GUYS GUYS I've been writing for the kink!meme ohgod.
Pffft. I have been super bored, so it has been a veritable PORNAPALOOZA over here. I'm going to own up to the fic I wrote, but kind of shyly? Sh-shut up. Assume Kingdom Hearts for the fandom on all these i'll get around to the others once i've accrued a reasonable amount of fills on those
Title: Almost
Characters: Vexen/Even/Even's Heartless
Rating: NC-17/PORN
Warnings: Self!cest, highly abstract pr0n.
Summary: He's used to being lost.
He wasn't restored, not really. The other two entities in his head (could he say other, truthfully?) offered no explanations, the Heartless disinterested, Vexen baffled but complacent . It was Even who itched with curiosity, the urge to question, to discover unquenched. The Heartless, he understood, and Nobodies he knew all too well, but that left the question of... him.
He was aware of them, during the day, Vexen a rigid, icy presence at the tip of his consciousness, the black, sinuous form of the Heartless curled as warm as hypothermia deep in his hindbrain.
He spoke to them, at night. Well, 'spoke' wasn't really truthful. Because he wasn't restored, merely shoddily reassembled, and all three component parts were little more than subconscious aching desperation to be a cohesive and homogenous whole.
And so it was that most nights, Even found himself intwined skin-to-skin with his mirror image, blond hair tangling, spidery fingers skittering over skin with fevered desperation, trying to touch, trying to memorize every inch of the other if it might help, and the deceptively soft, deceptively strong but not-really-there flesh of the Heartless wound between and around and in.
He had indulged infrequently, but Vexen's memories were almost frighteningly vivid. Like this whispered and remembered. Like this, we could pretend, for a little while. Like this, we could fool ourselves.
Like this, like this.
Like this, with Vexen's fingers strong and certain, sliding in and pressing expertly. Like this, his fingernails leaving perfect crescent-moon on Vexen's back, his hips, his legs. Like this, with the unforgiving, mutable not-flesh of the Heartless wrapping so tight, holding him still, holding him close, immobile.
There was no up or down in the not-space they were in, but he had Vexen over him and the Heartless behind him nevertheless. Vexen was ruthless, precise, striking each erogenous zone with the perfect amount of pressure, the perfect pain of scratches and nips, the perfect press of a hot mouth and hotter tongue to soothe the icy, small bites. He darted up frequently, his lips desperate and ferocious on Even's, wanting, wanting, as if he could steal the lust and passion coiling tight and hot in Even's chest with his kisses. He moaned into Vexen's mouth, strained to reach out, to touch, to be a little closer, only a little, a little, but there was the heartless, black and hard and hot against his back, devouring, hungry, hungrier than Vexen for this, for feeling and he shook with it.
Even knew the hand on his cock as well as his own, the utter lack of warmth in the touch was Vexen's, the searing heat slinking over his abdomen to caress Vexen's own erection belonged to the Heartless.
"Please. Please." Touch you, let me touch you feel you, please oh please oh please.
"Yes," Vexen's whisper was hot like his hands were cold, hissed and broken in his ear. "Yes." The Nobody moved, straddling Even, his beautiful, cold hands never leaving, touch never broken. With the ease of wanting, Vexen lowered himself, Even sliding in, slow hot tight please, please, please his head thrown back, the not-quite-his face of the Heartless seeking his mouth, a kiss hotter than Vexen's, and he didn't know whose moans and whimpers were whose anymore.
The tendrils of darkness that had held him still close tight safe unravelled abruptly, twining out to wrap the three of them in a twisted parody of a lovers' embrace but oh, it was so close so almost there and all three cried out. Even could feel the hardness of the Heartless probing at him, asking entrance, asking kinship, and he sobbed with the relief, the desire. Yes and please and do it.
With his arms free, Even could reach up to tangle one hand in the sheet of blond hair curtaining around him, bring Vexen's burningice eyes close enough to blur, kiss him like they could maybe maybe this time, reach back to tangle one hand with the fingers of the Heartless, both white-knucked with the grip. Felt Vexen's arm and the Heartless reach up, reach together to embrace, all three tangled together in darkness, in safety and almost almost please.
He felt the Heartless bite his shoulder hard, claiming as it bucked against him, inside him. He crushed Vexen closer, screaming into the mouth that was intent on learning every surface of his own, pressing up, Vexen's erection rubbing with exquisite heat between their bellies.
They were close, almost almost almost and in the blinding explosion of white that overtook them all, they were maybe, maybe, finally this time, please oh please oh please.
After, the Heartless wound them close and warm, fierce and angry and protective. Vexen shook with the emotions he couldn't feel, wanting, wanting as Even sobbed into them.
Almost. Please.
Please.
---
Title: The Best Laid Plans
Characters: Xigbar, Demyx
Rating:NC-17/PORN
Warnings: Seriously, just porn.
Summary: It would've helped to know the kid was ticklish.
Demyx slept in the nude, and Xigbar was not above abusing that fact.
Put tactfully, Number IX was capricious. Put in Xigbar's words, Demyx was a fucking little cocktease and Xigbar did not have a fucking sense of humor when he was being deliberately fucking blue-balled.
Fuck.
However, Xigbar had a plan.
Phase 1: Strip. In Xigbar's professional and objective opinion, nudity on the parts of both parties was necessary from the get-go in order to expedite the entire process s and not allow Demyx the opportunity to weasel his way out of this one, leaving Xigbar once again frustrated and wanting to shoot something (possibly Xaldin, things were usually his fault somehow).
Phase 2: Using his considerable stealth (in this case, the ability to open wormholes through the Darkness, but only in this case, seriously, he could totally do it the old fashioned way if he wanted to) break into the sleeping Melodious Nocturne's bedroom.
Phase 3: Proceed to put Demyx - notorious for sleeping not so much like a log as a petrified redwood - at his ease with a luxurious and relaxing full-body massage.
Phase 4: Engage Demyx in a thorough and deserved fucking.
It was, Xigbar would happily admit to himself, a very good plan.
Phase 1 was easily and quickly executed; as any of the other members of the Organization would have admitted (with varying expressions of disgust, horror, or exasperation), keeping Xigbar in pants was the problem. Phase 2 went off without a hitch as well, owing to Xigbar's mastery of the Darkness, clever manipulation of space, and Demyx's pronounced near-comatose nocturnal state.
Now for the hard part.
