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So here’s the thing.
Axel has a crush that wants to kill him.
Not literally.
Okay, maybe a little bit literally.
But Axel’s kinda in the doki-doki shit pit with this one because he thinks the murderous aura is funny as hell. Unfortunately, murder is less funny when he’s forced to suffer before his death, and well, suffering he is.
It’s just that Regis fucking Altare has been getting way too close to him lately, and that’s not good for his heart.
Like, way too close, man.
So close that Axel feels like if he starts getting any closer, Axel’s going to burst into flames and set fire to the nearest moving object — hopefully one that is cute, yellow, black and vaguely dick-shaped, because that would give him hope, at least, that if he’s gonna die one day, he can take his stinky Axelotls down with him.
But Jesus Christ on a stick, Altare.
Axel ain’t even properly fucking awake when his day rudely starts itself by way of the door slamming open and Regis Altare looking stupidly victorious on the other side.
“What the—” is about as far as Axel can manage, before Altare invites himself in, way too springy for the time of morning, and for some inexplicable reason, he starts taking off his clothes immediately.
Axel is now very awake. Maybe even too awake.
This is all happening way too fast and unsexily for an opening to some kinda sweet daydream or fantasy — even for him — so as it stands, there’s a very good chance he has actually just woken up to Altare barging into his room and stripping.
Which, by the way, would be up there as one of the worst things he’s ever done to the gladiator-doctor, because now Axel wants to toss himself out into the nearest flaming trash can before Altare realizes just how much this is getting to him.
Surely, there’s got to be some rule against whatever the god dang fuck this is, because Axel is struggling to find a reason to justify any of it, even if he is enjoying the show.
“Morning Axel!” Altare chirps, voice muffled through the clothing he’s pulling over his head, as Axel opens and closes his mouth in disbelief. “Don’t mind me! I just gotta borrow some clothes! Pretend I’m not even here!”
“Yo, what the fuck?” Axel asks, eyes not leaving Altare and the slope of his leader’s toned, battle-scarred back, watching as this weird idiot in his room tosses his gray sweater aside and makes a beeline for Axel’s closet. “Hey— oi, stop that! What’s going on here?!”
Altare’s adorable and extremely puntable blue head peeks out from the closet door.
“Mission has a dress code. I don’t have an all-black outfit, so I’m stealing yours.” He ends his summary with a bright smile as he dives back into the closet. “Thanks, man. Owe you one!”
“You didn’t fucking ask!” Axel points out, running a hand through his bed head, trying to subtly fix it up. It’s a moot point anyway. Altare has seen him look worse. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to at least look a little bit hot instead of like some kinda bog creature crawling out of bed. “What if I say no?”
“Are you saying no?” Altare pokes his head back out to pout at him, eyes big and wide and pleading. Definitely aiming to be manipulative, that cheeky bastard. “To this face?”
“Go raid Vesper’s closet.” Axel grumbles, shooing at him instead of answering the question. “Old man’s got a shitload of black clothes. Why you gotta come to me?”
At that, Altare sighs dramatically, and Axel absolutely does not hone in on his bared shoulders and the light flex of muscle in his arms as he reaches out to tug a turtleneck off its hanger.
“Uh, dude, have you seen Vesper? I’d look like a kid in his clothes. Love the guy, dig the fashion, but I’d rather not get laughed at by everyone today.” He steps away from the door, straightening Axel’s tight black shirt over his chest. “How do I look?”
“With your eyes, Altare.”
Altare ignores his half-assed joke, checking himself out in the mirror. “Oh, I look great. Still kinda loose, but I got somethin’ going on. Good. Love that,” he nods assuredly. “Okay, now pants—”
“Wait! Stop!” Axel yelps, the volume of it surprising both of them and stopping Altare in his tracks. “Your pants are already black, dumbass! You don’t need to steal my pants—”
“My pants and your shirt make me look like a sock.”
“Okay, well, if you put it that way, yeah, you do kinda look like a huge wrinkly sock,” Axel peruses him for a moment, grinning impishly at the very idea. “What’s wrong with that? Go be a sock for a day. Show off your best sock cosplay.”
“No thanks.” Altare says confidently. “I’m taking your pants.”
“Fine. Take my pants.” Axel gives in, perhaps a little too easily, but what the hell else can he say. Take his wallet? His heart, too? Why not his whole life, while he’s at it? Stupid fuck. Axel would do anything he asked. “But don’t just strip without warning, okay?!”
“Okay!” Altare says cheerfully, before stripping without warning.
“Oh my fucking god— Altare!”
“What?” Altare asks. He’s halfway back in the closet now and Axel’s eyes are not leaving his legs anytime soon. Altare barely ever shows skin. It’s a natural instinct. “Nothing you haven’t seen before. We’re both guys here.”
