There was something about Demyx that drew Roxas in, but he didn’t know what for the longest time. It was something beyond the fingers, strengthened and calloused from years of plucking strings but capable of the lightest touch. It was something other than the skin, flawless and smooth and cool underneath him. It was something related to the roaring in his ears as he climaxed and lay panting beside the thin body, Demyx’s tongue tracing patterns on his chest and in his mouth.
Seawater, some faint shadow of a memory finally told him. It was because Demyx smelled and tasted like seawater.