Demyx was sprawled on his stomach clutching a pillow, with his heavy duvet helpfully not tangled impossibly around his legs. Xigbar's grin (predatory, not patently ridiculous, thank you) made his scar creak. The younger Nobody didn't stir when Xigbar carefully peeled the covering back from his body.
Slowly, just in case, Xigbar eased himself onto the bed, straddling Demyx's knees, but not touching him yet. Xigbar paused. Demyx's breathing was still the deep, even rhythm of sleep, punctuated by sharp, truncated almost-snores. Excellent.
Xigbar rested the heels of his hands on either side of the spine at the small of Demyx's back and leaned, testing, letting his hands slide slowly up the younger's back a small distance. Encouraged by Demyx's lack of response, he moved his hands to the same spot, pressing a little harder, kneading. Powers, but the kid was warm, and he must've used one hell of a moisturizing regimen for his skin to be this baby-soft and smooth.
Xigbar didn't stop when Demyx made a sleepy little noise, but shifted his stance so more of his weight was centered over his hands. His hands slid up, thumbs digging in right between Demyx's shoulder blades, fingers brushing soothingly over the flats of his back. He moved back southerly at Demyx's sigh and slight shift.
Working his hands contemplatively at the place where Demyx's torso tapered into his waist, Xigbar made and executive decision.
Without ever lifting his hands from that sinfully soft back, Xigbar moved slightly, bringing his callused fingertips firmly to rest on the flat swells of Demyx's ass.
Demyx purred shifting his hips in his maybe-almost-awake haze.
Xigbar's grin never faltered as he caressed the tops of Demyx's thighs, the hollow of his hip bones, teasing, ever-so-briefly, at the space just above Demyx's balls.
Demyx shifted again. "Mnh?"
There we go. Xigbar abandoned Demyx's lower regions to drape himself bodily over the younger Nobody's back. He hadn't fully realized how turned-on he actually was until he felt his cock settle between the cheeks of Demyx's ass. It really couldn't be helped, the way he shifted, bearing his weight down for a little more pressure. He nuzzled Demyx's ear.
"Xig...?"
"Hey, kiddo." Xigbar's voice was low, husky. He nipped the earlobe presented so conveniently to his face, and really couldn't resist pressing his hips down again, grinding so deliciously against that marble-smooth skin.
"Mmmm." Demyx shifted in response, pressing up into Xigbar, tilting his head to the elder could get at his neck. He breathy little sigh as Xigbar trailed his tongue up the tendon in his neck went straight to Xigbar's groin, which was already having a rather pleasant time with a gentle grinding session on its own. "Ooh, that's it, Xig, right there..."
Xigbar sucked on the patch of skin right behind Demyx's jaw, reveling in the pleased little moan he received for his efforts. He skimmed his hands upwards from their resting place at the hollows of Demyx's hips, enjoying the feel of muscles tensing as his hands ghosted over Demyx's sides. He nipped at the tendon, earning another happy sigh, his hands tracing over Demyx's ribs and-
"Waugh!"
Was promptly unseated as Demyx flailed and jerked his arm up, catching Xigbar in the jaw. Demyx's bed wasn't all that wide, and Xigbar found himself staring at the ceiling from slightly further away than he was accustomed.
"God fucking dammit, Demyx," he sighed.
A bleary, somewhat confused face peered over the edge of the mattress. "Xiggy?" He blinked his way to full alertness. "Xiggy! Omigosh, are you okay?"
Xigbar heaved himself into a sitting position. And things had been going so well, too. "Yeah, Dem, I'm fine." He rubbed his jaw where it had collided with Demyx's arm.
Demyx's hand flew to his mouth. "Oh, did I hit you? Oh man, I'm sorry." He reached down and hauled Xigbar to his feet. Xigbar collapsed onto the mattress.
No words were said.
"Um, Xigbar?" Demyx offered tentatively. "What... what exactly were you doing?"
"I was trying to get laid," Xigbar grumbled. "What about you, though? What the hell was that?"
Demyx looked away, sheepish. "I'm uh. I'm ticklish. Sorry."
Xigbar looked as nonplussed as one can with only a single eye. "Ticklish."
"Yeah."
"...Well."
"Sorry."
There was silence.
Demyx looked up. "Xigbar?"
Xigbar's gaze was contemplative. "You just ticklish there?"
"Well no, I- ack! Xigbar, what- augh!"
Xigbar moved faster than Demyx's sleep-addled brain could process, pinning the younger Nobody to the mattress and mercilessly attacking his ribcage.
Well, that was one way to get Demyx breathless and squirming underneath him. On the other hand, he had Demyx breathless and squirming underneath him. Maybe this could work out after all. Xigbar was nothing if not adaptable.
Xigbar deftly inserted his person between Demyx's thrashing legs fingers still dancing up and down his sides. A particularly violent flail crushed their bodies together, causing both to gasp. Xigbar smirked, mouthing at Demyx's neck. Oh, baby.
"Ah-ah! Xigbar!" Demyx was gasping and panting, his hands gripping Xigbar's biceps as though to shove him away, but there was no force there. Xigbar hummed nipping Demyx's ear again, his fingers doing a fluttering little motion. Demyx squirmed desperately, not entirely to get away from the tortuous dance of Xigbar's hands at his side. Their cocks slid together - A-ha, that's it - and Xigbar couldn't stifle his moan, either.
Xigbar, deciding to be merciful, pressed his hands more firmly against Demyx's sensitive sides, feeling the flinching tense of muscle that had the younger pressing up hard.
"Fucking hell, Xigbar," Demyx panted, knuckles white against his arms.
"What, you want a break kiddo?" smirked Xigbar, although his breathing was none to steady, either.
Demyx's glare might've been intimidating, but he ruined it with a pout. Taking advantage of their momentary lack of motion, he reached forward and gathered a handful of salt-and-pepper ponytail, hauling Xigbar forward to thrust his tongue into his mouth.
Xigbar grinned around the kiss. Score! Giving the kid a break, Xigbar wrapped one arm around him to draw them closer, the other leaving Demyx's side to trail down the front of his body, carding through sandy-blonde curls to wrap around his cock, just as hard as Xigbar now. Demyx moaned into his mouth as he began to stroke.
"Come on, come on," Demyx muttered against Xigbar's mouth, his eyes shut and lips dark and wet. It was, Xigbar decided, pretty fucking hot. "Please, Xigbar."
"Oh no, just giving you what you deserve, you fuckin' tease," Xigbar growled, twisting his hand on the upstroke and sliding his thumb hard over the head.
Demyx buried his face in Xigbar's neck, the hand in his hair tightening. "C'mon Xiggy, I'll beg, just please."
