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... )
This fic is un-beta'd.
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It is a full house at the bar, much to Xigbar’s displeasure. This is why he doesn’t like Friday nights in the summer. Tuesday, he likes, because it’s slow and it’s in the middle of the week. He’s lazy, and he’ll admit that if anyone asks. One or two patrons, he can handle, because the middle aged bartender likes to have loquacious conversations with those red-faced drunkards sitting on the other side of the counter. He finds the slur, the disconnected topics and the utter idiocy of the jabber a pleasure to behold. But he can’t have that tonight, oh no; even if he stops just for a small chat, he knows he won’t be able to pull away and finish off the drinks for the other diners in the tavern.
All he can do right now, while his hand is drawing a long drag of Potion Light from the fountains, is keep that one good eye of his on that anxious, train wreck with a bonfire for hair who’s situated at the very end of his bar. He’s been there for four hours already, drinking a constant switch of whisky and pale beer, from Curly to Sea Salt. His eyes, a dull green, from what Xigbar notices during his occasional “anything else you want?” when he sweeps by the customer, look empty and distant, but the man’s firm hold on the pint glass in his hand, the one that isn’t slung in a blue cast, reassures the clerk that he is still breathing, his heart still beating.
The hours dissolve, and it’s soon an hour shy of midnight and closing. Xigbar walks over to the monument of a man still perched on the stool, and slips him the bill.
“I didn’t mean to.”
There’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes when he looks up at the bartender. Xigbar is surprised when he realizes he has nothing to say, nothing to grab at and stretch out into a lengthy conversation when he hears the crack in the man’s voice. Instead, he scratches his cheek with indifference, and grunts a neutral response.
The strange man with a wild fire for hair leaves a fistful of bills on the counter, not caring if it totaled up too much, or not enough, and he swings himself off the stool. His hand inadvertently knocks over the pint on the counter, and it tips over the oak surface, filling the bar with a great splintering of glass and the splatter of light ale.
Xigbar cusses to himself, and is just about to throw a bitch at the fumbling jackass until he hears the man give a violent shudder and a noise that sounds a whole lot like a sob.
And then the man, the strange male with a penchant for leaving pint glasses half full before knocking them off the table, is gone.
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Roxas never likes the closing shift. Waiting for the remaining diners to take their demanding asses out the door to finally wash the remaining dishes is a complete stress fest. Dragging out armfuls of garbage, accumulated over the last eight hours, outside into the pungent alley is even worse. He figures that the evening shift is simply the subtle way for the restaurant managers to say “we hate you.”
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He tosses the gloves into the last remaining sac of rubbish behind him and ties it up. The exhausted gathers up all his belongings and bids the late-night manager a bland ‘goodnight’ while dragging that last testament of what he firmly believes is a hate-message out back into the dumpsters.
He dusts off his hands, tapered fingers curling against the skin of his palm reflexively as he strolls down the damp corridor, hunching to keep the splatter of rain on his neck to a minimum. He quickens the pace, hoping to get out of the rain and into his boyfriend’s arms as soon as possible.
In the distance, over the gables of petite shops and the office towers, a jagged line of white light splits the grey sky; the light flashes for a fraction of a second, abruptly illuminating the buildings and splitting the alley Roxas is traveling down into shards of shadow and light.
The rumble he hears is the roar of the storm that has just arrived over the little town.
The second clatter he hears is a stray cat frightened from the many cardboard boxes littering the back alley.
The last noise he hears is the thuds of boots running through the splashes of rainwater towards his back.
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The last thing Axel needs right now is a dozen uniformed protectors of society flittering around his apartment with tweezers, plastic zip-bags, and cameras. His fingers rub tenderly at his temples, eyes closed and swollen, unwilling to answer any of the questions the chief is asking him at this point. The gruff man, thick and sweaty from the scavenging of the crime scene, has already asked him the same inquiry about fifty times already, and all Axel answers for all those fifty times is
“I don’t know.”
Now, he is just about to throw a conniption fit in his own house, in front of doctors and law enforcers, because he just wants to sleep the nightmare away.
Roxas is still shuddering by his side, crying into his shoulder, whimpering whenever the medical aid tries to wrap up his wrists, red and raw, with an ice pack. But Axel doesn’t feel any of his tears soak into his shirt, into his bloodied shoulder. He’s numb, foggy-minded and distant after what had just occurred an hour ago.
“I need your cooperation, Mr. Noel,” the officer says again, rubbing a fleshy finger through his bristly moustache, “the sooner you come down to the station, the faster we can get questions cleared up, the quicker we’ll resolve the situa-“
“What the fuck could you possibly resolve?” A slender body stands up fiercely, blank green eyes suddenly lighting up in a disbelieving flair. “Resolve what? How in God’s name do you plan to resolve something that’s already over, done with, and fucking carried off?!”
The chief utters words, futile attempts at calming the injured male. Axel sputters phrases incoherent to his ears, and finally drops his exhausted body back onto the worn couch, drawing Roxas’s trembling body closer to his.
The chief sighs, and finally leaves the two alone, moving to attend to his scurrying underlings who are still examining the glass and bloody mess in the adjacent room.
