fic: eager cannibals, kh2
Title: Eager Cannibals
Author: llama_sama
Pairing [Fandom]: Axel/Marluxia/Roxas [Kingdom Hearts]
Word Count: 1,169
Rating: R/NC-17, for kinky non-con LOL.
Notes: This is heavily based off of a scene described in the neverending RP I've been doing with aphonetic.
Roxas doesn’t know how this ends up happening, but it does, and he can’t figure out why. He didn’t do anything to deserve such treatment, really. And since when had he given any indication of wanting to do something like this in the first place? (There was that one time with the handcuffs, and even then, he had been reluctant at first.)
He can’t see anything, doesn’t even know where he is. He’s on the floor, and it’s cold, marble. It isn’t his room; he knows this much. The lights are out, or maybe it’s just the blindfold. Roxas whips his head around every time he hears a sound; faint voices slowly drawing nearer, footsteps getting louder, a door being pushed open, and he knows he isn’t alone.
His first instinct is to demand what is going on, but finds that he can’t speak either. His tongue presses against the gag in his mouth, trying to push it out of the way, and he feels like he’s going to have a panic attack. Inhaling and exhaling quickly through his nose, and it feels like it’s becoming more difficult to breathe.
Roxas shivers, his rapid breathing slowing slightly, as he hears a laugh, and he tries to move, but finds that he can’t-not enough, at least. His arms are bound behind his back, and there’s something keeping his legs from moving, kicking, getting up and running away. He can’t tell who is there, but he knows that it isn’t just one person; there are two sets of hands roaming over his body, ripping, cutting, and burning his clothes away.
Another laugh and Roxas can hear the voice say something to the other, and he realizes who the first person is: Marluxia. He can’t understand; he’s still trying to comprehend what’s happening, and he’s scared. As scared as a Nobody can be, anyway. He shivers as the last article of clothing is burned away (he’s surprised that he, himself, is not burned), and the heat so close to flesh makes his body glisten with sweat.
The hands are back, more eager, now that his clothes are gone, and Roxas is helpless to stop them. So he lays there, eyes closed beneath the blindfold, and his body twitches as he feels the others rub against him; his legs, back, stomach, everywhere.
And he’s being pulled up and shifted, so that he’s on his knees, and he inhales deeply as the gag is tugged out of his mouth, happy for the chance to breathe, but that happiness is cut short as something fills his mouth, and he’s trying to pull his head away. There’s a hand fisting his hair, keeping him there, and Roxas, he doesn’t know what to do. But the other does, and is rocking his hips into the blond’s mouth, groaning, laughing darkly.
For a minute (a second, an hour-it’s all the same at this point: too long), Roxas forgets that there is a second person in the room. But that is because they are taking the opportunity to watch, silent, smirking, and then they can’t wait any longer.
The second man, he moves behind Roxas, impatient as he seizes the blond’s hips, and pushes into him without warning (or preparation, or lube), and Roxas’ cry of pain is muffled by the flesh in his mouth. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, and he’s thankful for the blindfold at this point, because he can feel tears leaking from his eyes, but they are caught by and absorbed through the piece of cloth before they can stain his cheeks.
“You’re nothing but a toy,” the first man, Marluxia, says with a sneer, and he’s still rocking against Roxas. He can’t tell what side the voice is coming from. It sounds omnipresent, coming at him from every direction, and he whimpers, makes another attempt to pull away. The hand pushes him closer, and Roxas gags, feels his breathing hitch.
And there are hands on his hips, fingers digging in, leaving dark bruises along fair skin, and this isn’t how it’s supposed to be, Roxas thinks. He’s not sure what ‘it’ is, but all he knows is that he wants this to stop, that he wishes to take no part in this act of depravity.
Hands are moving again, fingernails dragging down his thighs, digging deep enough to draw blood, and Roxas winces, feeling skin part beneath blunt nails. Still, it’s nothing like the pain he’s feeling everywhere else. His jaw is growing sore, and fingers tug roughly at his hair when he tries to pull away.
