A/N: This first chapter has actually been done for like…a week. Which is kind of sad for me, considering how quickly I usually post things. But this means I got a chance to check and recheck for errors and whatnot, so rejoice! Maybe it'll actually be readable for once….
At any rate, this is going to be like…really seriously long. SERIOUSLY. I have no idea how long, but it's going to take a while to finish. But it should get done because it's my babyyyyy. And I'm on the third chapter already. Go me! D Now, onwards!
Warnings: Yaoi. Maybe kind of dark. Bad words galore. You know, the usual. (Oh and maybe some het. I haven't decided that yet.)
Disclaimer: Squaresoft and Disney OWN MY SOUL. Or at least they own Kingdom Hearts. Which I don't own. And I'm not getting paid to write this fic. Yeah.
Summary: AU. AkuRoku. He wanted an ending. He got Axel instead.
Chapter One: One Last Reason to Exist
Sometimes, Roxas really fucking hated his looks. It wasn't that he thought he was unattractive, it was that he'd always thought he looked too...innocent. Not that there was anything wrong with it, per se, it could work for some people, people like his brother. But it didn't match his personality, the bruises that decorated his body, the strut in his walk.
And it especially didn't match his current environment.
Nothing about him did, not in the Underground. He was too expensive--designer jeans, designer sunglasses, designer trenchcoat. He wasn't rich, but his father made sure he dressed like he was, and Roxas would not begrudge whatever kindness the man saw fit to bestow on him. But as he walked across the faded tiles, dodging drug addicts, perverts, and whores alike, he knew he stuck out like a sore thumb (pardon the cliche). But something about him must have kept the really dangerous people away, because he wasn't approached by anyone sober. Feigning confidence did more for him than he'd ever thought it would.
Or maybe something about his intentions could be seen by those intelligent enough to pay attention. Maybe they thought he was the dangerous one. To come to this place, making his way to the eighth room on the thirteenth floor, to see the man he was about to see...
He'd heard rumors of the Organization. Rumors that sent shivers down his spine, that were only spread in whispers...just in case. Because it was said that if you talked about the Organization, you would be dead within twenty-four hours. It had happened before. And this man who called himself Ares was whispered to be one of them. Whether he was or not, the boy didn't care. All that mattered was that this man get the job done, and he was one of the few who didn't mind killing his employers in the process.
He didn't stop when he reached the door, though he knew he should. He didn't have time for warnings or common courtesy; he needed to be in and out fast enough that nobody would have ever guessed he was there. He heard startled gasps behind him, knew immediately that he'd done something stupid, and moved anyway until the door was closed behind him and a spike was pointed at his throat. He stared at it for a moment, before allowing his eyes to follow the curve of the weapon to the hand that held tightly to the middle of it, skimming over the arm to look up (and up) and into the greenest eyes he'd ever seen in his life.
Those eyes stared coldly into his own for a moment before widening slightly in surprise and sliding slowly down his body. Roxas got the distinct feeling that he was being undressed and he shifted uncomfortably, causing the man's eyes to snap back up to his own. He leaned back casually, arm raising the chakram perilously close to his spiky hair, and smirked.
"Hasn't anybody ever told you to knock, kid?" the man asked, voice insincere. "I'd hate to kill you before I…got to know you."
"I want to hire you," Roxas said coldly, ignoring the mocking words and refusing to pay attention to the way the man had emphasized the last part of his sentence. It didn't matter.
"I don't come cheap," the man drawled, and the smirk evolved into a leer that made Roxas scowl.
"I can afford it. Whatever you need. I won't need any munny where I'm going."
"And where is it that you're going, hm?"
"To Hell, probably."
The man's eyebrows shot for his hairline, but he didn't comment. He just turned his back and walked around the table to the cushiony chair behind it, gesturing for Roxas to have a seat as well. There were three chairs for him to choose from: one was off to the right and looked sinfully soft; one was to the left, straight-backed and wooden; one was in the middle, the perfect mirror of the one the redheaded man had settled himself in, and facing him head on. Roxas knew this was a test, somehow, that where he sat down would dictate how the man treated him. He knew better than to seat himself in sin, though the thought was apt, and didn't know which of the other two would be preferred. He hesitated for a moment, considering the chair at the right because none of this mattered, and then settled himself in the middle to face his future head on.