Outside the five-storey building, the rain has stopped pouring. Axel’s eyes tear away from the mesmerizing view of a grey, still world outside the nightmare he’s in now, and catch the stare of a guilty, pathetic looking officer standing idly in the corner.
Green meets green, and Axel gives an indescribable, questioning glare, and he finally shatters the man’s defenses. The rookie finally turns away, head down and figure frame collapsing with a lingering guilt.
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“I don’t think it’s going to work out between us, Reno.”
A bottle of Curly Hill shatters against the abused plaster, the shards clicking as they meet their relatives at the base of the wall. The remaining orange liquid drips down the surface, making ugly splotches against the otherwise unmarred barrier.
He leaves his house in a pair of jeans, a thin shirt and a jacket, his legs taking him to his car. He throws the plastic bag into the back seat, not giving two shits if the multiple sets of ropes pour out of the mouth and onto the floor. He makes his way down Smite Street first. If his clock is correct, that red-headed manipulator should be at home, lounging in front of the television, waiting for his darling blond to get off work and visit him for a midnight snack and a good fuck. His car roars into action, and as he travels down the blackened roads, the occasional rain drop hits the front window. He sees a dull glow off the side, and smiles hollowly at the coincidence that a storm is brewing just before the execution.
Bullshit. Bullshit. All that crap about ‘it’s not you, it’s me’, ‘we’ll be better people separated’, and ‘we just don’t make each other happy enough when we’re together’ is what Reno calls selfish lying. They’re all selfish. Every single motherfucking one of them. Selfish, and terrible liars.
When Reno works for a goal, he works for it. He doesn’t stop half way and call it a day-he doesn’t come first then tell his partner to jack off. No. He’s a gentleman; he brings roses on the second date, he tells that gorgeous, stunning creature that once resided in his arms that he loves him, today, tomorrow, and forever. He kisses that quirky, insatiable mouth with a feverish desire. He goes through slow, agonizing foreplay because he knows his partner likes it. He’s thorough, he’s to the point, and blatant.
That’s what love is.
So when he had seen, just days before his lover told him their relationship wasn’t going to work, that cherub being escorted cutely around by that striking, mischievous red haired whore, the only way to go about it is to be honest, and if needed, brutally truthful. He is being cheated on.
Being thorough with the whole love ordeal, with the whole break up ordeal, with the whole breaking-promises-breaking-hearts ordeal, being to the fucking point, and being face to face about it.
That’s what love is.
That’s what seeing your promise being ripped apart at the seams is.
That’s what heartbreak is.
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There is an uncomfortable, eerie tension when Axel wakes. He doesn’t remember a whole lot before waking-just a boring newscast about rabid dogs, and then a knock on the door. It takes him a good five minutes to realize he’s strapped down to a chair, in what looks like his bedroom. To his left, the window is drawn dim with the spread of cheap, thin drapes. The dull glow of lightning beats and thrums against the darkness of his room, and he hears the crush of rain against the pane of his window. He sees the odd spray of old laundry over the furniture from the grey hues streaming in from the dirty windows. It takes him another moment to realize he’s strapped to a chair in his bedroom not at all in his own volition. Then he starts to panic.
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Axel winces when he tries twisting. His ribs hurt when he moves in such a way, and prays to lord that the bone-cage is still intact. Axel grunts in defeat, easing himself to simply gaining feeling back in his hands and feet. He curls his fingers and toes, biting down on his lip as the delicate digits begin to prickle and tingle. The sensation leads up his arms, and down around his pectorals, over his heart, and fuck, fuck, his shins hurt like a motherfucker-
A voice resonates as a muffle through the apartment walls, and he recognizes it immediately. He teeters between relief and terror as the concealed voice, which sounds like it is going through a struggle, comes closer, closer to where he is being held prisoner.
He hears a plea and feels his blood run cold in his veins. And the door bursts open, almost stopping his heart instantaneously. There is a soft click, and the yellow glow of an old desk lamp illuminates the room, unsatisfactorily, but it is enough for both Axel and the intruder.
There’s a smooth greeting, a rhetorical, paradoxical question about how Axel’s feeling this evening, but Axel hears none of it. He’s too busy watching the writhing form of his blond boyfriend getting dragged in by the hair, his arms held behind him in the rough hold of his captor.
The single bulb glowing reveals Roxas’ scared, terror-filled eyes, the scratches and blood soaking through his wet cargo pants, and the pink flush in his cheeks from all the struggling and desperate acts for freedom.
“What a nice reunion, right, Axel?” Reno asks coolly, shoving the boy forward, sending him to his knees on the dirty tan carpet beneath them. He ignores the other redhead’s frantic, frenzied questions about ‘what are you doing, what are you doing?’ and instead busies himself with shucking off his black jacket, tossing it somewhere into the shadows. He looks at the boy squirming on the ground, his arms jerking in the wicked knot, and kicks him over, sending the blond onto his back with a cry.
Axel is thrusting and jerking hysterically in his seat, screaming and pleading for his boyfriend’s release, making garbled attempts at apologies to sins he doesn’t recall ever committing. They’re empty tries at forgiveness, but Reno knows that no amount of forgiveness can ever sooth the gash in his heart. No amount of forgiveness can ever wash away the lies he had been constantly fed. He had made him survive on it, survive on fibs and crocodile tears, and even so, Reno had been happy, because everyday, he’d come back to his arms and tell him he loved him, even if Reno had known full well he’s lying. At least when he returned the affection, nuzzling his lips in his neck, Reno told the truth, all the time. At least they were together, he thinks.