He stills, thinking that maybe, maybe if he stops trying to fight, it will be over sooner. It’s not, but it gets easier, doesn’t hurt as much (still far from pleasurable, but Roxas wasn’t setting his standards very high). He swallows a lump in his throat, and the added pressure on the man’s cock makes him groan and pet Roxas’ hair, murmuring a quiet, “Good boy” as though Roxas is some lesser creature. But he is-that’s what they’ve been trying to tell him, and it finally registers.
Fingers are pulling at the blindfold, and Roxas automatically looks down as soon as he can see again. He doesn’t want to look at anyone, doesn’t want to break down once he realizes, and he doesn’t want anyone to see him break down.
The man groans again as he comes, and Roxas is coughing and sputtering, but the man stays inside his mouth, forcing him to swallow, and it’s bitter as it goes down Roxas’ throat. He’s still crying, harder now as the man pulls out, and he glances up long enough to see that it was Marluxia inside of his mouth (and Marluxia has been looking down at him the whole time, smirking, and Roxas shrinks back).
The second man is still behind him, moving, groaning, and he’s so close to orgasm. He leans forward (smirking, like Marluxia), resting his forehead on Roxas’ back as he fills the boy beneath him, long red hair draping over the blond’s shoulder.
Roxas’ eyes go wide. Axel, his (supposed) best friend, was the one doing this. And then he hears Marluxia congratulating him, a job well done, and a second wave of realization sweeps over him: this whole thing had been Axel’s idea all along.
He gasps, breath hitching, and it feels like he just got punched in the stomach. Who would ever do such a thing, heart or no heart? He leans down, presses his face into the floor, wanting to dig a hole and just rot in it.
Roxas is pretty sure that this is when he loses consciousness, because when he awakes, he is in his room, fully-clothed and shaking. He strips, checks his body for bruises, scratches, signs of anything, and finds nothing. Maybe it was a dream, maybe it wasn’t. He’ll never know.
Because even with the smirks Marluxia and Axel give whenever they speak with Roxas, they never speak of it again.
Author: llama_sama
Pairing [Fandom]: Axel/Marluxia/Roxas [Kingdom Hearts]
Word Count: 1,169
Rating: R/NC-17, for kinky non-con LOL.
Notes: This is heavily based off of a scene described in the neverending RP I've been doing with aphonetic.
Roxas doesn’t know how this ends up happening, but it does, and he can’t figure out why. He didn’t do anything to deserve such treatment, really. And since when had he given any indication of wanting to do something like this in the first place? (There was that one time with the handcuffs, and even then, he had been reluctant at first.)
He can’t see anything, doesn’t even know where he is. He’s on the floor, and it’s cold, marble. It isn’t his room; he knows this much. The lights are out, or maybe it’s just the blindfold. Roxas whips his head around every time he hears a sound; faint voices slowly drawing nearer, footsteps getting louder, a door being pushed open, and he knows he isn’t alone.
His first instinct is to demand what is going on, but finds that he can’t speak either. His tongue presses against the gag in his mouth, trying to push it out of the way, and he feels like he’s going to have a panic attack. Inhaling and exhaling quickly through his nose, and it feels like it’s becoming more difficult to breathe.
Roxas shivers, his rapid breathing slowing slightly, as he hears a laugh, and he tries to move, but finds that he can’t-not enough, at least. His arms are bound behind his back, and there’s something keeping his legs from moving, kicking, getting up and running away. He can’t tell who is there, but he knows that it isn’t just one person; there are two sets of hands roaming over his body, ripping, cutting, and burning his clothes away.
Another laugh and Roxas can hear the voice say something to the other, and he realizes who the first person is: Marluxia. He can’t understand; he’s still trying to comprehend what’s happening, and he’s scared. As scared as a Nobody can be, anyway. He shivers as the last article of clothing is burned away (he’s surprised that he, himself, is not burned), and the heat so close to flesh makes his body glisten with sweat.
