Visionary
Shit, word of advice: Do not try a device of writing you never touched before...
...and apply it to a scenario you still aren't entirely used to.
Lexaeus. Zexion. Porn, people. Awkwardly written porn.
Title: Visionary
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
- Characters: Lexaeus, Zexion (Vexen's mentioned)
Rating: NC-17 (because Lex is a perv 8D)
Notes: ....Ahahaha. It's sex. And a different style of writing. Fun.
The trip to Hollow Bastion had resulted in nothing but a waste of time. For someone of Vexen’s caliber of expectancy, he was awfully smug considering they hadn’t found anything related to Ansem’s findings. Lexaeus couldn’t help but believe that haughty look was meant to mock him.
The Heartless were literally piled on top of one another, blanketing the entire world and may as well have been a blanket four feet thick; there were just that many roaming around. And Lexaeus was made to do all the work.
As it turned out, even the ones unrestricted by the heart had endurance limitations, but Lexaeus felt inside it was far superior compared to that of his intact form. And still, he was tired. The most Vexen did was cast an ice spell or two, but the amount of the to-be-melted water was far less in comparison to the missing chunks of earth outside the castle and the great craters made by body-shattering blows inside. Far, far less.
Lexaeus’ whole body burned with the strain of his muscles wanting to cramp. It was a retched sensation, made him feel inadequate and weak. And as they wandered down the White Labyrinth, Lexaeus declined to followed Vexen down one hallway and kept walking straight ahead. It wasn’t as if he’d been leader; Vexen could recount the ordeal himself.
There were places inaccessible by ghosting. It was a nuisance. One could reappear close to its general local, but never into the protected area. Lexaeus understood this relation to the infirmary and laboratories’ wards, but really now, did the balance hall and water pool need the same?
Lexaeus took two steps further down the pristine tunnel and sought the expression of distance-crossing, allowing the hand of darkness to push him through the light-saturated path until his destination was nothing more than an arm’s breadth away. He regretting having to ghost, but the pain would have amounted to the same had he simply walked, and this just cut down on even more wasted time.
Doors did not exist along the Labyrinth corridors; it was a simple mind-over-matter task that required little to no focus once accomplished a few times. Portals merely opened themselves like inviting lips, sizing themselves to an surprisingly tailored match of the entrant. No one paid that any mind these days, they were so used to the quirks of the crystal-white maze. And a port opened for Lexaeus, and closed back up in a swirl of living wall bits after he’d stepped through, never giving it a proper thought.
The water pool wasn’t a pool alone. Sure, the floor had a couple variation of in-ground pools, but all had different uses for different desires, and say nothing of the other sidings rimming the room. All white, of course, but the accent of blue on the floors and the crowning on the ceiling made it feel less bland, as slight a difference it made in retrospect. And Lexaeus cared for none of it.
The black coat he wore burst out in a puff of smoke and dissolved like vaporizing dust into the nothingness of darkness, leaving Lexaeus bare from the waist up. It was impeding, thus it had to be removed. And he kept aiming for one of the sidings with clear and desperate intention.
God, did he feel dirty.
This room was what the Superior had called a showering cubicle. Odd name, but it fit. He was sure it had a simpler name, but his memory failed him on his occasional effort to recall it, whenever the urge nagged him to. An unnecessary task, considering the damn thing didn’t need a name to perform its duty.
Tiles under sole, echoes bouncing like rubber, and the entrance closed up like a door sliding along a horizontal track once he was inside. Sprinklers high overhead and shifting spheres implanted into the walls made an effective system, and a few various rolls and a press of one sphere alone sent warm water spraying out; Lexaeus allowed himself a momentary drench before dissipating the last of his clothing and just stood there, unmoving. The water rolled leisurely down his back.
Vexen’s opinion is no concern of mine, he thought. If his chooses to view me as an uncouth brute, it’s his wish. But it’s a two-way stretch that I can run too. Lexaeus half-smirked. I could easily call him second-rate out loud. How he would hate that.
The heat of the spray slowly, but meticulously, uncoiled the tension knotting in his shoulders and back and, with an escaped sigh, lolled back his head to take the stream in the face. Vexen sees strength as a sign of unintelligence, than the powerful spend too much time /being/ powerful that they overlook their own brain. Hn. Vexen’s view is slightly obscure by his own ego. Let him talk.
Because apparently, that’s what Vexen did best: talk. It had seemed like he hadn’t -stopped- talking at any point throughout their search. But that was the point; Vexen seemed to want an excuse to complain about Lexaeus. Perhaps because Lexaeus had joined immediately after him and figured he’d cast his heart aside for some stupid, foolish reason. Or Vexen thought he could intimidate Lexaeus, though whatever his means, Vexen didn’t phase him.