Shirts are suddenly torn and ripped open, and Reno straddles the hips of that blond cherub crying and whimpering below him. His large hands, hard and rough with calluses, slide over the pristine cream of Roxas’ bare chest. His fingers brush over pink nipples, and the man with smoky blue eyes smirks when the beautiful sun-kissed seraph makes a pleasured, sinful sound.
“His skin is soft, smooth, so fucking unmarred-maybe that’s the reason why you fell for him, yo.” Reno coos, his right hand holding down the terrified male’s neck, while his other makes a greedy trail from collar to navel. “All that snowy, ivory skin-like fucking an angel, isn’t it, Axel?”
A whimper saturates the cold air in the unheated apartment suite, and Axel is startled to realize it had slipped from his own mouth. He hisses, voice trembling when he begs the tyrant to let the precious boy go, let him go, let him go let him go!
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He sucks hard on the blond’s neck, making him whimper, bite his lip, and look like he’s struggling to continue to implore his tormentor to get the fuck off him. His words come out as a useless, foolish string of syllables and senselessness, like a drunkard’s tale, a cacophonous sound to the man trapped against the chair, but simply an orchestra to the man conducting the whole ordeal.
The eldest of the three pulls Roxas in a demanding, terrorizing kiss, and doesn’t hesitate to worm a forceful hand beneath the soggy, muddied pair of cargos. A loud cry rips from Roxas’ throat, and to the boy’s horror, his hips bucks with need into the palm.
A sneer nearly splits Reno’s slender, beautiful face, and murmurs vile promises of euphoria, pleasure and ‘the best fuck of your life’ into the pinking shell of his prisoner’s ear. His hand tightens incredibly on the hardening cock beneath the fabric, and he squeezes, sending great pulses of both sting and gratification racing through every nerve. All but shamelessly moaning, Roxas throws his head back, face flushed with humiliation and pleasure and the peccancy that follows every thrust of his hips.
All those tiny noises, the ‘no, n-no don’t’ and the ‘stop, oh god stop’ fill the single bedroom apartment, and Axel forgets that there is a thundershower going on, overpowered by the rage and guilt that breaks his mind and will with the power of ten natural disasters.
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The middle of July is a remarkable time for people to realize that life simply can’t get any better. The warmth of the summer sun, coupled with the sweetness of ice cream cones and arms wrapped snuggly around a lover. Even when night settles in and the gold rays sinks into the horizon, having a lover there makes even the darkened sky still seem bright.
Axel wraps his lanky arms tightly around the blond’s waist, leaning down to kiss him on the temple. The boy, just out of high school, leans back, and smiles wistfully when he feels the pair of warm lips against his skin. He watches as the pink tongue comes out to lap at the creamy treat in his hand, and Axel can’t help but make a snarky innuendo.
They settle down on a bench on the pier, overlooking the shimmering waters of the ocean. The older student curls a hand into Roxas’ belly, and caresses the skin beneath the thin T-shirt the student has on. Axel, a rising star in the Playwrights Committee at college, produces several convincing lines from the upcoming play, Phantom of the Opera, and Roxas snuggles in closer, telling him to remember him when he becomes a famous actor one day.
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The younger sniffs and comments neutrally how Reno still hasn’t become wise to their game.
They spend the rest of the sunset in silence, Axel in deep contemplation. The question of ‘when’ still haunts him, but he does his best to imagine nothing more than being here with the one his heart races anew for.
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Demyx has been looking forward to a slow night all morning. The rookie officer, after making it through years and years of police academy and TTPD tactical training, still lacks the backbone to go through a situation without his partners to back him up. Even issuing a citation, or reprimanding a petty thief at a convenience store still shakes him up. He sits at his desk, staring at the other officers who were busy typing up and filing away reports with an envious air. They seemed to have it easy, but then again, he thinks, they must have had tons of exposure to dangers and threats that he has only read about in textbooks. Plus, with the weather forecasts predicting heavy showers and chances of lightning, the protector really didn’t want to be sent out in that wet mess.
The last two hours had consisted of reading over several reports filed away over the course of the day. They ranged from stolen goods to house intrusions to the one report that has him growing goosebumps: a scene of kidnap just outside a restaurant just before midnight.
He shuffles in his seat and fiddles around with the duty belt sitting on his desk. He’s not supposed to have his belt off, even at the station, because the chief says it’s inefficient having to clasp it back on if an emergency arises, but Demyx doesn’t like to have so much weight hanging from him. He fingers the slick surface of the gun appointed to him just months ago, and wonders how far in over his head he’s gotten himself.
The rookie is heading over to the coffee maker in the corner when a call, frantic and hissed, comes in.
Demyx spins on the spot and listens as the officer receives the message, trying to calm the person down on the other end.
The lady says something about screaming, about raping, about hearing someone threaten to kill another. Demyx feels his stomach swell, the more the descriptions come in, and before he knows it, his belt is fastened on his waist and he’s being dispatched to the sight of struggle, along with one other officer.