“That’s not the point, man.”
“What’s the point, then? You want me to say, ‘Hey Axel, I’m taking off my pants now’?”
“Warning would be nice, yeah!”
“Hey Axel! Guess what!” Altare exclaims, seeming to want to be a little shit about this situation, which is nothing new. “I’m not wearing pants!”
“Well, yes, I can see that!” And yeah, he definitely can. Altare is literally standing a couple metres away in nothing but Axel’s turtleneck and his underwear so uh, yeah, he can definitely see that. And he is definitely not going to be able to unsee that, the image burning hot in his mind as he tries in vain to keep his eyes on homie-appropriate viewing areas. Just dudes being dudes.
“Why are you looking?!” Altare gasps playfully, acting all scandalized when he’s the one standing half-naked in someone else’s damn room. “Don’t look! I’m getting dressed over here!”
Axel sputters, a little hot under the collar. “What do you fucking mean— where am I supposed to look, then?”
“Away!”
“Aight, fine, I’m looking away!”
Axel does not look away.
“You’re still looking!” Altare points this out immediately, laughter on his lips. It may just be an indicator that he’s joking, but Axel is obsessed with his laughter, and wonders which kami he can thank for blessing him on this beautiful morning. “Geez, Axel, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you actually want to see me naked.”
“Fuck you, man,” Axel grumbles, laying back down so he can pull the covers over his head and pretend he doesn’t want any of that. To save his sanity. “Just take what you need and get out. I’m going back to bed.”
“Ooh, is this where you keep your raunchy magazines, too?” Altare asks, plucking through Axel’s closet for a pair of slim black jeans, teasing never leaving his tone, “I guess you are a growing boy, after all.”
“Hah?!” Axel shoots back up immediately. “I don’t— I don’t have any—”
His face reddens when he realizes what Altare is talking about. So what, he’s got a sexy poster or two in the back of his closet. That’s not anything to be ashamed of. They’d be outside the closet, if the landlord didn’t come around to check on them every so often. Of all the rumors that could go around, Axel doesn’t want to aid the one that tells everyone Guild TEMPUS are a bunch of thirsty ass dudes, even if it’s kinda true.
“Altare, just put some fucking pants on.” He groans.
“Alright, alright,” Altare shucks on the jeans, jumping like a bunny rabbit to get his legs through the holes. “Dude, remind me never to join the skinny jean cause. Now that these are on me, I’m never getting them off again.”
“Don’t be a weakling. They’re not that tight.”
“You say that like you don’t wear the tightest clothes known to man.”
“I look hot in them, though. I look hella sexy.”
“You do look hot in them.” Altare replies, like he didn’t just electrocute Axel with those few words. He’s glad, for once, that Altare isn’t looking at him, and is instead running his fingers along the jagged tears in the jeans he’s wearing. “What’s with all these rips? Are all your pants like this?”
“Yeah, it’s called fashion, dumbass. You wouldn’t understand.”
“What do you mean?” Altare frowns.
“Well. You’re not exactly a fashion icon, Altare.”
“That’s so mean! You sound like Flayon.”
“Flayon and I gossip about you all the time.”
“Rude!” Altare huffs. “What do you guys even talk about? I don’t do anything all that interesting.”
It’s true, Axel and Flayon have spoken about Altare, but it was mostly Flayon threatening to kick Axel’s ass if Axel doesn’t buckle up and tell their guild leader that he has major hots for him. Which Axel will never do, and Flayon’s tiny frame can’t kick his ass anyway, so Axel Syrios gets to joyfully live another day. Love and peace restored in Elysium, once again.
“That’s a secret.” Axel says casually. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m your guild leader. It’s my job to worry about it.”
He stalks back to the mirror again and Axel almost chokes, because he just realized Altare wasn’t kidding about his pants being very tight.
In comparison to Altare’s usual getup, Axel’s jeans do wonders, and he can make out the very shape of Altare’s calves all the way up to his thighs, which he swears never existed before.
Sure, fine, he’s seen Altare’s legs, but the tight black accentuates them, hugging his figure right down to his ankles, where the ends of the jeans bunch up adorably. Fucking height difference. All the short jokes are coming back to bite Axel with a vengeance. He looks so god dang cute.
“I don’t really pull it off as well as you do, but it will have to do,” Altare declares, fumbling to click his belt shut. Axel’s almost possessed with the horrific urge to offer to help him with that, but manages to stop himself before any gladiators, doctors, hitmen or assassins start acting out of line.
“You look fine.” He says gruffly. “Put a jacket on. You’ll get cold.”