"Please what, Dem? Huh?"
"Xigbar..."
"C'mon, Dem, tell me what you want."
Demyx bucked up into his hand, fingers tightening their grip on his arm. "I want you in me Xig, c'mon, just fuck me already, please, please."
Well. Xigbar wasn't one to deny a heartfelt request like that. He fumbled around in the darkness (well, where else would he keep his lube during Naked Demyx-Molesting Adventures?) and sat up to generously apply the slick oil to his hand. He took the opportunity to really take a good look at Demyx - it wasn't with anything near enough regularity that Xigbar got to see him like this, spread out and panting, entire body flushed with desire.
Xigbar grinned again, grabbing Demyx's leg under the knee, intending to shove it up to his shoulder, but paused at the shuddering, tensing twitch that ran though it. The grin spread to a smirk, and Demyx groaned in exasperation.
"Xigbar, not now-"
"Ticklish here too, huh? How come I never noticed that before?"
"I've always been holding my own legs before now- ah!"
Xigbar shoved two slick fingers into the Nobody underneath him at the same time he brushed his thumb under the silky skin of the back of Demyx's knee. His leg twitched as he tried not to kick.
"Xigba-a-a-a-r..."
"Like that, Demy?"
"Stop - ah! Stop tickling me, you bastard!"
"Hmmm, nope, I think you like it." Xigbar curled his fingers and tickled Demyx's knee again, causing the kid to moan and clench up around his hand and oh but that would feel wonderful on his cock.
"Ready for me, Dem?"
"Powers, fucking finally, please, yes, do it!"
Xigbar obliged, removing his fingers and replacing them with his cock, thrusting forward in one smooth motion. Demyx opened to him easily, pressing forward to meet him, until Xigbar was in as deep as he could get.
Leaning forward and down to capture Demyx's mouth, he returned one hand to that delightfully ticklish ribcage. Between Demyx's thrashing and the little, desperate movements of his hips, Xigbar didn't even have to thrust, Demyx's muscles clenching hot and fucking hells tight.
Xigbar broke away from Demyx as he came with a shout, pressing tighter against Demyx as his orgasm smashed into him. He caught himself on his arms to avoid crushing the younger, catching his breath.
It wasn't until he heard Demyx's plaintive whine of "Xigbaaaaar..." that he realized the kid was still hard and heavy underneath him. His hands were still slick enough to slide easily, although the arm he was bracing himself on was shaking. Xigbar was fast, hard, and impatient in bringing Demyx off, but when he came it was with a howl, digging his fingernails into Xigbar's arms.
As they both lay inter-sprawled on Demyx's not-really-wide-enough bed, Xigbar's cheek-aching grin crept back upon him. It was, Xigbar happily admitted to him self, a fucking awesome plan.
---
Title: Tactile
Characters: Vexen, Demyx
Rating: NC-17/PORN
Warnings: Hair pulling, pushy!Demyx, first pr0n I've ever ever written, first KH-Fic I've ever written, first fic I've written since '05.
Summary: The neophyte was utterly infuriating, really.
If there was one single, primary thing about missions with IX that drove Vexen completely, totally, irrevocably up the wall (besides his unfortunate tendency toward inane chatter) it was his inexplicable need to be so... so... touchy-feely. Vexen was certain that, by this point, he had spent more time shrugging off casual arms slung across shoulders or linked around elbows, nudged aside encroaching knees, swatted at hands flitting about his person, and generally fended off IX than he had actually attending to the mission (a rather pointless exercise in his opinion; really, didn't the Superior have better things for Vexen to do?). But Vexen could endure. IX wasn't especially difficult to ignore, and slapping aside his probing appendages eventually became habit.
However, Vexen decided a line had definitely been crossed when IX deemed it appropriate to plunge one of those infuriating, invasive hands down the front of his pants in a seat situated toward the back of a dirty train car.
"Nine!" hissed Vexen, seizing the offending wrist in a vice grip. "This is highly inappropriate!"
The neophyte blinked up at him with those (deceptively) innocent eyes. "Hm?"
Vexen realised that he was hadn't actually made any effort to remove IX's hand. He jerked on the wrist, but Nine's arm held firm, his skinny limbs stronger than they looked.
"This is a train, Nine! Someone-"
"It's like eleven o'clock," the neophyte practically purred, clearly enjoying himself. "And were way at the back. No one's gonna come in." He swung his leg over Vexen's thighs, straddling his lap.
"There are other people on this train, Nine!"
"No one's gonna hear us either, Vexy."
Vexen sputtered. "Vexy- Vexy! That is no way to address your superi- mph!"
IX had taken the opportunity to press his entire body forward, crushing Vexen's lips and trapping their arms between their torsos. IX's tongue was nothing if not forward, taking advantage of Vexen's open mouth, caught mid-word. It was not altogether unpleasant, having that talented tongue skimming over teeth, over lips, teasing his mouth. And there was the delicious pressure of that infuriating hand on his groin...
Vexen grabbed a handful of the long hair at the nape of IX's neck and yanked, the neophyte breaking away with a pained gasp. "Vexen, ow-"
"Nine," hissed Vexen, through gritted teeth, eyes narrowing.
The neophyte leaned away with a pout, back resting against the seat in front, removing his hands from Vexen's person to fold them across his chest. "And here I thought I'd be nice, let you enjoy yourself for once, honestly, Vexen, you never just relax, do you? I mean..."
Vexen nearly growled. He was not certain what he'd meant to accomplish, but now he was aroused, his pants unbuttoned (and when had IX gone and done that, anyway?), with a flushed and pouting Demyx still settled on his lap, running his mouth off.
Vexen really did growl, this time. "Would you just be quiet, Nine?" he demanded, grabbing the neophyte by the hair again and dragging him forward. He could feel that insolent idiot smirk against his mouth, but he'd be damned if he let his subordinate win now.
He bit at the neophyte's lips, more the wipe away that smirk than anything, and this time it was his tongue invading. IX still tasted like the rather bad coffee they'd had not long before, some part of Vexen's mind noted, but most of it was devoted to the feeling of IX responding in kind to his advances.
Vexen's hand found the fastening of the coat's chain first, and nearly ripped it off in his hurry to unfasten it and yank down the zipper. One gloved hand ghosted over IX's abdomen, gliding up to caress his collarbone before teasing slowly across the neophyte's chest. With a flare of cold, his thumb raked across one nipple, causing IX to moan out loud.