He jitters in his seat as he puts on the siren and drives to the apartment on the corner of Smite and Lamb. The holster on his waist seems ten times heavier. The rain coupled with his pounding heart and swimming vision makes it hard to steer carefully through the darkened streets. Officer Leon shoots him a reproachful glare as the car swerves just slightly, and Demyx swallows as he hisses his apology.
They make it to the apartment in seven minutes flat, and he gasps when the landlord ushers in the police officers. The landlord explains of the scuffle reported from a resident on level three, and the next few moments are frightened, nervous blurs when the two officers and single landlord race to the third storey. Just down the hall, bland, blank and barren of decorations on the wall, floor dull and unattractive with charcoal carpets, Demyx notices the muffled thumps and moans beating just slightly down the otherwise quiet hallway. He notices a small lady in her nightgown, curly orange hair spilling over her floral piece, with a fearful look on her face as she bites her nails. Her eyes roam from the incoming officers to the door that is sealing away the culprit that had shattered her chances of sleeping for the night.
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Every Tuesday, it is slow at the bar. Even in June, it is slow at the bar, because people who work all the months of the year don’t get time to come out and drink in the middle of the week. But every Tuesday, no matter the month, a familiar redhead comes sauntering into the bar and asks for a hard glass of Curly Hill and a few slices of oranges. Every Tuesday, Xigbar gets an earful and produces a mouthful over the same topics of love, betrayal, and loyalty. It doesn’t really bother him, however, because Xigbar thinks it’s an interesting thing to know the name of a stranger.
“I think he’s cheating on me,” Reno says, finishing the fourth glass and still asking for another. He sucks on an orange slice and moans when his teeth break the pulp. When he’s finished, he tosses the mutilated orange along with the pile of dry skin back onto the white tapas dish. Xigbar finishes mixing together several martinis and calls out for his assistant to pick up the orders before returning his attention to the man who still looks as if he’s ready to go for a dozen more rounds. He tells him that people are cruel, idiotic things when it comes to relationships, and only a rare handful really knows how to appreciate having someone there to love them just the same.
Reno snorts, and chews on a cube of ice from his glass. He makes a comment about how fucked up the system is, how fucking hard it is to keep the one person he trusts on a one-foot leash, and how fucking irritating it is to suspect that someone is cheating on him.
The bartender listens, his single eye carefully watching where the blade is slicing as he cuts up another orange for this recurring patron. He hears the man make a woeful statement about all the devotion he had given to the one he adores over the past two years. He explains how he never forgets his birthday, how he knows when to be a complete jackass and when to stop and listen because he knows exactly how his lover functions. He also told him about his trip across America that took place in the middle of March and how had to leave his lover behind for two and a half weeks. That’s when things went wrong, he says as he snarls into a fresh citrus slice, that’s when the fucking just didn’t feel right.
Xigbar purses his lips and stifles down his urge to comment on how Hollywood the whole one-lover-leaves-and-the-other-finds-another-love scenario is, and robotically greets another customer who makes himself at home in a seat just three chairs down from the chattering redhead. After sticking a pickled bean into the glass of Caesar, Xigbar makes a suggestion to Reno, telling him to confront his lover and demand the truth.
He sees the redhead shake his head, watches with a slight amusement as the man drains away the fifth glass and says that doing so would be a test on his trust on his lover. The middle aged bartender raises an eyebrow at the paradoxical logic, and muffles another snicker when Reno, drunkenly now, says how his lover used to love sharing Curly Hill with him, but is now obsessed with Sea Salt Light.
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The entire room is whirling around in a nauseating ride as Roxas throws his head back into the pillows, another broken moan being absorbed into the handkerchief gag stuffed into his mouth. His pleas for his boyfriend are now mixed with his cries of pleasure and torture as the redhead between his legs gives an excruciatingly hard suck to his exposed cock.
His arms are aching from being crushed under his weight for so long. His elbows are numb from the angle they were tied in, and keeping his back arched to keep the weight off his forearms is a burden. His legs were sore, thighs trembling from being stretched open.
The young blond feels teeth scrape down the length of his dick and he gives another groan from the sensation.
“You liked that, right Roxas?” Reno sneers, spitting onto the blond’s face, making a show of how disgusted he feels after swallowing the adolescent’s penis. Roxas merely whimpers and turns his head to the bound man just beside the bed.
Axel’s face is red, and even with the single source of light in the room, Reno can make out the effort Axel is exerting to keep his physical reactions under control. He can’t hide his erection, not with his hands bound backwards and legs tied apart.
The blue-eyed man with scarlet tresses makes several cooing noises, and kisses Roxas with an eerie tenderness as he says something about how selfish he was for leaving Axel out of the fun. He jerks his hips down onto Roxas’ own, and purrs when his captive makes a wheezing noise when the rough fabric of his pants rubs against the sensitive flesh beneath him. A question is asked-“do you want to suck him?”-and Reno laughs heartlessly when Roxas gives a small shake of his head. His cloudy eyes catch the sight of murky emeralds and notice the heightening of the man’s horror when his tormentor repeats the question.
Blond hair is dragged by long fingers. The small, lithe frame is dragged back on its knees. Roxas is now naked aside from the tattered shirt still dangling from his wrists. The boy wobbles from exhaustion, and Reno has to work to keep him on his knees on the mattress.