The man called Ares smiled and flipped open a notebook, pen already in hand.
"All right, then. I need details. Who, when, and where?"
"One week from now," Roxas said softly, watching as Ares' hand flew over the paper. "My dad, myself. I want my entire house burnt down, nothing left except ashes. But…."
"But?"
"My brother will be home. He has to make it out alive." Roxas hesitated, aware that he was admitting a weakness, and gripped the arms of his chair. "I'm doing this for him, and there won't be any point to it if he's dead as well."
"You're starting to make things complicated, kid," the man said, but there was a gleam in his eyes that Roxas took to mean he was enjoying the concept of a challenge. "If you want to make exceptions, you should be doing this yourself."
"I can't." The man tilted his head, curious, and Roxas gritted his teeth, knuckles turning white, and continued. "I couldn't kill myself. I've thought about it, more than I should. And it's not something I could do directly. But if I get someone else to do it for me…."
"If you don't want to die, why are you hiring me to kill you? You could just disappear. Well, you could have if you hadn't already seen my face at least."
"I have nowhere to go. There would be questions, and I'm not old enough to live on my own. And it's best for S—my brother. It's best for him if I disappear completely. I'll only hold him back. I always have."
The man leaned forward, glittering eyes holding Roxas in place though he suddenly wanted to run, and folded his hands on his desk. "You wouldn't have to die. You've got spunk, kid, determination. Nobody around here will give a fuck where you come from, why you're here." He stood slowly from his seat, leaning over the desk until his face was uncomfortably close to Roxas' "I could make it look like you've died, got a friend who could make a perfect replica of you and plant it in your bed so nobody would think you'd run off. Your brother would never know. I could take care of you."
"You just want to have sex with me," Roxas accused quietly, proud of how apathetic his voice remained. The taller man threw his head back and laughed, a rough sound that the blond found himself liking, and leered down at him.
"Sounds like a nice bonus. You offering?"
"Don't flatter yourself."
The leer faded back into a cocky smirk and the man leaned in even further, Roxas refusing to move away even the slightest bit. "I like you, kid, I really do. You're not stupid, but you're not a coward either. We could use another member, and I can promise that you wouldn't regret the decision. And, hey, if the others didn't want you around…well, you'll end up dead either way. What do you say?"
"Who, exactly, is we?" Roxas was intrigued, though he knew he was being hustled by a right bastard. And maybe, just maybe, he was a little bit attracted.
"Agree, and I'll let you know." The man's breath smelled of mints, and his eyes were almost hypnotizing. Long fingers were in Roxas' hair, and he leaned forward just a little, just enough to tease, but not enough that it was an invitation.
"One condition," he murmured softly, and almost smiled. "If these people don't like me…you'll be the one to kill me. It's part of what I'm paying you for anyway."
"Sure thing, kid." The redhead moved back slowly, his fingers trailing down the back of Roxas' head and across his neck, and settled himself back in his chair comfortably. He licked his lips and grinned in satisfaction. "I think the Organization will welcome you with open arms—as much as they welcome anyone."
Roxas swore he felt his heart skip a beat, though he wasn't sure if it was due to the man's blatant desire for him or the mention of the gang he'd been whispered warnings about on his search for what he needed. Maybe it was a bit of both, but at this point it truly didn't matter, just like he'd been telling himself all along. He was in too deep already.
"Plan's simple. We'll have to wait for everyone to be asleep, of course, and then my friend will come in through your window to get you out and switch you with the doll. You'll run off with him and we'll light the place up—do you and your brother share a room?"
"No."
"Great! Throw a Molotov cocktail through your window, and if it lands where it should, it'll burn your replica almost beyond recognition. Doesn't matter, really, they'll assume it's you anyway. We can get someone else to just happens to be going by to hear the crash, to see a few shadowy figures running away, and hopefully to hear your brother screaming. He'll run in, at great risk to his own person of course, to save him, but by the time they're out it'll be too late to get in and save your dad."