With his other hand, Vexen reached up and gathered a fistful of blondish hair. Pulling IX's head back, Vexen hissed into his ear, breath hot against his neck.
"Didn't I tell you to be quiet, Nine? Respect your superiors." Vexen pressed his hand, really and truly chilled now, hard against the flat of IX's chest, silencing his groan with a sharp yank.
"Vexen..."
"Nine."
IX let out a strangled breath when Vexen's mouth found his collarbone, teeth barely nipping at the skin. A whimper started in the back of his throat, silenced by a warning tug.
Vexen abandoned his grip in the others hair to drag his hips forward, IX's torso falling back, pressed hard against the back of the seat in front. Vexen leaned forward again, laving the flat of his tongue over IX's chest, threatening with teeth rather than a sharp yank to his scalp.
One arm snaked around the neophyte's back, holding him steady, while the other when to finish undoing the zip on his own pants. Drawing himself out, he skimmed his tongue lower, interspersing wet, sloppy kisses with light nips down the other's torso.
Pulling IX even farther forward, sliding him closer to horizontal, braced against the seat behind him, Vexen went to work, abandoning his own erection to slide IX's pants as far down his hips as the position would allow.
"V-Vexen - ah -" Whatever IX was going to say was cut of when Vexen squeezed his cock. He moaned thinly in the back of his throat. "Ngh..."
It took some manoeuvring for Vexen to position himself, sliding down in his seat, and pulling IX's hips into a workable position.
"Lubrication, Nine?" It was an effort to keep himself from panting.
The neophyte choked out a hum, and a tendril of fluid snaked up out of nowhere to wind itself around Vexen's erection. Vexen threw his head back at the sensation, smooth, cool, slick, fantastic, smacking against the wall behind him, as his hips snapped up, sliding against IX.
"Damn..."
Vexen steadied himself, grabbing one of IX's hips in an almost bruising grip, guiding his own cock with the other. He nearly moaned aloud at the sensation, sliding into IX's body -- it had been far too long since he'd done this last, oh yes -- digging his shoulder blades into the seat behind him to get more leverage.
His thrusts were slow and choppy, made awkward by the cramped positioning, but Nine didn't seem to mind. He moaned, deep and loud, and Vexen was too busy to correct him as IX reached down to pump his own cock at a nearly furious pace.
Vexen huffed out short breaths though his nose, fingernails digging into the skin of IX's hips. Oh, but this was good, warm, tight heat as Nine's body jerked and twitched, and oh yes, that was it, the tight clenching of the neophyte's body around him as he came over his own bare chest.
Vexen shifted again, thrusting harder, driving IX back against the seat in front, driving into him so sharply his head smacked against the unyielding plastic of the seat back.
Nine was saying something, a complaint, maybe, but Vexen's mind was lost in a rush as his orgasm overtook him, bucking up into that delicious heat, waves of sensation cascading over him.
It registered to him, some seconds later, that Nine was still talking, tendrils of water swirling up over his belly to was away the splashes of semen. Vexen irritably shoved him away, settling in his seat and fumbling at his pants.
"Oh, yes, that's nice," griped the neophyte as he was pushed sideways to land halfway on his seat. He leaned against Vexen, whining. "I try to do you a favour, this is what I-"
Vexen scowled at him. "Get off and be quiet, would you, Nine?"
---
OKAY GUYS LET'S BREAK OUT THE FURRY SHIT *cracks knuckles*
Title: Through the Looking Glass
Characters: Zexion, Cheshire Cat
Rating: NC-17/PORN
Warnings: Furry porn, mindfuck, dub-con, clone!sex, really awful use of Caroll poetry.
Summary: He absolutely loathed it, really.
The list of reasons why Zexion hated Wonderland would probably take up most of his Lexicon.
There was no reason to this madcap world (though plenty of rhyme, nonsensical and blathering though as was), and even the most logical and carefully planned of schemes could be turned on its ear at the capricious whim of the backdrop. Add in the preposterous foliage, with its facetiously twisting curves and improbable size, casting its not-quite-matching shadows, Wonderland served to turn Zexion from the implacable Cloaked Schemer into a nervy, suspicious bundle of paranoia.
But this was a simple reconnaissance mission. If he was lucky, he'd be fine, as long as he didn't meet-
"'Twas brillig, you know."
That damned cat.
Zexion stopped dead, not bothering to turn. He'd met the Cheshire Cat enough times to know that he wouldn't be seen if he didn't want to be.
"And the slithy toves, how they gyred and gimbled. Quite a sight. The wabe was all atitter for days."
Zexion closed his eyes, letting out a breath through his nose. "If you say one word about frumious Bandersnatches, I'm turning around and leaving right now."
"Oh, what a pity. I haven't even gotten to tell you about the vorpal sword yet."
"What is it that you want?" Zexion opened his eyes to an infuriatingly familiar grin.
"Two's company."
The rest of the cat was fading into view behind the gleaming grin, different than usual. The grin was at Zexion's eye-height, for instance, and the cat didn't seem to be standing on some insubstantial floor this time.
"And misery loooooves company."
The cat seemed to unfold from the air, taking an unsettlingly humanoid form. That rotund body had been lengthened into a fur-covered torso, bowed legs now long and slender, and the comical grin looking predatory, a wildcat now.
He slunk around Zexion, far too close for comfort, but Zexion didn't move. The long tail wrapped around him, caressing his face.
"It was under this very TumTum Tree, you know, in this actual tulgey wood," the feline drawled, dragging his tail under Zexion's chin. "Where he rested, I mean. What a loooong time the manxome foe he sought, oh yes." The cat had stopped behind him, moving forward, whiskers tickling Zexion's ear. "Good resting tree, this, hmmmmmm?"
Zexion spun, although he knew it would be futile. The cat's mad laughter bounced off the trees, although the feline himself was nowhere to be seen.
"The Jabberwock whiffles through here from time to time, did you know?"
That made Zexion stiffen, listening. He'd met a Jabberwock once before here, and had no desire to do so again.
"I'd check the mushroom, if I were you."
"You're not me," Zexion said shortly. "What do you want?"
"Long has paled the sunny sky, echoes fade and memories die, Autumn frosts have slain July..." The eyes were back again, evil yellow, bright in the gloom of the wood, and much too close. "Or slain June, perhaps, in your case. Autumn fires, maybe, hmmm?"
"What-"
There were two of the cursed things now, both slinking and swaying around Zexion in cadence to their own words.
"In a Wonderland they lie-"
"Dreaming as the days go by-"
"Dreaming as the summers die."