The chair Axel is confined to is not even an inch away from the mattress, and Reno grabs the prisoner’s legs and pulls him closer to the bed, facing both him and the blond cherub who has run out of tears to cry.
From that single touch, Axel gives another shout for them to stop, for Reno to set Roxas free and expel all his anger on him, instead. Reno clicks his tongue, a scolding action as his fingers skillfully peel away the button and zipper on Axel’s pants. The man is jerking in the chair now, clearly offended by the breaching of bounds. It’s too late, and Reno exposes him with ease, long fingers stroking Axel to a fuller, thicker state of arousal.
He then tries to press Roxas forward by the back of his head, but the boy retaliates with a squirm of his upper body. Impatient, Reno scratches the angel’s back bloody with his blunt nails, and successfully maneuvers the crying boy closer to his lover’s sex. Reno pulls the gag from his mouth and as the blond boy gasps for air, Reno interrupts him by forcing his mouth onto Axel’s dick.
Axel’s eyes grow wide, and he shudders violently when his boyfriend’s mouth envelopes him. He gasps, pants, and groans for Reno to stop when he feels his punisher force the blond to take him in completely.
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With his other hand, Reno winds his fingers into Axel’s red hair, and trains the green eyes to look straight into his own. He whispers several vulgar words and obscene statements as he continues to manipulate the blond beneath him. Reno doesn’t notice the smell of lingering whisky on his breath, doesn’t notice Axel wince when his mouth brushes over his captive’s chin. He notices Axel’s angry words turn to garbled, lusty noises, and Reno can’t hold back the anger bubbling at the pit of his stomach.
With a pull, he drags Roxas’ body backwards and pins him to the bed. The time for games is over, and Reno’s fingers work fluidly against the button of his jeans. He pulls his pants open and pulls out his own straining erection, stroking himself obscenely as he positions his legs between the blond’s. Roxas is crying again, fully aware of what he is going to be submitted to in mere moments.
He doesn’t even prepare him. With one swift forward movement, Reno enters the pure, sunny Blondie and fills him completely. He snaps his hips fiercely, his movements making the whole mattress squeak with exertion. Reno has his eyes closed the entire time, face scrunched and distorted to look as if he was busy concentrating on an image behind his eyes. He hypnotises himself, filtering out the pained wails and pleasured moans beneath him as he fucks the boy relentlessly. Even when the two of them share an empty kiss that’s all spit, blood, rain, tongue and teeth, Reno keeps his eyes closed. He ignores the rigidness of the seraph's body when he moans out a name, and continues to thrust deep into the heat.
Axel is panting in his seat, trying desperately to keep his own eyes closed to the scene unfolding before him. But every time, the sounds Roxas makes draws back his attention, and he is thrown into the same nightmare. The clouds make a commanding rumble just behind him, outside the glass, sending a violent tremor shaking through his blood snapping his sanity into frail shards when he hears Reno utter his name.
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It’s a busy night at the bar, everyone too busy talking to everyone else to bother with him, so he manages to mull over his drink in peace. His fingers rub tenderly over the folded note paper, flipping it and turning it in his hand, his skin reading the note in a more intimate way that his eyes ever could.
Axel is on his third Curly Hill when a stranger perches himself next to him. He glances over, and a pair of azure gems stares back, big and wide with curiosity and intrigue.
The young man, who doesn’t even look old enough to sit at the bar legally, blinks and asks “those two things on your face…are they real?”
And Axel laughs, and puts down his half glass of whisky. He answers positive, and told the youth that drinking can definitely make one a reckless person in high school, especially when their school was just around the corner of a tattoo parlor.
The boy just smirks, flashes an ID that Axel is almost certain is fake, and orders himself a pint of Sea Salt Light with several cherries. The boy waits for his drink, and makes a comment about how he finds thrill in stupid recklessness. He sips at his drink and bounces the bright red cherries on his lips as he continues to say that he finds things exciting because there are just simply so many things about the world he doesn’t know.
Like love. And he proceeds to ask Axel what love is.
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Roxas shrugs and sucks on a cherry.
“You should try it next time,” the blond says, “you might find that it’ll totally blow your mind.”
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Axel finds his eyes staring endlessly into the scabrous ceiling when he hears the gunfire. It rips through him like a blade, and he feels his heart stop when the sound of glass shattering and breaking reaches his mind. His vision blurs ruthlessly, and he can’t see well past his legs and the legs of the chair.
It’s a dry, terrible sound, especially coupled with the drip and splatter of what Axel prays is only rainwater.
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The interrogation is over, and Axel is released from the station in a hazy, dream-like state. He takes a bus down to the hospital and asks the receptionist for the room numbers of interest. He navigates himself to the third floor and down the hall to ward C13. The room is quiet, Axel suspecting the three patients sharing the same room to be sleeping. He walks to the bed furthest from the door, closest to the window, and settles down in the single fold chair next to the mattress.
Roxas is still asleep, an intravenous feeding him from the bag hanging idly from the chrome stand next to the monitors. The doctors had said, during his last visit, that all he requires is several stitches on the gashes on his legs and chest, a brace for a sprained wrist, and perhaps some psychological counseling at a clinic just east of the hospital when he regains his strength.
