A/N: Another one-shot. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I hereby disclaim everything- except the plot, which was made by me, Cathmaster. NO STEALING PLEASE.

Warning: Mild swearing, use of alcohol, implied prescpription drug abuse, implied hookering (?), and a lime.

Playful Nights

Your fingers slip through mine

Your facial features fade and my eyes blur

The snow stings my eyes and the temperature drops ten degrees

Why are you leaving me now

My fingers are numb. I think I've been gripping my Bic pen way too long now. I throw it across the room, letting my fingers dishevel my hair and putting my elbows on my wooden desk.

"Damn writers block," I mumble to no one but myself. I'm not that much of a poet. Maybe I should go back to writing fanfiction.

Or maybe it's the fact that I can't get the pubescent blonde stranger out of my head.

I smash the phone down on the counter, my breathing staggered.

"Damn Demyx," I breath, "Why'd he have to do this again?"

My thoughts are all jumbled together, creating strings and strings of confusion, and my pulse is racing. I honestly think Demyx needs some serious help. If only I could convince his parents to put him in long-term treatment. It worked for me.

"I need a walk," I growl, my breathing still deep and mumbled, and swipe the keys off the marble counter.

I lock my apartment door behind me and walk down the three flights of stairs. I wish we had an elevator. Or maybe I'm just being lazy. Probably the latter. But I think everyone has a little bit of laziness in them. I mean, does anyone want to walk down three flights of stairs? No one, that's who. Well, nevermind me. I'm rambling. I tend to do that pretty often.

I walk out of the building and turn right, down the sidewalk. My hands are cold, so I shove my hands in my pockets. I probably should've put on a coat, but a hoodie will do. This is my favorite one. The light blue one with gold stars going down the arms and a huge lightning bolt going down my chest. It's kiddish, but wicked awesome. And contrasts nicely with my red hair, which is also pretty damn wicked awesome, in my opinion.

God, I talk a lot.

I walk about a half mile more before the shops start to appear, dimmed brightly by streetlights and neon signs. After passing a bowling alley, a night club, and a Baskin Robbins, I enter a bar.

No one is in the bar except for what looks like a pretty blonde girl. She is slumped in a stool, her bright blue tank top riding up around her waist. Her short shorts are literally sliding off the leather seat. I sit down next to her.

I take a closer look at the girl. I soon realize it is a boy. He looks underage.

I can't take my eyes off of him, and he gives me an agitated look, saying, "What the hell do you think you're looking at?" A perfect chance to hit on him.

"I'm looking at an angel. Did it hurt when you fell down from heaven?" My eyebrows raise and I can tell my grin is wicked.

"Please," he rolls his eyes, letting his round shoulders fall, "Like I haven't heard that one before. Please amuse me with another cheesy, lame, pick-up line before I gag."

"Hmm, let me think," I put my elbows on the counter, my hands cupping my chin, "I can't think of anymore, except, you're downright gorgeous."

After a long minute of awkward silence, I ask, "Aren't you underage?" He looks away.

"I knew it," I smirk, finding my detective skills higher than usual, "But I'll buy you a drink." His head turns back at me, his eyes lit.

"Really?" He smiles. I chuckle.

"Yes, really. What's your name?"

"Roxas." Roxas. Haven't heard that one before. It has a nice ring to it, though. Roxas.

"And you?" He puts his feet on the stool, causing his knees to scrunch up in his face.

"Axel. Put your legs down kid, I can't see your beautiful face."

"You can stop hitting on me now. And I want a Bud Light."

"That's it? No shots, no Vodka?" I smirk. This kid is so hot.

"Maybe later...Do you have any prescription drugs on you?" Roxas asks.

"Why the hell would I..." He frowns. "Actually, yes, I do. But you're going to have to work for that, Rox."

"Work?" He lets his legs fall from the stool. I order the drinks.

"Let's sit at a booth." I stand up, and he follows me. We take a seat in the back.

"Here's your beer, kid," I slide the drink across the table. He lifts it to his face and takes a long swig. When he's done he wipes his lips.

"Is that your first try? Of alcohol, I mean." He chuckles.

"Hell no. I come here often."

"Really? How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"And what do you do when you come here?" I take a long sip of my beverage, eyeing the kid from head to toe.

"Usually sit at the bar, until some pervert buys me a drink. Most of the time I manage to leave before things get out of hand, before people get too drunk."

"You think your plan is bulletproof Rox, that you won't get hurt. Eh, that's not true." I put my glass down on the table, staring at the gorgeous creature from the inside out.

"And you know this because...?" Roxas' elbows go on the table.

"When I was younger, I was like you. I use to dress like a whore to get guy's attention, to get laid and everything."

"I don't do it for the sex."

"You do it for the booze? Still. When you get drunk, you'll usually have sex."

"Or act like an idiot."

"Or act like an idiot. But usually the sex." We both take long sips until we're empty.

"Can I have some more?" I shake my head. He frowns.

"Why not?" His eyebrows furrow together.

"I don't want to have sex with you, kid."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I can tell you want to. And I'm a lot older then you. I'm surprised they haven't kicked you out of this place yet."

"But why do you think I want to have sex?"

"Because you have a bad home life. You need a distraction from it all. So you come to a bar in hopes of attracting some 35 year old, mildly decent office worker with a wife and kids. It's an escape for you."

"Actually, I'm more into the college guys." I roll my eyes.

"And my home life isn't that bad."

"Really?"

"It's school that's the worse. I can't take all that shit- all the work, all of the social stuff- it's too much."

"But what's bad at home?" I ask him.

"I have no dad, my mom's an alcoholic."

"So you want to end up like her? In a bar every night?" I tilt my head.

"No. But you have a point." He lets his hands fall onto the table.

"Go home, kid. Get some rest. I bet it's past your cerfew."

"Don't have one." I sigh.

"Did something happen tonight?" I ask, running a hand through my hair. Roxas gulps.

"I guess..."

"Well, you're welcome to spend the night with me. And only tonight." I sigh, slinking in my chair in defeat. I couldn't help it. I was in his shoes once.

"Really?" He lights up.

"Yes. Let's go." I stand up, leave the mess at the table. He stands up to, following me out the door, his pink Uggs stomping.

"Aren't you cold?" I ask him on the way over to my apartment.

"No, I'm on an adreniline rush. And can I have some pills now? Please?" He gives me a puppy dog face. I frown.

"I have some Xanax at home. Maybe later." I inwardly sigh. I know I'm feeding into all this negative behavior, but what the hell.

We enter the building, walking up the three flights of stairs. I unlock my apartment door and Roxas rushes in, looking around my living space.

"The futon's in the living room, food is in the fridge, pills are on the counter. Go home in the morning." I walk into my bedroom, but he follows behind me. I turn around, an aggravated sigh escaping.

"What?" I glare.

"I want to sleep with you." He touches my arm in a sexy fashion. Oh my God.

I carry him bridal style in my arms, and throw him on my full-size bed, his body landing in the fluffy white comforter. I turn on my light. He starts to take his clothes off.

I pounce on him, kissing his lips, my hands in his hair, his arms around my back. He moans as I bite his tongue and I give him kisses on his neck, bite his collarbone. I take off my shirt and he put his hands all over his chest, inspecting every inch. I lick the inside of his ear, and he laughs. He's ticklish there. I put my hands on his legs and lean into him, my head in his chest. As I bite his nipples he moans. He shoves his hands down my pants and I yelp.

A long night of playfulness ensues.

I look through my desk and find the number written on looseleaf paper.

Anytime you want to give me some of your Xanax, or buy me a Bud Light, call me.