But thinking about Vexen make him think about all that fighting he did, the grips of the Tomahawk under his fingers, the pounding in his veins, the very satisfying impacts made to the bodies of Defenders and Wyverns. Every recollection make his pulse beat quicker and, now that he thought about it, who cared how little Vexen participated. It had been…exciting, fighting that acutely, so focused on destroying the enemy, that one didn’t realize they’d cleaned out the entire room in a daze until it was long over with.
He shuddered, as the water rinsed away the sweat and dirt, just recalling how good it was, that feeling of adrenaline. It’d been over a year since he got in as thorough a workout, to the point where he’d forgotten that thinking back to the destruction always stirred something deep inside him. A calling, a summons.
Oh and over again, Lexaeus’ mind ran over every brief clip he could remember, a brand new memory to treasure. The blessed feeling of a high heat crept upward and Lexaeus rested his head against the wall tiles. How long had it been since it had been decent…?
With a resolved groan, he flipped around and supported himself against the wall. Just a brief, momentary wait before the vision of the water jetting out before him transformed into the darkness of closing one’s eyes.
He could hear the spray hitting the floor, taste the water collected at his lips, smell nothing but thick air, and felt the brisk tiles on his shoulders, accompanied by his hands running down the slick skin of his chest.
The sleeping flesh between his legs was feeding off the exuberance of his latest out-take of his half-life, and every detail fed his imagination. For in the place he was, was a complete replica of the stall. With the same detail, the same sounds and nuances, except for one small, tiny addition.
A voice without a face once told Lexaeus: All men had a fantasy.
All men had one subtle, selfish wish, in regards to sexual nature. And his always started out the same. Always adopting the environment as his own, with the same small, tiny addition. Except this addition wasn’t added automatically, only once Lexaeus had slipped his hand around his cock and began to stroke.
Holding up the vision in the front, Lexaeus let the feeling of his adrenaline rush ride him to an impending, no-return state of arousal, calluses causing a pleasant friction, but it’s never what he wanted, never what the back of his mind pictured. And that’s when he allowed himself the pleasure of indulging himself in his fantasy.
"You’re simply a mess."
Lexaeus knew this; he had gone there to sort his ‘messiness’ out, after all.
Heavy boots trampled in fresh water puddles and suddenly, gloved hands were pressing on his shoulders; Zexion was partially drenched having stepped under the spray to reach him. And as always, his expression was one of indifference.
"You really should have listened to me when I said you’re not here to be someone else’s whipping boy. It’s disgusting how you let Vexen use you."
Lexaeus steeled his jaw.
"Bet it felt good though, doing so much damage. All those overkills... But could it be any better than...this?"
He felt the smaller trail downwards, gloves dissolving along with the black coat, and Zexion was as bared as Lexaeus had been a few minutes ago. And Lexaeus could tell how soft those hands were, compared to the roughness of calluses, as they slicked over the water droplets falling in the same direction, until they replaced Lexaeus’ hands with his own, and it was paradise found.
Lexaeus groaned loudly as Zexion gave an expert squeeze of his shaft, but Zexion remained impassive otherwise. Always impassive, when one hand was left to play and the other pressed hard into Lexaeus chest, even as the shorter man leaned to lick at the water collecting on his chest. And that tongue was being guided downwards, because Zexion was slowly falling onto his knees, and his hands were keeping Lexaeus’ aside and bracing themselves against muscled thighs and hips.
Zexion nibbled lightly at the rim of his navel, which put Lexaeus in a position of the frailest friction courtesy of Zexion’s collarbone and it made him breathe harder, louder. Because Zexion knew exactly what he was doing and Lexaeus wasn’t falling for any innocent-seeming traps.
Lexaeus let his head fall back, unable to handle the sight of his companion touching him, conning him into a response; he’d give one when he was ready, and continued to relish in the sensual caresses Zexion lavished on him. Electric shocks, tiny currents, all things nice and pleasant when touched. And it continued for a short while more...
...until his own sharp inhale, the hand rewrapping around his cock, and that mouth simultaneously dug his sinking mind out of the mud, because Zexion was suckling at the head with mixed aggressions. His tongue was tracing along its underside roughly, tickling and pressing and Lexaeus’ moan was deep and reverberating; the heat in his face couldn’t decide if it wanted to remain or add to the pool in his groin.
Zexion worked him, sucking and teasing, taking Lexaeus further into his mouth at an aching pace, and fingers were only shallowly pumping him; it still made Lexaeus’ breath draw short. And finally, finally Zexion had him as far as he’d take it, and Lexaeus focused. On the warmth, the softness that had him mostly enveloped. Because suddenly it was gone then back again, in a two-step cycle that had Lexaeus at Zexion’s mercy.
