“I like stairs.”
Zexion blinked up at Number Nine with one raised eyebrow, no other expression crossing his face. “Stairs.” It was, and wasn’t a question.
“Stairs,” the blonde said emphatically, falling into his chair with a clatter. Zexion winced mentally at the abuse the sitarist typically inflicted on the Castle’s property. And now his nice, quiet breakfast was ruined. It was a universal fact that Demyx never shut up. With a slight shake of his head, Zexion returned to his book.
Or at least, he tried to. As he glanced down, his eyes were caught by Demyx’s staring sea-green eyes, intent on him. A slight smile from the blonde – meant to be encouraging, he was sure- and Zexion sighed, bookmarking his place in the book with his thumb and crossing his arms.
“Very well, Number Nine. Why, exactly, do you like stairs?”
With a grin, Demyx started to tick off items on his fingers. “Well, they’ve got everything you could ever want in a room. If you want to be alone, almost no one goes through the stairs, but stairs are comfortable enough for multiple people if you want company. They have a feeling of…,” and the blonde frowned, humming for a moment before continuing, “Movement? I always get the feeling that things are supposed to move there. They’ve also got great acoustics.”
Taking a sip of his tea and silently bemoaning the loss of his quiet meal, Zexion hummed noncommittally.
“Oh, and there might have been a very vivid, very good dream involving you, me, and sex on stairs.”
Zexion sputtered into his tea, blushing heavily.
After taking a moment to compose himself (which, if Zexion were to be honest, wasn’t too successful), he stared across the table at Demyx, who was grinning at him.
“You turned exactly that shade of pink, too!” he said delightedly, something wicked in his eyes and in the cant of his lips. With a smug, satisfied air, the blonde stood and stretched, his uniform jacket unzipping a little more than usual.
Finally, Zexion found his voice. “Number Nine!” he let out in a scandalized tone, attempting to repress the flare of heat in his cheeks (also unsuccessful).
Demyx laughed easily, silkily, raising his arms to the ceiling, and Zexion snuck a quick glance down at his leather-clad legs. “Love you too, Zexy. Oh, and just so you know…”
After several seconds of silence, Zexion dragged his eyes from the sitarist’s long, long legs which were, really, far too appealing for their own good. Demyx’s grin grew even larger and the blonde leaned across the table, kissing the slate-haired man almost gently.
“I’ll be in the westernmost staircase until nightfall. Just in case you’re interested,” Demyx whispered against Zexion’s lips, tongue darting out for the smallest of tastes (smallest of teases). And with that, Demyx left, a pleased sway to his walk.
Zexion sat, frozen and blushing, in place for far too long before mentally resolving to make sure his schedule was clear for the rest of the day.
Walking into the dining hall, Vexen took one look at Zexion’s face and threw up his hands in exasperation, muttering to himself about young people and their libidos.