“Can I wear your vest thing, too? I wanna go full Axel for a day.”
Axel wants to say no. Axel wants to say that the more of his clothes that he takes, the easier it will be for everyone in the vicinity to get the wrong idea. Axel wants to say that if he steps outside wearing Axel’s gear, someone is going to connect the wrong dots and they’ll never hear the end of it.
“Fine.” He says instead, because Altare is giving him those stupid pleading eyes again. “But I’m not helping you put it on.”
“Eh? Why not?”
“I’m not doing it, Altare.”
“What? Come on. Help a bro out!”
“I said what I said. It’s not happening. I’m not going to help you—”
“My eyes are up here, by the way,” Altare teases good-naturedly, as Axel takes a little too long clasping the vest to his chest.
“Shaddup.” Axel grumbles, gaze casting upwards to rest on his stupidly cute face. “I’m still half-asleep.” He yawns again, loudly, as if to make a point. “Seriously, what’s with you and buckles? You can’t put a little stick through a hole? Makes me feel almost sorry for you, I mean, if you think about it, other activities—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Altare replies with a huff. “I can do buckles just fine. Your clothes are just so complicated, dude. Like, can you chill with the belts?”
“Nope. Fashion.”
“You’ve played way too many RPGs.”
“And I look fucking awesome, so kindly shut the fuck up, sir.”
“What happened to hoodies, Axel? Are you too cool for hoodies?”
“You don’t hafta wear my shit, you’re the one who came in here, so stop complaining.” Despite saying this, Axel is already handing him a jacket. “Don’t get sick.”
“You’re so cute.”
“I will murder you. Put the jacket on.”
“Will you tie my tie for me too?”
“No.” Axel says. “Do it yourself.”
Altare snickers, and Axel knows it’s because he’s already reaching over to help him, since he’s the fucking pushover of the year, and acts without even thinking.
He goes through the motions with a scowl, Altare’s eyes watching him, amused. He’s pretty sure Altare can tie a tie and work a vest, and he’s just being stupid because he wants to make Axel suffer, but Axel has resigned himself to suffering. In any case, Altare makes cute noises if he yanks too hard, so it’s not all that bad.
“You done yet?” Leader demands impatiently.
“Do it yourself next time.” Axel grumbles, smacking him on the chest. “You’re good, you fucking toddler. Shit.”
“Awesome. Thanks!” Altare perks up, doing a satisfied spin. His tails whack Axel in the knees. When Axel sighs in annoyance, he does it again. In-fucking-credible. His guild leader is actually a five year old. “Cool weapons. I’m surprised you don’t use your tails to hit people more often.”
“My fists do more damage.” Axel says flatly. “C’mere for a sec. Lemme make sure everything looks even.”
“Sure, sure,” he comes closer again, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Go on, then, fashionista. Check me out.”
“No-one’s checking you out.” Axel pretends that’s not what he’s been doing the entire time. “I’m just making sure you don’t look like more of a loser than usual, with a tag sticking out or some shit.”
“You’re a loser.” Altare replies, sticking out his tongue.
“Nah, I ain’t a loser,” Axel frowns. “I’ll have you know I’m a doctor, gladiator, hitman, assassin, bank robber, burglar, bomb defuser, professional gaslighter—”
“Okay, okay,” Altare laughs, raising his hands in surrender. “I don’t need your whole resume. You’re already hired.”
“Like you could ever resist me.”
“I know.” Altare grins. “You’re the best.” His hand reaches out to ruffle Axel’s hair. “And you’re mine.”
Axel can’t help it. He makes a garbled noise in his throat. Just casually.
You know, casually making the most embarrassing noise he’s ever made in his life.
Fuck all this, just throw Altare out the window right now. Axel could probably accomplish that.
Pick Altare up, open the window, toss him out. Easy done. He could do it. He won’t, but he’s thinking about it. It’s not his fault that Altare’s hand feels nice in his hair. This guy really does want to kill him. Stupid ass.
And what the hell is “you’re mine” supposed to mean, anyway?!
He can’t even look Altare in the face, hearing him chuckle as he pulls his hand back.
“What was that?” Altare asks.
“What was what?” Axel feigns ignorance.
“You made a funny sound.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. You like getting your head patted that badly, do you?”
“What the fuck? No, I don’t!” Axel protests, flushing further, shoving Altare by the shoulders. “Shut up! You got what you came here for, so just leave already!”
“Aww, so soon? Don’t you wanna hang out with me a little longer?”
“Don’t you have a fucking mission to get on with!?” Axel barks.