Axel, with the hand not slung in a cast, reaches over and holds the boy’s hand. He feels a couple tears run down his tattooed visage, and he whispers several unheard words of comfort as he caresses the youth’s hand with a thumb.
He remains there beside the unresponsive blond for two hours, and when the clock hits four, he gets up and kisses the boy on the forehead before he leaves, hoping to come back to a wakened lover the next time he returns.
Axel takes the elevator two floors up, and steps into a quiet corridor. He searches for an E35. Green eyes are attentive as they examine the room and hall names jutting out from the white washed walls. When he finds the room of interest, he steps in with a skip in his heart. It’s a two patient ward, but the other bed is empty. He pulls away the cotton drapes concealing the sedated patient.
He is hooked up to several monitors, drip-tubes and wires protruding from his arms. There is a couple of breathing tubes extending from his nose, and a bandage over the cut on his jaw.
Axel’s eyes look over the large wrap of bandages over the man’s chest, and he feels his lungs swell. The wrap extends high on his pectorals, concealing the dully drumming heart beneath his ribs.
He never meant to hurt him this way, to drag him into such a state of anger, a state of hurt and torture. Axel isn’t that type of guy. He’s a fun, cunning man who just found himself falling in love with another man at the wrong time.
His hand trembles when his fingers move to brush away the crimson bangs that had fallen into the man’s sleeping face. Axel can’t remember the last time he looked this peaceful asleep. He doesn’t remember the last time Reno came to his apartment with a calm, relaxing aura because he just wanted to say hi. And he doesn’t remember the last time he saw his beautiful, smiling face while he watched T.V. with him. The fact he can’t remember brings a hard sting to his heart, because he knows Reno isn’t a monster.
And he knows that after Reno’s wounds heal, he’ll be asked to be admitted into a psychiatric ward because Axel made him a monster.
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Roxas lets out another broken sob when he feels a hard pressure against his prostate. He’s close, he’s almost there, and he feels his stomach lurch with the anticipation that he is going to come.
With three more thrusts, Roxas feels his entire body uncurl with his climax, and he lets out a weak wail when his dick unloads onto Reno’s stomach.
The redhead fingers dig into the blond’s hips as he continues to fuck the boy to his own climax, his hips slapping wetly with sweat, come, and blood against the frail frame. At last, he lets out a huge groan, a long, pained ‘Axe-e-el’, and doesn’t notice Axel shudder off to the side.
He pushes the boy away from him, unlatching his hands from the thin hips, uncaring that his fingers had left bruises on the bone. Reno breathes heavily, eyes swiveling to catch Axel’s.
Axel utters a single phrase when he finally catches his breath, one that spurns Reno into another fit of anger.
“Why?”
Reno leaps from the bed, drawing his pants back up to his hips before walking menacingly over to the other redhead. He spins the man around in his chair and punches his jaw once-twice-three times until his lip splits and bleeds. His leg draws up and he kicks the man square in the chest, and the chair comes crashing backwards. Axel lets out a bloody cry when he feels the bone in one of his arms snap from the weight of his body and the force of the chair. But Reno doesn’t bother with apologies. He moves and straddles his ex-lover, one hand coming to stroke Axel’s erection back to full hardness and the other twisting itself into fiery hair.
“Why?” He hisses, fingers pulling and squeezing as he continues, “because I’m pissed, Axel. I’m fucking pissed. I’m pissed enough to fucking choke you conniving bastards to death.” He leans over and captures Axel’s mouth with his own, tasting the metal in his blood, all the while jerking him faster and harder. “I thought we had something incredible, Axel. You, and me-I thought we were going to last forever. I loved you so much, I gave you so much, I made so many promises to you and I kept them all. And all you ever did was take, and take, and make empty oaths.” He’s crying now, and it startles Axel that he has switched from being pissed to a depressed fool in the span of ten seconds. “You said you’d love me forever. You said we’d be happy, and you said we could work anything out so long as we just talked. And I fucking believed you. I trusted you, and look where it’s gotten us now.” The man gives a cold laugh, and thumbs the tip of Axel’s dick, taking no joy or arousal from the pleasured cry that slips from his partner’s mouth. “Lies, lies, lies, that’s all you are ever good for. You just open your mouth and string me along. I’m surprised we had it going on for more than two years, Axel, though I’m more ashamed at myself for not finding out that you were fucking a snot-nosed teenager for three months behind my back.”
Axel comes hard into Reno’s hand, and Reno can’t hold down the utter rush of terrible memories and haunting fibs that have plagued his sleep for the past few months.
“Tifa always tells me to let go of the fact that we were no longer together. But fuck her, fuck you, I ain’t goddamn ready to let go yet!” Reno shrieks a sob and he brings a hand to his reddened face, “I thought…you said…you’d…”
A cry splits his unclear train of thought, and his attention is drawn to the blue eyed cherub still trapped on the bed. Roxas gives shouts about how he’s a sick bastard, a lunatic, an obsessive, possessive psychopath.
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“I ought to kill you!” Reno shouts, hand tearing into yellow hair. The blade cuts shallowly into the skin of his abused throat, and Roxas fixes Reno with a daring gaze. “You ought to die, you manipulative, intrusive son of a bitch!” Tears are dropping one by one from tattooed cheeks. Reno can feel his heart break all over again.