Zexion did have a wicked mouth.
Lexaeus growled, the sight of Zexion bobbing his head around his length a heady image-- a sudden, encompassing jolt flew up and down his spine at the unexpected rush of sensation-- and unconsciously snapped his hips forward, sinking himself deep into Zexion’s throat…
Finally, Lexaeus opened his eyes.
The room was the same; all that was really different was the remnants of his own come swirling down the drain, something easily dismissed and forgotten. With his little daydream over (and his body still humming from his release), Lexaeus quickly scrubbed off whatever dirt and dust remained and left the cubicle to dry off and hunt down Vexen.
--
The view in the globe dimmed as Lexaeus disappeared from its surface, and Zexion was flush in the cheeks. More than just a little aroused by his own illusion, part of him was relieved it was over, and the smaller-but-edgier part was accusing him of having liked it far more than he should have.
Maybe he did.
With a slightly satisfied curved on his lips, Zexion replaced the globe in its floor recess and reclined himself on the couch behind him. It’d been a rush, letting the illusion take off like that, managing to maintain Lexaeus’ little fantasy and simultaneously feeling what the illusion felt. And Lexaeus hasn’t even realized it was no daydream.
If Zexion had an ego, it would be glowing. But he didn’t. His pride of accomplishment centered only around the idea that such an illusion was possible and no doubt it would be useful in the future, and even that barely meant anything to him. However...there was something exciting about conceiving such secret actions, taking something private and never allowing them to know you took it, and finally making it bend to your will, remaining always behind the black curtain, unseen and silent. And to a creature with no heart, that spoke volumes.
Lexaeus’ daydream hadn’t really been a dream, but a haze. Had any unsuspecting bystander wandered into the cubicle, they would have seen just as Lexaeus had been ‘imagining’, and vice versa, Lexaeus would’ve seen them. A spellbreaker, outside interference; in theory, it would throw Lexaeus right out of the haze and realize it wasn’t real, due to the haze being the only thing keeping said illusion corporeal to the victim. It seemed to be the one flaw to the process, and it would have to be tested. Idly, Zexion licked his lips.
He may not have liked getting his hands dirty, but he did like playing his games.
...and apply it to a scenario you still aren't entirely used to.
Lexaeus. Zexion. Porn, people. Awkwardly written porn.
Title: Visionary
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
- Characters: Lexaeus, Zexion (Vexen's mentioned)
Rating: NC-17 (because Lex is a perv 8D)
Notes: ....Ahahaha. It's sex. And a different style of writing. Fun.
The trip to Hollow Bastion had resulted in nothing but a waste of time. For someone of Vexen’s caliber of expectancy, he was awfully smug considering they hadn’t found anything related to Ansem’s findings. Lexaeus couldn’t help but believe that haughty look was meant to mock him.
The Heartless were literally piled on top of one another, blanketing the entire world and may as well have been a blanket four feet thick; there were just that many roaming around. And Lexaeus was made to do all the work.
As it turned out, even the ones unrestricted by the heart had endurance limitations, but Lexaeus felt inside it was far superior compared to that of his intact form. And still, he was tired. The most Vexen did was cast an ice spell or two, but the amount of the to-be-melted water was far less in comparison to the missing chunks of earth outside the castle and the great craters made by body-shattering blows inside. Far, far less.
Lexaeus’ whole body burned with the strain of his muscles wanting to cramp. It was a retched sensation, made him feel inadequate and weak. And as they wandered down the White Labyrinth, Lexaeus declined to followed Vexen down one hallway and kept walking straight ahead. It wasn’t as if he’d been leader; Vexen could recount the ordeal himself.
There were places inaccessible by ghosting. It was a nuisance. One could reappear close to its general local, but never into the protected area. Lexaeus understood this relation to the infirmary and laboratories’ wards, but really now, did the balance hall and water pool need the same?
Lexaeus took two steps further down the pristine tunnel and sought the expression of distance-crossing, allowing the hand of darkness to push him through the light-saturated path until his destination was nothing more than an arm’s breadth away. He regretting having to ghost, but the pain would have amounted to the same had he simply walked, and this just cut down on even more wasted time.
Doors did not exist along the Labyrinth corridors; it was a simple mind-over-matter task that required little to no focus once accomplished a few times. Portals merely opened themselves like inviting lips, sizing themselves to an surprisingly tailored match of the entrant. No one paid that any mind these days, they were so used to the quirks of the crystal-white maze. And a port opened for Lexaeus, and closed back up in a swirl of living wall bits after he’d stepped through, never giving it a proper thought.
