AU Meme.

[midnightdiddle]

Ganked from hiza-chan, since I actually finished the last one I did.

→ Give me an AU and I'll write you a short scene from it. It can be an AU with a change of events ("what if Roxas hadn't left the Organization"), or a change of setting (Organization XIII assassins), or a crossover setting (Avatar characters in Kingdom Hearts verse), or even a crossover

Comments

II/III

[midnightdiddle]

"I'm not supposed to talk to you," the man says, and he reaches up, pulls at his own hair. His fingernails are painted black, shiny and unchipped, and Arthur thinks of witches and fires.

"Then why are you?" Arthur asks, words slow and syrupy, and the man laughs again.

"Because you're drunk, and I'm drunk, and I can feel the sun."

It makes no sense, Arthur knows, but maybe it's because it makes no sense that Arthur can feel something like understanding, right there on the edge of his brain. Another drink, he thinks, and another drag, and he'll have it, he'll understand

the way the cloak was always so heavy on his shoulders, like his father's hands, and the way he sank into the sea, halfway to Avalon but never quite there, dead in the water a thousand million times

everything.

"What are you?" Arthur tries to ask as the man grabs him, cold and clammy hands on Arthur's arms. Arthur breathes through his nose, dizzy air, and let himself take a few steps forward.

"Shouldn't touch you, either," the man says, and when he lets go and walks away, Arthur finds himself following him. It is like-- he is going mad, he thinks. He can't make his feet stop moving, and he can't look away from the man's shoulder. When the crowd surges up around him, like

knights shining silver and gold, trumpets and banners and a voice calling, to the prince, to the prince, as the horses scream and die

like waves on breakers, he reaches out, presses the palm of his hand firmly against the man's shoulder. The knit beneath his palm is smooth, and he lets his hand slip a little, so he can feel the friction of the rub and pull. It feels good, like the purr in the back of his throat. Arousal and anxiety are melting through his body.

"Where are we going?" he yells over the thrum of bass and the throb of the crowd. The man looks back over his shoulder, and Arthur watches him touch the corner of his mouth with a black-tipped finger. The man's smile is fast, and Arthur feels the crowd move around him, waves dragging at his limbs.

The destination is the club's bathroom-- the club, too cheap and liberal by half, has one big, gender-blind bathroom, with grimy stalls covered is vomit and piss and semen. The smell of it is almost enough to make Arthur retch, sickness and sex beneath the tang of spilled liquors. There's a line, kohl-eyed girls with tiny handbags and smeared lipstick. The man stops at the end of the line, and Arthur stops with him, standing close enough to rest his arm along the line of man's back. The knit makes the hair on his arm stand on end.

"What?" Arthur asks, like all the night is a question. He still has to yell, the bass of the music and the thud of the dancing hanging heavy even in the bathroom. The man turns halfway around, and the way he moves makes Arthur's arm twist so it's hanging over his shoulder.

"Sex," the man yells back, and the girl in front of them looks at them with sleepy eyes, half a smile. "We're gonna fuck."

"Okay," Arthur says, and he's a little proud with how calm he's feeling. It might be, he thinks, the cocktail running through his blood, but right now, he feels like he can take on anything and be okay. There is something beautifully numbing about all of this, and he focuses his eyes on the collar of the man's shirt. When he touches it with his thumb, the man shudders a little, and it's easy to wait for the line to move like this, rubbing the edge of his thumbnail over the collar, hangnail catching on the man's skin.