The hands are back, more eager, now that his clothes are gone, and Roxas is helpless to stop them. So he lays there, eyes closed beneath the blindfold, and his body twitches as he feels the others rub against him; his legs, back, stomach, everywhere.
And he’s being pulled up and shifted, so that he’s on his knees, and he inhales deeply as the gag is tugged out of his mouth, happy for the chance to breathe, but that happiness is cut short as something fills his mouth, and he’s trying to pull his head away. There’s a hand fisting his hair, keeping him there, and Roxas, he doesn’t know what to do. But the other does, and is rocking his hips into the blond’s mouth, groaning, laughing darkly.
For a minute (a second, an hour-it’s all the same at this point: too long), Roxas forgets that there is a second person in the room. But that is because they are taking the opportunity to watch, silent, smirking, and then they can’t wait any longer.
The second man, he moves behind Roxas, impatient as he seizes the blond’s hips, and pushes into him without warning (or preparation, or lube), and Roxas’ cry of pain is muffled by the flesh in his mouth. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, and he’s thankful for the blindfold at this point, because he can feel tears leaking from his eyes, but they are caught by and absorbed through the piece of cloth before they can stain his cheeks.
“You’re nothing but a toy,” the first man, Marluxia, says with a sneer, and he’s still rocking against Roxas. He can’t tell what side the voice is coming from. It sounds omnipresent, coming at him from every direction, and he whimpers, makes another attempt to pull away. The hand pushes him closer, and Roxas gags, feels his breathing hitch.
And there are hands on his hips, fingers digging in, leaving dark bruises along fair skin, and this isn’t how it’s supposed to be, Roxas thinks. He’s not sure what ‘it’ is, but all he knows is that he wants this to stop, that he wishes to take no part in this act of depravity.
Hands are moving again, fingernails dragging down his thighs, digging deep enough to draw blood, and Roxas winces, feeling skin part beneath blunt nails. Still, it’s nothing like the pain he’s feeling everywhere else. His jaw is growing sore, and fingers tug roughly at his hair when he tries to pull away.
He stills, thinking that maybe, maybe if he stops trying to fight, it will be over sooner. It’s not, but it gets easier, doesn’t hurt as much (still far from pleasurable, but Roxas wasn’t setting his standards very high). He swallows a lump in his throat, and the added pressure on the man’s cock makes him groan and pet Roxas’ hair, murmuring a quiet, “Good boy” as though Roxas is some lesser creature. But he is-that’s what they’ve been trying to tell him, and it finally registers.
Fingers are pulling at the blindfold, and Roxas automatically looks down as soon as he can see again. He doesn’t want to look at anyone, doesn’t want to break down once he realizes, and he doesn’t want anyone to see him break down.
The man groans again as he comes, and Roxas is coughing and sputtering, but the man stays inside his mouth, forcing him to swallow, and it’s bitter as it goes down Roxas’ throat. He’s still crying, harder now as the man pulls out, and he glances up long enough to see that it was Marluxia inside of his mouth (and Marluxia has been looking down at him the whole time, smirking, and Roxas shrinks back).
The second man is still behind him, moving, groaning, and he’s so close to orgasm. He leans forward (smirking, like Marluxia), resting his forehead on Roxas’ back as he fills the boy beneath him, long red hair draping over the blond’s shoulder.
Roxas’ eyes go wide. Axel, his (supposed) best friend, was the one doing this. And then he hears Marluxia congratulating him, a job well done, and a second wave of realization sweeps over him: this whole thing had been Axel’s idea all along.
He gasps, breath hitching, and it feels like he just got punched in the stomach. Who would ever do such a thing, heart or no heart? He leans down, presses his face into the floor, wanting to dig a hole and just rot in it.
Roxas is pretty sure that this is when he loses consciousness, because when he awakes, he is in his room, fully-clothed and shaking. He strips, checks his body for bruises, scratches, signs of anything, and finds nothing. Maybe it was a dream, maybe it wasn’t. He’ll never know.
Because even with the smirks Marluxia and Axel give whenever they speak with Roxas, they never speak of it again.