The water pool wasn’t a pool alone. Sure, the floor had a couple variation of in-ground pools, but all had different uses for different desires, and say nothing of the other sidings rimming the room. All white, of course, but the accent of blue on the floors and the crowning on the ceiling made it feel less bland, as slight a difference it made in retrospect. And Lexaeus cared for none of it.
The black coat he wore burst out in a puff of smoke and dissolved like vaporizing dust into the nothingness of darkness, leaving Lexaeus bare from the waist up. It was impeding, thus it had to be removed. And he kept aiming for one of the sidings with clear and desperate intention.
God, did he feel dirty.
This room was what the Superior had called a showering cubicle. Odd name, but it fit. He was sure it had a simpler name, but his memory failed him on his occasional effort to recall it, whenever the urge nagged him to. An unnecessary task, considering the damn thing didn’t need a name to perform its duty.
Tiles under sole, echoes bouncing like rubber, and the entrance closed up like a door sliding along a horizontal track once he was inside. Sprinklers high overhead and shifting spheres implanted into the walls made an effective system, and a few various rolls and a press of one sphere alone sent warm water spraying out; Lexaeus allowed himself a momentary drench before dissipating the last of his clothing and just stood there, unmoving. The water rolled leisurely down his back.
Vexen’s opinion is no concern of mine, he thought. If his chooses to view me as an uncouth brute, it’s his wish. But it’s a two-way stretch that I can run too. Lexaeus half-smirked. I could easily call him second-rate out loud. How he would hate that.
The heat of the spray slowly, but meticulously, uncoiled the tension knotting in his shoulders and back and, with an escaped sigh, lolled back his head to take the stream in the face. Vexen sees strength as a sign of unintelligence, than the powerful spend too much time /being/ powerful that they overlook their own brain. Hn. Vexen’s view is slightly obscure by his own ego. Let him talk.
Because apparently, that’s what Vexen did best: talk. It had seemed like he hadn’t -stopped- talking at any point throughout their search. But that was the point; Vexen seemed to want an excuse to complain about Lexaeus. Perhaps because Lexaeus had joined immediately after him and figured he’d cast his heart aside for some stupid, foolish reason. Or Vexen thought he could intimidate Lexaeus, though whatever his means, Vexen didn’t phase him.
But thinking about Vexen make him think about all that fighting he did, the grips of the Tomahawk under his fingers, the pounding in his veins, the very satisfying impacts made to the bodies of Defenders and Wyverns. Every recollection make his pulse beat quicker and, now that he thought about it, who cared how little Vexen participated. It had been…exciting, fighting that acutely, so focused on destroying the enemy, that one didn’t realize they’d cleaned out the entire room in a daze until it was long over with.
He shuddered, as the water rinsed away the sweat and dirt, just recalling how good it was, that feeling of adrenaline. It’d been over a year since he got in as thorough a workout, to the point where he’d forgotten that thinking back to the destruction always stirred something deep inside him. A calling, a summons.
Oh and over again, Lexaeus’ mind ran over every brief clip he could remember, a brand new memory to treasure. The blessed feeling of a high heat crept upward and Lexaeus rested his head against the wall tiles. How long had it been since it had been decent…?
With a resolved groan, he flipped around and supported himself against the wall. Just a brief, momentary wait before the vision of the water jetting out before him transformed into the darkness of closing one’s eyes.
He could hear the spray hitting the floor, taste the water collected at his lips, smell nothing but thick air, and felt the brisk tiles on his shoulders, accompanied by his hands running down the slick skin of his chest.
The sleeping flesh between his legs was feeding off the exuberance of his latest out-take of his half-life, and every detail fed his imagination. For in the place he was, was a complete replica of the stall. With the same detail, the same sounds and nuances, except for one small, tiny addition.
A voice without a face once told Lexaeus: All men had a fantasy.
All men had one subtle, selfish wish, in regards to sexual nature. And his always started out the same. Always adopting the environment as his own, with the same small, tiny addition. Except this addition wasn’t added automatically, only once Lexaeus had slipped his hand around his cock and began to stroke.
Holding up the vision in the front, Lexaeus let the feeling of his adrenaline rush ride him to an impending, no-return state of arousal, calluses causing a pleasant friction, but it’s never what he wanted, never what the back of his mind pictured. And that’s when he allowed himself the pleasure of indulging himself in his fantasy.
"You’re simply a mess."
Lexaeus knew this; he had gone there to sort his ‘messiness’ out, after all.