His tearful gaze swivels back to the tall male splayed out on the carpet just below. “I loved you, Axel.” His voice is shaky, and the hand holding onto the weapon is weak and trembling against the softness of the comforter. It’s as cool and soft as he last remembered it.
“I loved him, I loved him, why the fuck did you have to come and take what belongs with me?”
And Roxas utters a single word.
“Monster.”
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Demyx and Leon crash into the closed door just adjacent to the dusty television set in the living room. Both give commands telling everyone to freeze with their hands up. Demyx doesn’t know how to react, however, when the redhead with his hair tied back turns and faces him with a look of absolute hurt mixed with fresh anger.
He stammers as he threatens to shoot, his adrenaline taking over his body.
The man, sporting an army knife, heaves himself off the bed and stands rigid facing the two officers. He sputters several biting curses, his thin lips curling, teeth baring as he makes slow movements towards the two uniformed males.
Demyx hears Leon demand the culprit to put his weapon down, but his ears are aching from the violent thrum of his heart.
The man, whose face is red and wet from crying, looks over at Demyx and demands that he shoot him. He screams it now, over and over, voice raising and hand gripping tighter on the switch blade as he trembles over to Demyx.
The brunette policeman calls into his radio for backup, and Demyx circles around the man with red tattoos on his face, knuckles sharp and white from gripping onto the gun.
The suspect looks at him blankly, his face hard with anger, body stiff from betrayal, but the blond officer notices that his eyes aren’t angry or shining with psychotic intent. He just looks…sad.
“Just kill me, you motherfucker,” the man snarls. Leon takes the initiative and leaps forward, hoping to force him into submission through simple brute force. The redhead dodges the swipe just barely, but hard knuckles splits the flesh just below his lip. His back hits the cold surface of a large mirror hanging from the wall. He cries out and manages to land a hard punch to the brunet’s face when the policeman attempts to pin him to the surface. He’s fast, very fast, and his leg comes up to kick the officer back, the sole of his foot landing square in the chest. The monster’s attention returns to Demyx, and he spits at the sight of the trembling gun in his hand.
Adrenaline is circulating crazily now, and Demyx doesn’t have a clue what to do. All the training back at the academy, all the things he had learned about what to do and what not to do with his gun has already left his mind dry, replacing everything with fear and the instinct to defend with any means necessary..
The redhead’s back leaves the reflective surface, but before the furious man could take another step forward, a sharp crack rings out through the entire apartment and the single mirror behind him shatters and splinters from the force of a point blank bullet.
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Reno joins Axel on the couch with a bowl of raisins and orange slices. He sidles up close, his arm draping over the other redhead’s, and he begins popping the raisins into his mouth as his eyes fix on the channel Axel is watching.
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He chews on the orange slice, and hums when Axel curls into his shoulder. He feels a subtle hand brush against his stomach, then suddenly under the hem of his shirt. The ponytailed man smirks and turns sideways to grin against his boyfriend, and Reno soon finds himself in a heated kiss with his lover of two years. They move slowly, carefully, Reno undressing Axel with precise movements, and Axel sighing deeply and teasing the waistband of Reno’s sweatpants.
Reno likes Sundays because usually there is never anything good to watch on afternoon television.
The older male hugs the man with green eyes tightly, almost squishing him against the cushions of the loveseat. He curls his arms around the naked torso and brings their racing hearts together.
He tells him he’s leaving tomorrow with Rude. Axel just nods into his shoulder, leaving butterfly kisses over the perfect skin. Reno tells him he’ll be gone for almost three weeks, and Axel mumbles a small protest, something about masturbating for those three weeks. Reno laughs and moves to kiss him against his neck. Axel sighs and arches his neck, submitting to the sensual touches.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” Reno reassures, his fingers twining with slender digits of his lover’s hand, “but maybe I’ll make you wait a bit longer. I’ve always heard that sex after a long trip away from a lover is fucking divine.” Axel smirks and calls him a horndog, rolling his naked hips against the body above him teasingly.
The older male tells him he loves him, and he’ll love him, forever and ever. Tells him he’ll never break his heart.
And Axel says the same thing.
The next morning, Reno is gone, leaving behind a single post-it note on the refrigerator with the words “I love you”.
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He wakes up, ears ringing, head pounding, chest aching, and he finds having tubes in his nose a very uncomfortable thing to have. He breathes, and wonders just what the hell transpired while he was asleep.
The patient struggles to sit up, the painful wound spreading from chest and intravenous tubes jabbing into his forearms not making any of his actions easy.
Reno blinks slowly, facial muscles sore from any small movement, and having the sun shine down on your bed through the window only worsens his headache. He looks around; the room seems to be empty except for him. He lies back on a set of pillows, and feels a large rock sink to the bottom of his stomach as he tries to piece together the splotches of memories from before. Things are blurry, unclear, and Reno gives a groan in defeat. He tosses his head to the side, wondering if there were any painkillers nearby to help the sting pulsing through all his nerves.
He loses track of what he is initially looking for, however, when his eyes fall upon a yellow sticky-note adhered to the surface of the bed side table.
And Reno feels his world shatter.
