Kingdom Hearts Kink Meme

[kokanshu]

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

Comments

Bipolarity [1/2]

[anonymous]

As rumor had it, Axel like to shit in chicks' mouths. It was just a rumor and a couple of scared, junkie bitches, but the reputation held, complicated by the murder rap he'd gotten off on--a hung jury, if you can believe that. More like Axel and a couple friends paid a juror a visit. Took a shit in his mouth, maybe. Way leads on to way, and the inside of a decade saw Axel's rise to fame. His meteoric rise to shit. You just didn't fuck with him if you liked your balls. You didn't fuck with him if you liked your safe, sleepy, suburban life. But for kids like Roxas, kids on the fringes of society, Axel was king. Was God, was the Word, the Way, the Light. Roxas didn't know about lots of things, having dropped out of high school at seventeen, three months shy of his diploma, but there were two things of which he was sure Axel was not: 1) the kind of guy who shat in chicks' mouths, and 2) sane.

Insanity, though, is a funny thing. Insanity makes friends. Insanity has your back in a dirty fight. Insanity will get your yuppie folks off your case about that college entrance exam you stopped giving a shit about a year ago. Roxas, who never had very many friends, was friends with Axel. Roxas liked going on drug runs with the guys. Roxas was the insurance, was the angel-faced foolproof plan: you don't pull guns on the kid, the sweet boy with the puppy eyes and a Smith & Wesson tucked in his back pocket. Roxas was the blueprint, the fail-safe. Sometimes Roxas thought Axel used him as a shield. It wasn't much of a life, but what's living, anyway?

Roxas worked in a library when he wasn't running drugs and he wasn't holding court. He shelved books and helped library patrons check out their literature anthologies and their true crime mysteries. He helped college kids and divinity students pay their fines on their overdue Kierkegaard, helped middle aged soccer moms find the Self-Help section. The way Roxas saw it, he didn't really need a place to live as long as his scared, sleepy yuppie folks were too busy sobbing their LASIK-enhanced eyes out to kick him to the curb. Food, clothing, shelter: Maslow's hierarchy of needs. For everything else, there was Axel. Axel, reining supreme with his colorful moods in his blood money bought penthouse on the forty-fifth floor of the downtown high rise. Was he a drug lord? A crime lord? An anything? He was Axel. He was everything. He was nothing.

Roxas was only remotely concerned with the paralyzing inactivity that often came over Axel, long weeks of snorting coke in the dark and playing with Roxas' hair when Roxas wasn't at the library selling his soul for $9.50 an hour. Roxas didn't know who was with Axel when he was gone. Roxas didn't care as long as he was allowed back. To hold court, to sit and be glorious, untouchable. Sometimes Roxas wore dresses--skimpy, flashy things that Axel brought in on a display rack--and Axel had visitors address him as "milady," complete with a polite bow of the head. The dresses--the soft, expensive fabric with price tags he never saw--made Roxas feel dangerous. Powerful. When Axel got into one of his moods, he would stare at Roxas for hours like he was reading a book, charting constellations in bright, flaming charmeuse and crêpe de Chine. Sometimes Roxas would come in and it would be dark and smell of too many bodies and too much sweat, and he would drag Axel, unresponsive, into his marbled shower. While Axel soaked off his layer of sloth and decadence, Roxas would hunt around for the dresses. When he came back, Axel would be on the bed masturbating and Roxas would walk back and forth, catwalking until Axel came. Roxas figured it was the least he could do.

Bipolarity [2/2]

[anonymous]

When Axel wasn't in a mood, wasn't subsisting off of Rice Krispies Treats, French Onion Sun Chips, and Grey Goose, he was threatening people or breaking fingers. Axel was slapping prostitutes around or stealing cars and parking them in unsuspecting yuppie driveways. He was shitting in people's mouths, maybe. Roxas didn't know for sure, just that he ran heroin under the bridge, ran one hundred and fifty tabs of E uptown. Sometimes Axel would laugh, would cut his left arm open and use it as a palette for a masterpiece on his floor to ceiling plate glass penthouse windows while the court watched on in awe and terror. Once he brought Roxas along as he burned down an elementary school. Thursday, 10:34 a.m., and he turned to Roxas as flames licked the sky, psychotic grin stretched over his feature in a gruesome caricature of joy.

"I'm saving them from themselves."

Who, Roxas wondered, would do the same for Axel.

Axel was in one of his in-between states, coming down from a manic high of arson and intrigue to tiptoe around the lip of a gaping chasm, giggling with a demonic sort of glee at the way it was too deep to even echo back to him. His own voice, drowned in a stretching sea of absence, a void Roxas watched him swan dive off over and over. Over and over. Axel was sweating over the stove in his penthouse, birthing pains over a goddamn soufflé that he was making "special, just for you, Roxas." Roxas, on a cocktail of pharmaceuticals, was in a crimson Malandrino like a spreading bloodstain, long lace sleeves and a hem short enough that his ass showed if he bent over. He glided over to Axel, pressing his lips against the other boy's neck.

Axel laughed nervously, licking his chapped lips. Eyes crazed, he twitched under Roxas' hands. "Cut that shit out. I'm trying to get this motherfucker to rise."

Roxas--an inhumane, sedated, craving to plunder screaming though his body like a riptide--rocked his hips into Axel, undulating in a dance to unheard music save for Axel's fingers tapping out a nervous waltz against the stainless steel of the oven. "Drop," Roxas mouthed against Axel's neck, sweet, narcotic sweat clinging to the fine hair and skin, "your pants."

Axel obliged with twitching hands, breathing in his throat while Roxas bent him double and fucked him against the stove, Malandrino hiked up over his hips as he thrust, thrust, thrust into Axel, a nervous stuttering wreck as he fiddled with the stove, burning his hands while Roxas thrust, thrust, thrust into him, fucked him breathless. Roxas felt the burn skyrocket from the pads of his feet to the pit of his stomach, noticing too late the curling stench of charred flesh as he lost it buried in Axel's ass, thrusting into an opening chasm of blackened, deranged joy. Axel laughed as Roxas bandaged his hands, spoon-feeding Roxas the risen chocolate soufflé while commenting on the exact feeling he'd had as his own come put out the flames swallowing his hand.

not!op

[anonymous]

Holy fucking fucks.

This.

You are twisted. I don't know whether to love this or be utterly horrified of it. Reads like Fight club though, and I gotta give you props for that. But jeez, man! You're a crazy motherfucker. Nicely done.

Re: not!op

[anonymous]

/bow

glad you liked/loathed it.

Re: Bipolarity [2/2]

[anonymous]

I get this strange feeling I know you.

Regardless, fucking loved it, especially when Roxas ended up topping. Although I'm not sure that's what the requester was after :s

Re: Bipolarity [2/2]

[anonymous]

ORLY XD

i admit to taking undue liberties with the prompt to suit my depraved, lusty needs. i hope the op doesn't mind, but innocent!dress!roxas is too... uke-uke-fuck-me-baby. too easy.

Another not!OP

[anonymous]

*is ded*

ESPECIALLY considering that Roxas topped. You just made my life with this. <333