"…And you're sure this is going to work?" Roxas asked skeptically.
"Hey, I do this shit for a living. I got it covered. And anything that goes wrong will be dealt with. The Organization won't leave a trace behind, I assure you. In and out, kid. You'll be gone, either dead or a member, and your precious sibling will grieve and move on. There will be no leads for the police to follow, no trace of any of us left behind. Trust me."
"Okay," Roxas said tightly, frowning at the man's confident smile. "How will I recognize your friend?"
"Well, he looks crazy, for one," Ares chuckled. "And he'll have the tattoo on the back of his neck."
"A lot of crazy-looking people have tattoos on the back of their neck," the blond sneered.
"But none of them are stupid enough to try to pass themselves off as a member of the Organization. Not if they value their lives. We've branded ourselves, kid, and you'll get one too if you pass. The Organization's symbol and a roman numeral. Simple, elegant, and hidden."
"I don't know what your symbol looks like," Roxas returned easily, shrugging. "I've only heard whispers. Nobody's shown me anything."
"Well, they're smarter than I give them credit for," the tall man muttered and stood from his seat. His hands undid his own belt swiftly and Roxas heard himself squeak embarrassingly, scooting the chair he was sitting in across the floor to distance himself.
"What are you doing?" he snarled, and glared daggers as the man paused to laugh.
"Relax, kid, I'm just going to show you what the thing looks like."
Roxas' mind ran through all the possibilities as the zipper was lowered and he realized that the man was wearing no underwear. "If it's on your dick," he said quickly, scooting back even farther, "I really don't want to know." But he didn't close his eyes.
"You take me for some sort of masochist?" the redheaded man snickered, and turned to his left so that his right side was in Roxas' view. "If it'll make you more comfortable, I can hold a piece of paper up to my bits so I don't blind your poor virgin eyes."
"Shut up," Roxas snarled, and sat straight again so he didn't look like he was scared, but he knew his cheeks were pink with embarrassment. And the man was smiling at him—not the cocky smirk or the perverted leer, but a soft, genuine smile—and he sort of wished he hadn't been meeting this man under these circumstances.
Ares cooperated nicely, not saying a word as he lowered the side of his pants enough that Roxas could see the red and black mark on his hip. He licked his lips unconsciously (the man's breath seemed to hitch, though Roxas may have just been imagining it) and leaned forward to inspect it. He couldn't even begin to describe the background, it being all spikes and what looked like the top of a heart but upside down, but he recognized the numerals instantly. VIII. Number eight.
He kind of wanted to touch it, to make sure the skin was as smooth as it looked, because except for the startling triangles on this man's face, he'd never seen a tattoo before. But he held back the desire, not wanting to give the other any more improper ideas, and leaned back as casually as he could as Ares did himself back up.
Ares cleared his throat and his smirk returned. "My friend is number four. I don't know if he'll introduce himself, so I'll skip on giving names, but you won't be able to miss him. Blond and insane."
"Right," Roxas said faintly, standing from his seat in certainty that their business was over. He reached into an inside pocket of his trenchcoat and pulled out a pouch of munny, dropping it on the desk. "I'll be going then. I'll be missed." He turned to the door, determined to leave, but only made it a couple steps before a long arm wrapped around his waist and he was pulled against a thin chest.
"I want a name before you go," the redhead whispered, voice low in a way that made Roxas shiver.
"…Roxas."
"Roxas," the man repeated as if he was testing the name out. He trailed a few soft kisses down the blond's neck, and Roxas gulped deeply as his hand lifted to the one holding onto his stomach. "Until next week, then. I look forward to it."
And then Roxas was pushed unceremoniously forward, door opening as if of its own accord, and slamming shut behind him. He pulled himself up shakily, glared at the multiple sets of eyes that stared eerily at him, and made his way out.
A/N: If you review I will love you forever! Or until I forget your name, whichever comes first.