Kingdom Hearts Kink Meme
KINGDOM HEARTS KINK MEME
Indexed at kh-kinkmeme
and on delicious here
Rules:
1. Post a pairing plus a kink.
1a. One request per comment.
1b. The only kink not allowed on this meme is anything involving underage sex. What I mean by this is if, either in the request or fic, it is made clear (either by stating a number or giving a physical description) that ( Read more... )
Indexed at kh-kinkmeme
and on delicious here
Rules:
1. Post a pairing plus a kink.
1a. One request per comment.
1b. The only kink not allowed on this meme is anything involving underage sex. What I mean by this is if, either in the request or fic, it is made clear (either by stating a number or giving a physical description) that ( Read more... )
Curious, Vexen slaps it hard on the leg. It moves its head toward the thick sound, congealing in the white silence like cooling blood, but otherwise does not react.
He gets up and crosses the room, fully aware of the wide undulations of his hips, the sweet, angry churning in his genitals at having been interrupted. First he draws out an empty chart and marks it in a scrawl: local + opioids; paralysis, sexual stimulation to peak. Next, and with great impatience, he keys open the largest of the cabinets and from it pulls a rolling cart heavy with tubes and wires like a knot of dried intestines. His hands bite at it like snakes, sorting and unsnarling as he brings it to the Replica’s side, assembling the breathing circuit, attaching it to the mask, feeding anaesthetic from its tank into the vapourizer.
“Isoflurane,” he breathes. “You won’t feel a thing, and that’s the point, I should think.”
While the equipment hisses to life, Vexen pulls the restraining cuffs from the Replica’s limbs, throws back the bandage wraps, strikes the body suddenly bare. Immediately the Replica lunges, the flower on its back scoring the vertebrae with dewclaws and acid, its legs thundering in the back of its mind like a long-lost beloved. Unable to stand, it smashes into the cold, slick floor, scrabbles with its fingernails, has at least gathered the implacable tangle of its limbs below its torso by the time Vexen sways out of the glare and snatches up its throat in one hand. He is stronger than the Replica ever realized; a failing, then, on his own part. Unaided, he pulls it back onto the table, holds it down and presses the plastic mask over its face, down its throat, fills all the world with clinical lights and scissor blades and long tubes leading to a void that eats earthly discontent, puts it in a syringe and spikes the cosmic bloodstream somewhere along the line. The sky is full, the sky is full of wicked physicians.
The volatile agent does its work predictably. The Replica thrashes and snarls, inhaling the gas in great, heaving gulps. The Replica hiccups and twitches, swatting at faceless, unknowable things. The Replica gentles his arm, trying to remember what it was doing, why its eyes are open and then closed. The Replica slips back into the image of a golden flower and sleeps.
With his palm on its throat, Vexen can feel the breath come and go around the wingbeat rhythm of its pulse. He stands there for some time, doing that; feeling, and gauging, and it occurs to him that his erection has become a kind of agony with an obvious cure. The Replica’s face is beautiful in its unshakable serenity, its cheeks crossed with elastic straps, the mask cutting soft pink depressions into its skin.
It is a relief to climb back onto the tabletop and straddle the pale body, to see the purple bruises already starting beneath and around the Replica’s testicles. Vexen bends it into an accommodating shape, parts its legs with his sharp hipbones and buries himself in its wounded flesh. No sound, no protest. His hair ghosting over its chest and face; its eyes fluttering, once, as though it would wake if it could; he curls over it, closer and closer with his fingers on either side of the mask, and his teeth and tongue tasting the plastic, and the Replica is folded nearly in half, jerking bonelessly as he stretches and uncoils, beating it down with his pelvis until the heat has sunk to a fine searing point and he sinks into its softness, deeply enough that there is nothing left of him. Semen squeezes out ritualistically as he envisions their bellies touching lightly, the mask being passed between them. Pleasure tortures him to its own satisfaction, and he spasms up once more, just the tip of his penis still enveloped by the Replica’s body.
Wait.
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He stands over the Replica for some time afterward, counting its eyelashes. At length, he unstraps the mask from its face and seals it over his own mouth thoughtfully.
Nothing. No darkness or sleep. Awareness stretches on and on before him, forever.
He turns off the machine, puts it away.
“That dear amateur,” he says, and the Replica begins to wake up.
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OP!anon is rendered absolutely fucking speechless.
(well, almost absolutely fucking speechless - amazing awesome amazing! thank you so so so much!)
PS. you made OP!anon feel kind of lightheaded and woozy. Lovely.
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Very glad to be of service! What with the pairing and the kink, I just, I really. I had to. *foam*
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Scientific Perv Vexen is one of my favorite incarnations (mostly because Bio and Chem people ARE THAT CRAZY YA RLY) and any incarnation of Riku where he is helpless and screaming like a little bitch makes this anon happy in the pants.
Fantastic, fantastic work, anon.
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