Heavy boots trampled in fresh water puddles and suddenly, gloved hands were pressing on his shoulders; Zexion was partially drenched having stepped under the spray to reach him. And as always, his expression was one of indifference.
"You really should have listened to me when I said you’re not here to be someone else’s whipping boy. It’s disgusting how you let Vexen use you."
Lexaeus steeled his jaw.
"Bet it felt good though, doing so much damage. All those overkills... But could it be any better than...this?"
He felt the smaller trail downwards, gloves dissolving along with the black coat, and Zexion was as bared as Lexaeus had been a few minutes ago. And Lexaeus could tell how soft those hands were, compared to the roughness of calluses, as they slicked over the water droplets falling in the same direction, until they replaced Lexaeus’ hands with his own, and it was paradise found.
Lexaeus groaned loudly as Zexion gave an expert squeeze of his shaft, but Zexion remained impassive otherwise. Always impassive, when one hand was left to play and the other pressed hard into Lexaeus chest, even as the shorter man leaned to lick at the water collecting on his chest. And that tongue was being guided downwards, because Zexion was slowly falling onto his knees, and his hands were keeping Lexaeus’ aside and bracing themselves against muscled thighs and hips.
Zexion nibbled lightly at the rim of his navel, which put Lexaeus in a position of the frailest friction courtesy of Zexion’s collarbone and it made him breathe harder, louder. Because Zexion knew exactly what he was doing and Lexaeus wasn’t falling for any innocent-seeming traps.
Lexaeus let his head fall back, unable to handle the sight of his companion touching him, conning him into a response; he’d give one when he was ready, and continued to relish in the sensual caresses Zexion lavished on him. Electric shocks, tiny currents, all things nice and pleasant when touched. And it continued for a short while more...
...until his own sharp inhale, the hand rewrapping around his cock, and that mouth simultaneously dug his sinking mind out of the mud, because Zexion was suckling at the head with mixed aggressions. His tongue was tracing along its underside roughly, tickling and pressing and Lexaeus’ moan was deep and reverberating; the heat in his face couldn’t decide if it wanted to remain or add to the pool in his groin.
Zexion worked him, sucking and teasing, taking Lexaeus further into his mouth at an aching pace, and fingers were only shallowly pumping him; it still made Lexaeus’ breath draw short. And finally, finally Zexion had him as far as he’d take it, and Lexaeus focused. On the warmth, the softness that had him mostly enveloped. Because suddenly it was gone then back again, in a two-step cycle that had Lexaeus at Zexion’s mercy.
Zexion did have a wicked mouth.
Lexaeus growled, the sight of Zexion bobbing his head around his length a heady image-- a sudden, encompassing jolt flew up and down his spine at the unexpected rush of sensation-- and unconsciously snapped his hips forward, sinking himself deep into Zexion’s throat…
Finally, Lexaeus opened his eyes.
The room was the same; all that was really different was the remnants of his own come swirling down the drain, something easily dismissed and forgotten. With his little daydream over (and his body still humming from his release), Lexaeus quickly scrubbed off whatever dirt and dust remained and left the cubicle to dry off and hunt down Vexen.
--
The view in the globe dimmed as Lexaeus disappeared from its surface, and Zexion was flush in the cheeks. More than just a little aroused by his own illusion, part of him was relieved it was over, and the smaller-but-edgier part was accusing him of having liked it far more than he should have.
Maybe he did.
With a slightly satisfied curved on his lips, Zexion replaced the globe in its floor recess and reclined himself on the couch behind him. It’d been a rush, letting the illusion take off like that, managing to maintain Lexaeus’ little fantasy and simultaneously feeling what the illusion felt. And Lexaeus hasn’t even realized it was no daydream.
If Zexion had an ego, it would be glowing. But he didn’t. His pride of accomplishment centered only around the idea that such an illusion was possible and no doubt it would be useful in the future, and even that barely meant anything to him. However...there was something exciting about conceiving such secret actions, taking something private and never allowing them to know you took it, and finally making it bend to your will, remaining always behind the black curtain, unseen and silent. And to a creature with no heart, that spoke volumes.
Lexaeus’ daydream hadn’t really been a dream, but a haze. Had any unsuspecting bystander wandered into the cubicle, they would have seen just as Lexaeus had been ‘imagining’, and vice versa, Lexaeus would’ve seen them. A spellbreaker, outside interference; in theory, it would throw Lexaeus right out of the haze and realize it wasn’t real, due to the haze being the only thing keeping said illusion corporeal to the victim. It seemed to be the one flaw to the process, and it would have to be tested. Idly, Zexion licked his lips.
He may not have liked getting his hands dirty, but he did like playing his games.