There was a copy of the cat in front of him and behind him now.
"Ever drifting down the stream..."
Zexion had had enough. He pulled at the shadows of this place, so saturated with illusion already that they were as solid and malleable in his hands as clay. The shadow clones spun up out of the leaf litter, one whirling at each image of the cat.
"Lingering in the golden gleam..."
The cat in front of him vanished in a way that wasn't customary: all at once, instead of fading away bit by bit, leaving the grin hanging in the air. At the same time, he felt one of his shadow clones dissipate, and turned to face the real animal, somehow managing to lounge behind him while remaining fully upright.
That ever-present grin was back, turned predatory again. Zexion felt the faintest memory of fear stir.
"Life, what is it but a dream?" It came out as a purr, and suddenly Zexion was on the ground. The remaining shadow clone scrabbled at the cat, hands passing harmlessly through him, even as he pinned Zexion with his full, considerable weight.
The grin grew, if possible, wider. Zexion felt the phantom-sensation of something grabbing the clone, a yank, and then he could see, out of the corner of his eye, the cat (or the illusion of the cat) pin his shadow-clone to the ground, mirroring the position he himself was in.
The cat moved with a grace that went far beyond feline, sliding his sinuous body around and pulling Zexion to his feet, tight against the bony, furry chest. One deceptively strong arm snaked around his body, holding him fast; the cat used his other paw to drag down the zipper of Zexion's coat. The cat ghosted claws down Zexion's chest, not quite hard enough to scratch, but with enough pressure to leave thin white lines. Zexion stood ramrod straight, unable to pull away.
"Echoes of echoes playing with shadows of shadows. Such a pretty display, hmmm?" Zexion could feel the purr rumble through his own ribcage.
With the paw that had recently opened his robes, the cat grabbed Zexion's chin, turning his head to look at what their illusionary counterparts were doing. The facsimile of the cat had removed the coat of the shadow-clone as well. Zexion gasped as he felt claws on his skin again, a phantom sensation received from the clone. He watched as the false cat lowered his head, one paw with velvet-soft pads tipped with needle-sharp claws splayed across the clone's chest, the other pinning both of the clone's wrists above its head.
There was a peculiar sensation, as the false cat dragged a dry, rasping tongue across the clone's bared skin at the same time as the real cat applied the same attention to Zexion's jaw line. There were the claws again, smooth, curved backs tracing cool lines down his abdomen.
Zexion closed his eyes.
The cat didn't seem to mind, constant purring rumbling against Zexion's back, tantalising claws dipping ever lower, only to sweep back up in a repeating rhythm. The strangely pleasurable sensation of the real cat ravishing his throat and the illusion tracing the contours of the shadow clone with its tongue.
Zexion heard the tearing sound at the same time he felt the very real drag of claws at hips; it seemed as though the cat had deemed buttons and unnecessary hindrance, and had opened Zexion's pants along the seams, allowing the front to fall.
The sound, coupled with the pricking pain as a few of the claws just barely drew blood, made Zexion open his eyes. So distracted had he been by that sandpaper tongue that he had lost some control of the shadow-clone. It had forgone any directed motion, and a majority of distinctive definition; the clone was recognisable as Zexion, but only just.
It was also naked. Zexion had lost focus on maintaining illusory clothing some time ago.
The replica cat seemed to be enjoying that immensely, sliding silky-soft paws across the clone's body. Zexion shuddered, enjoying the alien sensation of fur on his skin. He gasped aloud when one of the real cat's paws dipped down across his groin, brushing his half-hard cock.
Zexion was losing track of which sensation was from his own nerve endings and which were echoes of pleasure from the writing shadow clone. He found he didn't much care.
"Oh, but pretty, don't close your eyes. The puppets are dancing just for you."
Zexion opened his eyes witch hitching breath as the phantom cat drug its tongue down the length of the shadow clone's exposed torso, whiskers brushing teasingly against the rather solid looking erection.
The clone had gone patchy now, fading in definition in some areas, while others - those receiving the most intense sensations, those throbbing with pleasure - were picked out in vivid relief. The clone's face was a generic mask, its arms and feet simple and plastic-smooth, but the pulse-points on the throat, the flushed peaks of nipples, the quivering planes of its abdomen, and - jutting hard and proud - Zexion's cock, were all replicated with exacting detail.
Zexion couldn't help but close his eyes again as that oh-so-foreign mouth descended over his erection. It was furnace hot, desert-dry, and the feline lips couldn't stop the faint prick of needle-pointed teeth from scraping along his shaft. It should have been painful. With the sensations received from the clone as separated as they were, it set his nerves on fire.
He writhed, gasping, but the real cat held him still, even those teasing, velvet paws ceasing in their roaming. He could feel the cheshire grin against the side of his throat, but even as Zexion pressed back against the slick-soft body behind him, he could feel no signs of arousal, no telltale ridge of hardness against his lower back.
A sudden loss of sensation made Zexion open his eyes again, looking toward the performance. He was shocked, in a detached way, most of his mind otherwise occupied, to meet a pair of all too familiar eyes glinting above that infuriating grin. The damnable animal was a master of illusion, with enough control to display, flaunting, an evil-looking member, bulging at the tip, and Zexion's mind flashed back to vertebrate biology lessons in Radiant Garden, that male cats had barbs, and this was probably going to hurt-
The illusory cat slammed into Zexion's own clone without preamble. It hurt, yes, but not as much as he'd expected, with that detached, diminished sensation that transformed what should have been a ragged, tearing agony into thin, burning lines of pleasure that hummed through his entire body. There was sharper, dragging pain as the cat pulled out halfway, then slammed back in, drawing shuddering gasps from Zexion's lungs. He couldn't close his eyes now, wouldn't look away even if he could, sensations racing along his nerves more intense - infinitely more frustrating - than he could ever remember experiencing. It was only the Cheshire Cat's paws, snaking across his body again, damn - bless - the creature, that kept him from tumbling to the forest floor.
He longed to touch himself, to bring this to an end before he was utterly overwhelmed, loosing control here was dangerous, deadly, but those long limbs, disarmingly strong, held him immobile. And then the strong, slinking brush - oh gods, his tail - pressed hard against his cock, and Zexion came, hips twitching helplessly, entire body spasming, tense and rigid against the cat who - damn it all, was laughing the utter bastard - dropped him in an undignified heap on the leaf litter.
Zexion's clone was fading, his mind too hazy to consciously maintain it, body buzzing too numbly to allow it to exist on sensation alone.