“Okay, okay! Good point!” Altare laughs again, allowing himself to be pushed. “I’ll be back later with these all cleaned up for you, okay? Unless you want them to smell like me—”
“Who wants that!? Go away!” Axel keeps shoving him, frantically trying to erase the past five minutes from his memory. He didn’t even know he could make a sound like that. What the fuck. Not to mention, he’s still stuck on those words and that goddamn smile — you’re the best and you’re mine, like, what in the fucking Utopia is that supposed to mean?! Why, this guy….! “Get out! Hurry up!”
“So mean,” Altare snickers, making his way towards the door. He stops at the doorway to throw a wink back over his shoulder. “Oh yeah, and just throw my stuff in the corner or something, would you? Be a dear. Thanks, Axel. See ya later!”
Axel blinks after his disappearing back.
“The fuck would I be a deer for?”
If someone gets the wrong idea, Axel will have to deal with that.
Of course, Altare’s shit luck must be contagious, because the moment Axel steps out of his room, Flayon ambushes him with a yell.
“What the—!” Axel flails as he tries to catch the rocketing pilot before they both slam into the wall.
“When were you gonna tell me, huh!?” Flayon screeches, accusatory. “I thought we were in this together! I had a whole plan, I was gonna help wingman for you and now, look, you don’t even need my help!” He shakes Axel, making him sway. “Congrats! I feel so special. Soooo so so special, you don’t tell me anything! You hate me!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Don’t play dumb with me!” The pilot wails. “Something happened between you and Altare, didn’t it!? He was just skipping down the hallway, wearing your clothes! You can’t tell me that’s not suspicious!”
“Maybe he’s just a fucking weirdo who goes and raids people’s closets, you ever consider that?”
“And you just let him?! Axel, stand up for yourself!”
“Why’s it such a big deal? It’s not like he stole anything important.”
“That’s not true.” Flayon groans, tapping Axel’s chest with his pointer finger. “He stole your heart. That’s super important.”
“Oh shit, man, I suddenly remembered, I have to go get some food—”
“HEY!” Flayon snags him by the sleeve, digging his heels into the ground. “You’re not getting away from me that easily, mister!”
“Woof.” Altare’s head pokes out from the gate of the training grounds, when the sun is in its downward turn in the sky. “Thought I’d find you here. How’s training going?”
“Sweaty.” Axel replies.
“Same.” Altare agrees, sizing him up with a languid smile. “I heard Flayon was looking for you.”
“No, he ain’t.” Axel says immediately, having put all his energy earlier into escaping Machina X Flayon, who can be surprisingly scary when he wants something. “Don’t worry about it. That little brat probably wants someone to take over dinner chores.”
Altare rolls his eyes. He places an orange-gloved hand on his hip. “You guys need to stick to the roster. If we have to have another guild meeting about this, I will be keeping tabs on who’s slacking.”
“Hey, don’t look at me! I’m doin’ my part!” Axel raises his palms in surrender. “Don’t need you murdering me in my sleep. I do my shit, yo. I do what I gotta do.”
“I know you do, Axel.” Altare breaches the distance between them, sneakers thudding soft against the concrete. “You’re surprisingly obedient, you know that?”
“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” he sings. “Where’d you put my stuff, anyway? I couldn’t find it. I wanna get changed before dinner. I’ve gotten enough weird looks today to last a lifetime.”
“See?” Axel grumbles. “I fucking told you.”
“Yeah, yeah, Axel the Wise.”
“I left ‘em in the closet, top shelf.” He says with a sigh, wiping the sweat from his brow. “It’s just— there’s implications. If your clothes are on my bedroom floor. That’s all.”
“Hm? What kind of implications?”
Axel is going to strangle him.
“You know exactly what kind of implications.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Altare says smugly, before raising an eyebrow. “And top shelf? Really, Axel? You’re gonna have to come help me reach.”
Axel snorts.
“Fine, okay,” he waves a dismissive hand. “Be a huge baby about it, shit. You can’t do anything by yourself, can you?”
“What? I can’t control my height, idiot.” Altare laughs. “You might need to help me get out of these clothes, too, by the way. I think your jeans are, like, permanently glued to my body.”
Axel wants to ask him what in the hell he means by that, but Altare is already skipping off again, the clink-clink-clink of chains trailing him as he hops on ahead towards his destination. The gladiator doesn’t even want to imagine about what kind of torture his brain is going to have to go through if Altare is serious, but he snags his water bottle and a passing Axelotl by the scruff of the neck, just in case he needs a sacrifice if Altare doesn’t take mercy on his poor soul.
“Come on, boy!” Altare whistles. “I need these clothes off me. Like, pronto. Never wearing a tight all-black outfit again. That’s for you, fashion people, thanks for your sacrifice.”
Dear god, Axel thinks, trudging slowly after him, resigned to his fate. He really is out to kill me.