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I hope that wasn't too confusing LOL. I'll be happy to answer questions about it for whoever was brave enough to go through the whole thing XD
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oh my god oh my god OH MY GOD
HOLY SHIT ANON, THAT... THAT WAS INCREDIBLE. THAT WAS FUCKING AMAZING. YOU LIKE, FUCKING READ MY BRAIN AND KNEW E X A C T L Y WHAT I WAS LOOKING FOR WITH THIS KINK. HOLY SHIT ANON. I AM FUCKING BLOWN AWAY BY THIS. YOU DID SUCH AN INCREDIBLE JOB, THE NARRATIVE, DIALOGUE, FLOW OF EVERYTHING, IT WAS JUST GENIUS, AND PERFECT. i loved how you jumped around, from before, during, and after the incident, it was not confusing at all. OH GOD YOU WROTE THEM ALL SO WELL, you played my emotions like an INSTRUMENT, this was everything and MORE than what i had hoped for, you went above and beyond, this was incredible. Even the little details that wern't needed, like Demyx, FUCKIN' DEMYX, THAT WHOLE CHARACTER INSIGHT/DEVELOPEMENT THING WAS GENIUS. like, idk if it was necessary to learn so much about Demyx and look into his emotions like that, BUT IT WAS FUCKING BRILLIANT, IT JUST... MADE THE SCENE/SITUATION THAT MUCH MORE INTENSE. ugh, poor Reno, poor Axel, poor Roxas... UGH THIS WAS SO GOOD. I AM DOWLOADING THIS TO MY COMPUTER AND SAVING IT FOREVER. i was so disappointed when the story ended, i just wanted it to keep going forever, you got me so attached to the characters, i wanted to know what happened to all of them, how well was Roxas when he got out of the hospital, what ended up with Reno, if he ever found happiness and love again, if Axel recovered from it all, ugh, everything, i was so hooked. you are amazing. what happened to Reno... it was just so tragic. why did Axel stop loving him? just cause he started loving Roxas instead? what happened to Reno that made him change from the fun happy guy eating oranges on the couch? JFAALKJDFSA YOU WROTE EVERYONE SO WELL, I CANNOT HELP BUT BE IN LOVE WITH EVERY SINGLE CHARACTER IN THIS. THEY ALL PULLED AT MY HEARTSTRINGS IN DIFFERENT WAYS. and then Roxas... AW I WANN KNOW IF HE'S GONNA BE OKAY!! D,,,: will axel be okay?? will RENO be okay?? poor guy, everything that happened to all of them was so tragic... UGH I WANT YOUR EMAIL SO I CAN CONTINUE TO FANGASM TO YOU IN PRIVATE, CAUSE I COULD JUST GO ON FOREVER ABOUT HOW MUCH I FUCKING LOVE THIS STORY, AND HOW MUCH I FUCKING LOVE YOU FOR WRITING IT. UGH, IT'S FUCKING AMAZING. SRSLY. I AM BLOWN AWAY. MY MIND IN NUMB FROM READING THIS, YOU ARE SO INCREDIBLY TALENTED WITH WRITING, I SRSLY WANT TO KNOW WHAT YOUR OTHER WRITING IS SO I CAN READ IT AND GEEK OUT OVER THAT STUFF TO ALFJSKLS;DFJAKLS;FJDAL;SDFJKAL;FJDKFLAS;S
THANK YOU SO SO SO SO MUCH ANON FOR WRITING THIS. THANK YOU. THANK YOU THANK YOU!!
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I WAS REALLY WORRIED HOW THE WHOLE TIME-JUMP WOULD WORK. IT WAS IN MY HEAD BEFORE I EVEN STARTED WRITING, BUT I'M REALLY GLAD IT DIDN'T CONFUSE YOU 8DDDDDD Awwww yaaaaay! I'm even more flattered now that I know someone fuckin' loves this enough to save on their computerrrr *BLUSH BLUSH BLUSH* LOLOLOL TO BE QUITE HONEST, I REALLLY DIDN'T KNOW HOW OR WHEN TO PUT A STOP TO IT. SERIOUSLY, I THINK MY ENDING IS VERY PREMATURE, BUT I REALLY DIDN'T HAVE ANYWHERE ELSE TO GO WITH IT. SO I JUST DECIDED TO MAKE EVERYONE MISERABLE AT THE VERY END, JUST FOR KICKS LOOOOL.
I thought that in a time of two-and a half weeks, maybe Axel was entirely entranced by Roxas because he was just--simply someone new. Who knew how to wield a good fake ID and a couple of cherries LOL <3
WHO KNOWS IF THEY'LL *EVER* BE OKAY AGAIN. POSSIBLY NOT BECAUSE I HAVE A NOTORIOUS TENDENCY TO MAKE THEM ALL FEEL LIKE CRAP AT THE END OF FICS HAHAHHAAAAA.
YOU KNOW, SOMETHING TELLS ME WE KNOW EACH OTHER. OR I'M JUST HIGHLY MISTAKEN, BUT I HAVE THIS FUNNY FEELING AT THE PIT OF MY STOMACH THAT WE KNOW EACH OTHER >_>;;;
BUT! ANYWAY: THANK YOU FOR READING IT! I'M GLAD AND RELIEVED THAT YOU LOVED IT SO MUCH *TOMATO RED FACE FFFF* \O/
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