The cat slunk around, tilting his face to meet those wicked, gleaming eyes.
"And as in uffish though he stood the Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, came whiffling through the tulgey wood and burbled as it came."
Something crashed in the trees some distance away, and a wet, scratchy ululation echoed off the oversized toadstools. The cat, mockingly, caressed Zexion's flushed face before fading, leaving him staring dumbly into a needle-fanged grin.
He forced himself to his knees as the distinctive warbling cry of a Jabberwock on the hunt reverberated through the forest again. The portal of darkness he summoned was weak, trembling almost as much as his limbs, but it would suffice to carry him back to Never Was, away from this unpredictable world and That Damned Cat.
With a growl, Zexion slid into the comforting, familiar roil of darkness. He absolutely hated Wonderland.
---
Title: Tithe
Characters: Sora, Sephiroth
Rating: Porn porn porny porn :D
Warnings: Naga!Vore. The prompt was "Snakes on a Sora, but better". Guys. I really don't know what I'm doing with vore D: Or porn, actually.
Summary: A fitting sacrifce.
Sora had expected terror. He had expected to be pinned to the wall with a piercing, hypnotic gaze. He had expected fear and pain and a slow death, known, prepared for, a tithe paid.
They called the Snake-God Sephiroth, whispered 'the demon' and were hushed. Offense would withdraw his protection, and the demons you could see were better than the devils unknown. This small price - one life, pure, every winter - so much better than letting the lurking dark in.
And so Sora had walked down the dim, muggy corridors of the temple, his mind numb, legs moving automatically.
The first thing to penetrate the haze clouding his brain was shock. Awe, maybe, was a better word. Filling the sanctuary seemingly to overflowing were thick ropes of quicksilver, gleaming, tree-trunk thick serpents' coils looping endlessly, seething, shifting.
"Sora." The voice was deep, almost a purr, felt up through his feet, tingling along his spine. A figure lifted itself from the mass of scales, beautiful, pale and smooth like polished bone, hard and cold like the roots of mountains.
Sora felt as though he should have been more shocked as the figure rose and instead of legs, those sweeping hips smoothed into scales as silver as the God's hair. The mass of coils shifted; Sora felt the solid bulk of them at the back of his legs, but he had eyes only for the figure gliding closer.
A hand slid up his neck, gripping his chin in a hold that promised crushing iron. Tilted his face up, bringing his eyes directly into green, drowning, cutting, ripping down into his heart and soul...
The coils swept Sora's legs from under him as lips like marble pressed against his own, almost chaste. Loops of silver held him upright, immobile, as though he was capable of movement. His lips parted in an inaudible sigh.
The dry flicker of a forked tongue against his own was almost alien enough to startle Sora from his stupor. Sephiroth felt the momentary tensing, smoothed hands through Sora's hair, down his back, soft, gentle, soothing, soothing. The cool, firm press of lips and ticklish flicker of tongue moved to his jaw, caressed his ear, trailed down his throat.
Sora's breathy moan turned into a gasp as two hot, blinding points of pain bloomed on his neck. The wounds felt searing, then icy, then a slow numbness spread. He blinked his eyes, flicking them down, to where Sephiroth was sucking at his throat. He withdrew slowly, bringing a hand up to stroke Sora's hair, a gentle motion, meant to calm.
"Still, pet, still," the god murmured, other arm reaching around to pull Sora against his chest. "You will sleep, soon. No pain, no fear, pet. Still."
Sora nodded against his shoulder. The pain of the bite was almost faded already, a contented haze falling over his mind. Sephiroth's arm slid lower, over the back of his thighs, lifting, balancing against the coils at his back. The hand on his hair settled between his shoulder blades, supporting him, the hand that had manipulated him like a child's doll curling around the soft flesh between Sora's legs.
"Your life, your essence, you are mine, pet," hissed the god.
"Yours," Sora agreed, already hardening under Sephiroth's hand. A complacent lassitude settled into his limbs, leaning limp against Sephiroth's iron strength. His mind wouldn't allow him much more than that small agreement, yours, lord, yours.
The pleasure rolled over him, soft, downy, like waves of flower petals. So different from the times he had done this himself, sharp, harsh, hushed and guilty, stabs of sensation and bitten-off moans. Sora was unable to manage more than weak mewls, now, his voice deserting him utterly. His little sob of protest as that beautiful pressure left him was almost lost in the whisper of shifting scales, the broken gasp as slick warmth enveloped him instead drowned in the lash of Sephiroth's tail.
Sephiroth's mouth was confident and certain, long, slender tongue twisting and curling around the shaft, shifting, squeezing. Sora moaned, breathily, hips shifting slightly, only slightly, out of sync with his thoughts. The god moved forward, slowly, swallowing Sora to the hilt, waiting tortuously, one breath, two, three...
Sora whimpered.
The muscles of Sephiroth's throat rippled, caressing, squeezing, and Sora cried out, the sound loud enough to echo in the small space. Sora didn't remember closing his eyes, but when he dragged them open, his God's lids were draped in bliss, gazing up through silver lashes, swallowing, drinking him down. His climax seemed gripped by the same languid torpor as the rest of his body, sensation not cresting and crashing over him, quick, intense, dirty, but flowing out slowly, no peak and fall, but a gradual drain, sand through the pinch of an hour glass.
Sora's breathing was heavy, desperate. The heat that had first seared from the bite had blanketed his whole body, the tingling numbness settling into his muscles. Those green eyes looked into his, gentle, kind, and he raised a hand to close Sora's heavy lids. He felt a brief pressure on each eye - a light kiss, like a blessing, the brush of a mother's lips over a fevered brow.
The next thing that Sora was aware of was velvety warmth, pressure, surrounding his face. A brief tightening, then the warmth was over his shoulders. Sora let out a breath, small and content, as the warmth and pressure took his chest, his stomach. A vague, panicked thought from his hindbrain screamed at him that it should matter much, much more that he couldn't take another one.
Sora dismissed it. He was tired, and so, so warm, so soft. The last of his air left him in a sigh as his hips passed that first ring of heat, flesh still sensitive, and it felt so good.
He could hear the rush of blood in his ears, the sound soothing rather than an annoyance. He wanted to sigh, to snuggle and burrow happily deeper as his feet were finally taken, but he was unable to so much as twitch.
It didn't bother him over-much.
That panicked part of his brain was screaming at him to breathe, to struggle and kick and fight back, but the rest of his mind had other ideas. Tired, it said, and sleep. Worry about that later. Now is for rest.
