind him, Roxas snorts. Blonde hair appears behind him in the mirror and then there’s an arm around his waist. “Yeah, like you’re gonna give me some of those weird tiny hotdogs. Or, I don’t know, try to convert me or something. Try another shirt.”
Axel pulls on the tie, tugs it off as Roxas steps back again, closes the curtain.
He picks a blue one and opens it again with the tie draped around his neck, and doesn’t even need to say anything before Roxas is snickering and waving his hands from his spot on the fancy couch with—is he holding a latte? Where the hell did he get a latte?
“No,” he finally says, unnecessarily. Axel’s face is hot. “Try again.”
Axel practically whips that one off. The next shirt he grabs is black, topped with a black jacket, which has to go with the pants, maybe, except when he opens the curtain this time Roxas takes one look at him and drawls, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Axel’s glare deepens, and the next one he tries is salmon pink, something he’d never be caught dead in, but it’s in the room, so why the hell not?
“If you laugh, I kill you,” Axel says before opening the curtain.
“Big words,” Roxas calls. “Why don’t you come out here and—” he cuts himself off with an explosive snort as Axel yanks the curtain open, claps a hand over his mouth until all Axel can see are the twin curves of his eyes, bright with laughter.
Axel’s hand balls into a fist, but he isn’t really going to do anything. Roxas is cute when he laughs, even when it’s at Axel. Instead, he pulls the powder blue tie he’d tied poorly off and tosses it at Roxas’ head. He has to free his hand from his mouth to catch it, and then he really is laughing, head back, shoulders shaking, coffee listing dangerously to one side with its stupid fancy latte art threatening to spill over.
“You,” he gets out, and that’s all he gets out before Axel’s closing the damn curtain again with his ears hot, too. Maybe this was a mistake.
“Ax!” Something shifts on the other side, and something else clinks. “Probably shouldn’t’ve pulled that one out. I thought it might work. Try another one.”
“You pick one.”
Roxas makes a huffy kind of sound and tugs the curtain open just a little, staring at him through the gap. “I already picked all this stuff out.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know,” Axel waves a frustrated hand at his half-decimated collection, “any of this stuff. Pick one you think would look good on me,” He drops the pink shirt onto the little chair, folding his arms over his bare chest. It’s uncomfortable, and a little cold, and the slacks are loose and weird compared to what he usually wears.
But Roxas—who really doesn’t talk about his family much, who follows Axel into concerts, who blends perfectly in the shitty dive bars where Demyx plays—is drinking a latte and leaning on the wall beside the curtain like he owns the place, dripping with the same confidence that drew Axel to him in the first place.
And Roxas is actually looking at him now, his eyes dragging on Axel’s skin, assessing carefully. He watches Roxas’ eyes dart from his collarbones to his ribs to his stomach, can practically feel them slide back up to his face like gentle fingers. Goosebumps trail in their wake.
Finally, quietly, Roxas says, “the sage one, back there. You pick the tie.”
“Is this a test?” Axel mutters, taking the sage shirt off the hanger and shrugging it on. He looks at the ties Roxas picked for him and picks up a few of them, feeling like one of them is going to turn into a snake and bite him. “What goes with sage?”
“What goes with—” Roxas bites down on a wider grin and steps forward, batting Axel’s hands away from the buttons so he can do them up himself. This time, he really does let his fingers trail on Axel’s skin. “What kind of queer dude are you? Maybe it should be a test.”
“What, you’re gonna stop letting me suck your dick if I get it wrong?” With deft fingers, Roxas slides the last top button into place and steps back, waiting. Axel’s frown deepens. He picks up a dark blue tie, holding it up like a question.
Roxas tilts his head. “If you’re going with that one, take off the pants.”
Axel glares at him and then unbuttons the pants, letting them fall down his legs. Roxas lets out a little whistle, and when Axel looks up again he’s stepped back, still in the bright little dressing room with him, grinning wide and bright. Axel keeps the glare on his face, and undoes some of Roxas’ work, dragging his fingers down his stomach to his boxers.
“No,” Roxas says, but he’s still smiling, and his eyes are fixed firmly on Axel’s dick, “being hot isn’t gonna get you out of this. Get dressed.”
“Worth a shot,” Axel murmurs, palming his cock once—Roxas bites at his own lip, which is something like a victory—before yanking a pair of navy slacks off their fancy hanger. He hopes this is what Roxas meant.
They fit better than the black ones, somehow. They’re slimmer, skimming the lines of his legs, dropping away, making him look tall and put-together. They do go with the shirt, and the tie that he has to ask Roxas to tie for him again. This time, Roxas does it without teasing, flicks through the motions like he’s been doing them his whole life. Hell, maybe he has.
Roxas pats the tie back into place, and Axel turns on his heel to look at himself and he
actually looks good.
He looks smart. Respectable. His hair is a little wild, but he pulls it back in a quick ponytail and that helps, and he marvels at his own reflection.
“This is—good. Right? This is good?”
Roxas is silent and assessing for just long enough that Axel starts to get nervous—is it good? Does he look like a dweeb? Does he look like a kid trying on his dad’s clothes, the way he always used to when putting on suits? They never seemed to fit right back when he needed them, too big at the waist and the hips, draping in weird ways.
“Good,” Roxas finally says, soft, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Really good. Shit, Ax, look at your eyes.”
Roxas never says shit like that. Getting a compliment out of him outside of sex is a rare occurrence. His face feels warm and he can’t help a smile, and he does look at his own eyes in the mirror, and they look vibrant and stunning and he feels hot. He feels hot and put together and handsome and his arm drops to Roxas’ shoulders, pulling him in close.
“This is a guy you’d take home to your family,” he murmurs, hoping that it’s true.
