Kingdom Hearts ~ Hearts and Happenstance - Prisoner of Fate
Title: Prisoner of Fate
Prompts: #9 - dash (for 30_kisses )
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts II
Characters/Pairings: Luxord/Tifa; Sora
Rating: PG
Word Count: 621
Disclaimer: I don’t own Kingdom Hearts or any of the characters therein. They belong to Square and Disney, to whom I am eternally grateful for letting me play in their sandbox.
Summary: The stage is set, the players are at their positions, and two opponents clash for the final time.
He dispenses with banter because he wants to begin as quickly as possible. This is more than just a simple game, no matter how playful it seems-- it’s in all seriousness now, and must not be spoiled with petty taunts.
Sora seems to feel the change in the air as well, for he attacks with a ferocity previously unseen. Luxord is pleased. The boy does him honor by giving it his all, though he most assuredly would never think of it that way. Luxord’s cards flash around them, lightning-fast, and he has the satisfaction of seeing the Keybearer’s eyebrows furrow in confusion; in unease-- he can’t seem to follow the Gambler’s quick movements. He encourages Sora, goading him on, all the while disappearing and reappearing under cover of his cards. If he keeps this up long enough, Sora will lose too much time and--
The pain comes to him in a rush, almost exquisite after endless days of feeling nothing. Luxord gasps; staggers backwards. He’s wasted too much precious time-- Sora has finally figured out the game. He feels-- or imagines he feels-- blood slipping out of the wound in his side. Sora is watching him carefully, his whole body tensed to attack.
Luxord’s breath slows. He still has time.
Shakily he regains his footing and moves his arm in a sweeping motion, gesturing for Sora to continue. The boy needs no further encouragement.
Now that first blood has been spilled, the battle resumes in earnest. Luxord suddenly finds that he’s too slow, that Sora has anticipated his attacks long before he has a chance to see them through. He begins to sever Luxord’s precious deck of fifty-two until there is nowhere left for him to hide, and for possibly the first time in his non-life, Luxord tastes the beginnings of terror in the back of his throat.
Sora’s eyes are dark with intent, and the Gambler suddenly comes to the realization that the game has completely gotten away from him-- or perhaps he has been mistaken. Perhaps he never was a player to begin with.
In a last-ditch effort to save himself, he raises his remaining cards around him in a sort of crude fortress, hoping that this will buy him enough time to make a hasty, if altogether undignified, retreat.
Agony.
He is on his knees long before he realizes what has happened. Sora has cleaved through his defenses as easily as if he’d been cutting through paper. This time the wound is fatal, of that Luxord is quite sure. He can feel the strength ebbing from him, can see the miasma clouding his vision, and yet all he can think of is how brutally he has been cheated.
“How could you, Roxas?” The words are meant to be biting, accusing-- they sound only breathless. He wants to say more; wants to say something that will shock the boy out of his grim detachment; wants to make Roxas-Sora-Roxas suffer for cheating so horribly and so remorselessly. But he has no more time to spare.
His final thought is her; the last thing he thinks of is her.
Tifa...
She is lying before him, her mouth curved in a sleepy little smile. She is completely and unabashedly naked, and right now, in this moment, he thinks he has never seen anything so breathtaking in all of his non-existence. He wants to taste those lips again; wants to take her in his arms and feel that strong heart beating against the emptiness in his chest; wants to tell her--
I’m so sorry, Tifa.
I wanted...
Luxord’s body is air, carried on the wind.
It is too late. Minutes and seconds and years too late.
Prompts: #9 - dash (for 30_kisses )
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts II
Characters/Pairings: Luxord/Tifa; Sora
Rating: PG
Word Count: 621
Disclaimer: I don’t own Kingdom Hearts or any of the characters therein. They belong to Square and Disney, to whom I am eternally grateful for letting me play in their sandbox.
Summary: The stage is set, the players are at their positions, and two opponents clash for the final time.
He dispenses with banter because he wants to begin as quickly as possible. This is more than just a simple game, no matter how playful it seems-- it’s in all seriousness now, and must not be spoiled with petty taunts.
Sora seems to feel the change in the air as well, for he attacks with a ferocity previously unseen. Luxord is pleased. The boy does him honor by giving it his all, though he most assuredly would never think of it that way. Luxord’s cards flash around them, lightning-fast, and he has the satisfaction of seeing the Keybearer’s eyebrows furrow in confusion; in unease-- he can’t seem to follow the Gambler’s quick movements. He encourages Sora, goading him on, all the while disappearing and reappearing under cover of his cards. If he keeps this up long enough, Sora will lose too much time and--
The pain comes to him in a rush, almost exquisite after endless days of feeling nothing. Luxord gasps; staggers backwards. He’s wasted too much precious time-- Sora has finally figured out the game. He feels-- or imagines he feels-- blood slipping out of the wound in his side. Sora is watching him carefully, his whole body tensed to attack.
Luxord’s breath slows. He still has time.
Shakily he regains his footing and moves his arm in a sweeping motion, gesturing for Sora to continue. The boy needs no further encouragement.
Now that first blood has been spilled, the battle resumes in earnest. Luxord suddenly finds that he’s too slow, that Sora has anticipated his attacks long before he has a chance to see them through. He begins to sever Luxord’s precious deck of fifty-two until there is nowhere left for him to hide, and for possibly the first time in his non-life, Luxord tastes the beginnings of terror in the back of his throat.
Sora’s eyes are dark with intent, and the Gambler suddenly comes to the realization that the game has completely gotten away from him-- or perhaps he has been mistaken. Perhaps he never was a player to begin with.
In a last-ditch effort to save himself, he raises his remaining cards around him in a sort of crude fortress, hoping that this will buy him enough time to make a hasty, if altogether undignified, retreat.
Agony.
He is on his knees long before he realizes what has happened. Sora has cleaved through his defenses as easily as if he’d been cutting through paper. This time the wound is fatal, of that Luxord is quite sure. He can feel the strength ebbing from him, can see the miasma clouding his vision, and yet all he can think of is how brutally he has been cheated.
“How could you, Roxas?” The words are meant to be biting, accusing-- they sound only breathless. He wants to say more; wants to say something that will shock the boy out of his grim detachment; wants to make Roxas-Sora-Roxas suffer for cheating so horribly and so remorselessly. But he has no more time to spare.
His final thought is her; the last thing he thinks of is her.
Tifa...
She is lying before him, her mouth curved in a sleepy little smile. She is completely and unabashedly naked, and right now, in this moment, he thinks he has never seen anything so breathtaking in all of his non-existence. He wants to taste those lips again; wants to take her in his arms and feel that strong heart beating against the emptiness in his chest; wants to tell her--
I’m so sorry, Tifa.
I wanted...
Luxord’s body is air, carried on the wind.
It is too late. Minutes and seconds and years too late.