The black crept in from the edges of his mind, and Sora obeyed.
Title: Almost
Characters: Vexen/Even/Even's Heartless
Rating: NC-17/PORN
Warnings: Self!cest, highly abstract pr0n.
Summary: He's used to being lost.
He wasn't restored, not really. The other two entities in his head (could he say other, truthfully?) offered no explanations, the Heartless disinterested, Vexen baffled but complacent . It was Even who itched with curiosity, the urge to question, to discover unquenched. The Heartless, he understood, and Nobodies he knew all too well, but that left the question of... him.
He was aware of them, during the day, Vexen a rigid, icy presence at the tip of his consciousness, the black, sinuous form of the Heartless curled as warm as hypothermia deep in his hindbrain.
He spoke to them, at night. Well, 'spoke' wasn't really truthful. Because he wasn't restored, merely shoddily reassembled, and all three component parts were little more than subconscious aching desperation to be a cohesive and homogenous whole.
And so it was that most nights, Even found himself intwined skin-to-skin with his mirror image, blond hair tangling, spidery fingers skittering over skin with fevered desperation, trying to touch, trying to memorize every inch of the other if it might help, and the deceptively soft, deceptively strong but not-really-there flesh of the Heartless wound between and around and in.
He had indulged infrequently, but Vexen's memories were almost frighteningly vivid. Like this whispered and remembered. Like this, we could pretend, for a little while. Like this, we could fool ourselves.
Like this, like this.
Like this, with Vexen's fingers strong and certain, sliding in and pressing expertly. Like this, his fingernails leaving perfect crescent-moon on Vexen's back, his hips, his legs. Like this, with the unforgiving, mutable not-flesh of the Heartless wrapping so tight, holding him still, holding him close, immobile.
There was no up or down in the not-space they were in, but he had Vexen over him and the Heartless behind him nevertheless. Vexen was ruthless, precise, striking each erogenous zone with the perfect amount of pressure, the perfect pain of scratches and nips, the perfect press of a hot mouth and hotter tongue to soothe the icy, small bites. He darted up frequently, his lips desperate and ferocious on Even's, wanting, wanting, as if he could steal the lust and passion coiling tight and hot in Even's chest with his kisses. He moaned into Vexen's mouth, strained to reach out, to touch, to be a little closer, only a little, a little, but there was the heartless, black and hard and hot against his back, devouring, hungry, hungrier than Vexen for this, for feeling and he shook with it.
Even knew the hand on his cock as well as his own, the utter lack of warmth in the touch was Vexen's, the searing heat slinking over his abdomen to caress Vexen's own erection belonged to the Heartless.
"Please. Please." Touch you, let me touch you feel you, please oh please oh please.
"Yes," Vexen's whisper was hot like his hands were cold, hissed and broken in his ear. "Yes." The Nobody moved, straddling Even, his beautiful, cold hands never leaving, touch never broken. With the ease of wanting, Vexen lowered himself, Even sliding in, slow hot tight please, please, please his head thrown back, the not-quite-his face of the Heartless seeking his mouth, a kiss hotter than Vexen's, and he didn't know whose moans and whimpers were whose anymore.
The tendrils of darkness that had held him still close tight safe unravelled abruptly, twining out to wrap the three of them in a twisted parody of a lovers' embrace but oh, it was so close so almost there and all three cried out. Even could feel the hardness of the Heartless probing at him, asking entrance, asking kinship, and he sobbed with the relief, the desire. Yes and please and do it.
With his arms free, Even could reach up to tangle one hand in the sheet of blond hair curtaining around him, bring Vexen's burningice eyes close enough to blur, kiss him like they could maybe maybe this time, reach back to tangle one hand with the fingers of the Heartless, both white-knucked with the grip. Felt Vexen's arm and the Heartless reach up, reach together to embrace, all three tangled together in darkness, in safety and almost almost please.
He felt the Heartless bite his shoulder hard, claiming as it bucked against him, inside him. He crushed Vexen closer, screaming into the mouth that was intent on learning every surface of his own, pressing up, Vexen's erection rubbing with exquisite heat between their bellies.
They were close, almost almost almost and in the blinding explosion of white that overtook them all, they were maybe, maybe, finally this time, please oh please oh please.
After, the Heartless wound them close and warm, fierce and angry and protective. Vexen shook with the emotions he couldn't feel, wanting, wanting as Even sobbed into them.
Almost. Please.
Please.
---
Title: The Best Laid Plans
Characters: Xigbar, Demyx
Rating:NC-17/PORN
Warnings: Seriously, just porn.
Summary: It would've helped to know the kid was ticklish.
Demyx slept in the nude, and Xigbar was not above abusing that fact.
Put tactfully, Number IX was capricious. Put in Xigbar's words, Demyx was a fucking little cocktease and Xigbar did not have a fucking sense of humor when he was being deliberately fucking blue-balled.
Fuck.
However, Xigbar had a plan.
Phase 1: Strip. In Xigbar's professional and objective opinion, nudity on the parts of both parties was necessary from the get-go in order to expedite the entire process s and not allow Demyx the opportunity to weasel his way out of this one, leaving Xigbar once again frustrated and wanting to shoot something (possibly Xaldin, things were usually his fault somehow).
Phase 2: Using his considerable stealth (in this case, the ability to open wormholes through the Darkness, but only in this case, seriously, he could totally do it the old fashioned way if he wanted to) break into the sleeping Melodious Nocturne's bedroom.
Phase 3: Proceed to put Demyx - notorious for sleeping not so much like a log as a petrified redwood - at his ease with a luxurious and relaxing full-body massage.
Phase 4: Engage Demyx in a thorough and deserved fucking.
It was, Xigbar would happily admit to himself, a very good plan.
Phase 1 was easily and quickly executed; as any of the other members of the Organization would have admitted (with varying expressions of disgust, horror, or exasperation), keeping Xigbar in pants was the problem. Phase 2 went off without a hitch as well, owing to Xigbar's mastery of the Darkness, clever manipulation of space, and Demyx's pronounced near-comatose nocturnal state.
Now for the hard part.
Demyx was sprawled on his stomach clutching a pillow, with his heavy duvet helpfully not tangled impossibly around his legs. Xigbar's grin (predatory, not patently ridiculous, thank you) made his scar creak. The younger Nobody didn't stir when Xigbar carefully peeled the covering back from his body.
Slowly, just in case, Xigbar eased himself onto the bed, straddling Demyx's knees, but not touching him yet. Xigbar paused. Demyx's breathing was still the deep, even rhythm of sleep, punctuated by sharp, truncated almost-snores. Excellent.