Roxas blinks at him. “Yeah. Sure. I mean, my mom’s picky about clothes, so she’ll probably appreciate it.”
Axel opens his mouth to respond, then shuts it with a little frown. “Yeah, I guess.”
“What?” Roxas peers up at him, his brow furrowed.
“Isn’t that the point?” Axel asks, his frown back. He tugs on the tie, loosening it a little.
Roxas blinks. “The point is that you’re 28 and you don’t own a tie—wait, is that the point? Are you trying to impress my parents?”
“Yes—no! Maybe?” Axel pulls back, his face feeling even hotter but not for good reasons this time. “I don’t care about impressing them, I just—” just what? Don’t want to be an embarrassment? Don’t want to get looks, don’t want to make Roxas look back? Is that the same as impressing his parents? “I don’t own any nice clothes.”
“Yeah,” Roxas says, slow and careful, frowning up at him. “I got that. And… like, you should, because, you know, weddings, but also,” he reaches up, still slow, like he’s gentling a horse or something except he just smooths the tie back against Axel’s chest and reaches up to fiddle with the knot. “Also honestly you could come with me in your shitty MCR t-shirt and probably make that look good, too. I mean, don’t. You should wear a tie. But you don’t have to like…. impress. Anyone.”
He’s so close, and being oddly… nice, and helpful, and it does something strange to Axel’s gut. His fingers brush down Roxas’ arm. “Yeah, but you just said I should wear a tie. So: a tie it is. Should I get the least impressive one here, or should I make you look like you pull guys every day?”
Warmth sparks bright back onto Roxas’ face, tugging at his lips. “If you show up in a novelty tie I’m leaving you.”
“Damn, I wanted to wear that one with the Santas on it,” Axel breathes, leaning down to nose at Roxas’ cheek. They’re still standing in front of the mirror, and he can see the picture they make from the corner of his eye: him, in his nice slacks and a good shirt, tie hanging between them with Roxas’ fingers still curled around it; Roxas in his patch-covered denim and half-unzipped shirt and grungy pants, yanking him down closer.
“Don’t,” he breathes against Axel’s mouth, his eyes bright and close, stealing Axel’s attention right back, “you fucking dare. You get one tie, and it’s gonna be a good tie, and my dad is gonna look at you and be like shit, maybe it is okay that both of my kids are gay as hell if he can get a guy like this. But I,” he’s so close, his words brushing Axel’s lips, “am already impressed.”
Fucking hell. Axel’s breath catches, and his lips quirk, and he grips Roxas’s arm, just above his elbow, tightly. A moment of sincerity. Something to cherish.
Something to fuck up. “Didn’t know you’d want me to impress your dad the same way.”
He watches it land. He watches Roxas’ eyes, soft blue, go narrow and then almost immediately wide, watches the war between laughter and anger happen in real time on his face, knows he’s going to be a casualty of it even before Roxas yanks hard on the tie and shoves him at the same time, grinning and angry all at once; knows even before he says anything that Roxas isn’t going to just take it.
“If you wanted to call me daddy so bad,” he says, still against Axel’s mouth, “you could’ve just asked.”
“Oh, daddy,” Axel sighs, hands sliding down his back to cup his ass. His back hits a mirror, and he grins into Roxas’ mouth. “Fuck me, daddy.”
It’s the world’s highest-stakes game of chicken, pushing his buttons like this. Roxas growls against his lips, jams a thigh between Axel’s legs like he might actually do it right here in this fancy dressing room in these slacks Axel doesn’t own yet. Axel would almost buy it if Roxas’ face weren’t also beet red.
“You,” Roxas breathes, so close, right up against his lips like a taunt or a threat, “are the fucking worst, oh my god.”
“Y’know, I think dressed like this, I’m the daddy,” Axel teases, peppering kisses over his cheek, his jaw. The teasing drops after a second, and he sighs. “Seriously, Roxas. Do you want me to wear this, or what?”
Roxas huffs. Pulls back, lets his hands drop from the tie to the shirt. He smooths over the fabric, runs his palms all the way down to Axel’s hips. His eyes flick over Axel’s face for a second. Axel watches a little furrow form familiar on his brow.
“Do you like it?”
Axel considers the question, looking down at himself, over the blues and muted green, so unlike his usual clothes. But even so, it looks good. Really good. He doesn’t feel like he’s in some sort of monkey suit. He feels hot and successful and like the kind of guy who can talk to Roxas’ rich parents and not feel the holes in his socks while he does it.
“…yeah, I do.”
Roxas meets his eyes again, tilts his head, and smiles that tiny little smile Axel sometimes sees in the dead of night, when it’s just the two of them in his sheets, tangled together.
“Then,” he says, quiet, “wear it. You look hot. And you feel hot, so you’ll be confident. That’s the whole point.”
Axel smiles back.
It’s only when they’re at the register, and the cashier reads out the total that Axel freezes, hand on his pocket to get his wallet.
Clothes can’t be that expensive.
Clothes can’t be that expensive, right?
A single outfit can’t possibly be—
A card drops onto the counter in front of him. Axel blinks at it, and then over at Roxas, who’s folding his wallet back up and looking up at Axel with a dare on his face.
Normally, Axel would. He makes his own money, pays for his own shit. But this—this would be his food budget for three weeks. A whole month, maybe. He licks his lips, swallows, and nods.
The cashier slips the card away, professionally ignoring their exchange. He hands Roxas the receipt and Axel the bag and tells them to have a nice day.
Outside the bougie store, Axel feels like he can breathe again.
Roxas nudges a sharp elbow into his side. “You okay, man?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I am. Thanks,” Axel’s lips quirk, and his fingers reach down to find Roxas’. “Thanks for the spot, daddy.”
Roxas’ half-strangled shout echoes down the block.