Xigbar rested the heels of his hands on either side of the spine at the small of Demyx's back and leaned, testing, letting his hands slide slowly up the younger's back a small distance. Encouraged by Demyx's lack of response, he moved his hands to the same spot, pressing a little harder, kneading. Powers, but the kid was warm, and he must've used one hell of a moisturizing regimen for his skin to be this baby-soft and smooth.
Xigbar didn't stop when Demyx made a sleepy little noise, but shifted his stance so more of his weight was centered over his hands. His hands slid up, thumbs digging in right between Demyx's shoulder blades, fingers brushing soothingly over the flats of his back. He moved back southerly at Demyx's sigh and slight shift.
Working his hands contemplatively at the place where Demyx's torso tapered into his waist, Xigbar made and executive decision.
Without ever lifting his hands from that sinfully soft back, Xigbar moved slightly, bringing his callused fingertips firmly to rest on the flat swells of Demyx's ass.
Demyx purred shifting his hips in his maybe-almost-awake haze.
Xigbar's grin never faltered as he caressed the tops of Demyx's thighs, the hollow of his hip bones, teasing, ever-so-briefly, at the space just above Demyx's balls.
Demyx shifted again. "Mnh?"
There we go. Xigbar abandoned Demyx's lower regions to drape himself bodily over the younger Nobody's back. He hadn't fully realized how turned-on he actually was until he felt his cock settle between the cheeks of Demyx's ass. It really couldn't be helped, the way he shifted, bearing his weight down for a little more pressure. He nuzzled Demyx's ear.
"Xig...?"
"Hey, kiddo." Xigbar's voice was low, husky. He nipped the earlobe presented so conveniently to his face, and really couldn't resist pressing his hips down again, grinding so deliciously against that marble-smooth skin.
"Mmmm." Demyx shifted in response, pressing up into Xigbar, tilting his head to the elder could get at his neck. He breathy little sigh as Xigbar trailed his tongue up the tendon in his neck went straight to Xigbar's groin, which was already having a rather pleasant time with a gentle grinding session on its own. "Ooh, that's it, Xig, right there..."
Xigbar sucked on the patch of skin right behind Demyx's jaw, reveling in the pleased little moan he received for his efforts. He skimmed his hands upwards from their resting place at the hollows of Demyx's hips, enjoying the feel of muscles tensing as his hands ghosted over Demyx's sides. He nipped at the tendon, earning another happy sigh, his hands tracing over Demyx's ribs and-
"Waugh!"
Was promptly unseated as Demyx flailed and jerked his arm up, catching Xigbar in the jaw. Demyx's bed wasn't all that wide, and Xigbar found himself staring at the ceiling from slightly further away than he was accustomed.
"God fucking dammit, Demyx," he sighed.
A bleary, somewhat confused face peered over the edge of the mattress. "Xiggy?" He blinked his way to full alertness. "Xiggy! Omigosh, are you okay?"
Xigbar heaved himself into a sitting position. And things had been going so well, too. "Yeah, Dem, I'm fine." He rubbed his jaw where it had collided with Demyx's arm.
Demyx's hand flew to his mouth. "Oh, did I hit you? Oh man, I'm sorry." He reached down and hauled Xigbar to his feet. Xigbar collapsed onto the mattress.
No words were said.
"Um, Xigbar?" Demyx offered tentatively. "What... what exactly were you doing?"
"I was trying to get laid," Xigbar grumbled. "What about you, though? What the hell was that?"
Demyx looked away, sheepish. "I'm uh. I'm ticklish. Sorry."
Xigbar looked as nonplussed as one can with only a single eye. "Ticklish."
"Yeah."
"...Well."
"Sorry."
There was silence.
Demyx looked up. "Xigbar?"
Xigbar's gaze was contemplative. "You just ticklish there?"
"Well no, I- ack! Xigbar, what- augh!"
Xigbar moved faster than Demyx's sleep-addled brain could process, pinning the younger Nobody to the mattress and mercilessly attacking his ribcage.
Well, that was one way to get Demyx breathless and squirming underneath him. On the other hand, he had Demyx breathless and squirming underneath him. Maybe this could work out after all. Xigbar was nothing if not adaptable.
Xigbar deftly inserted his person between Demyx's thrashing legs fingers still dancing up and down his sides. A particularly violent flail crushed their bodies together, causing both to gasp. Xigbar smirked, mouthing at Demyx's neck. Oh, baby.
"Ah-ah! Xigbar!" Demyx was gasping and panting, his hands gripping Xigbar's biceps as though to shove him away, but there was no force there. Xigbar hummed nipping Demyx's ear again, his fingers doing a fluttering little motion. Demyx squirmed desperately, not entirely to get away from the tortuous dance of Xigbar's hands at his side. Their cocks slid together - A-ha, that's it - and Xigbar couldn't stifle his moan, either.
Xigbar, deciding to be merciful, pressed his hands more firmly against Demyx's sensitive sides, feeling the flinching tense of muscle that had the younger pressing up hard.
"Fucking hell, Xigbar," Demyx panted, knuckles white against his arms.
"What, you want a break kiddo?" smirked Xigbar, although his breathing was none to steady, either.
Demyx's glare might've been intimidating, but he ruined it with a pout. Taking advantage of their momentary lack of motion, he reached forward and gathered a handful of salt-and-pepper ponytail, hauling Xigbar forward to thrust his tongue into his mouth.
Xigbar grinned around the kiss. Score! Giving the kid a break, Xigbar wrapped one arm around him to draw them closer, the other leaving Demyx's side to trail down the front of his body, carding through sandy-blonde curls to wrap around his cock, just as hard as Xigbar now. Demyx moaned into his mouth as he began to stroke.
"Come on, come on," Demyx muttered against Xigbar's mouth, his eyes shut and lips dark and wet. It was, Xigbar decided, pretty fucking hot. "Please, Xigbar."
"Oh no, just giving you what you deserve, you fuckin' tease," Xigbar growled, twisting his hand on the upstroke and sliding his thumb hard over the head.
Demyx buried his face in Xigbar's neck, the hand in his hair tightening. "C'mon Xiggy, I'll beg, just please."
"Please what, Dem? Huh?"
"Xigbar..."
"C'mon, Dem, tell me what you want."
Demyx bucked up into his hand, fingers tightening their grip on his arm. "I want you in me Xig, c'mon, just fuck me already, please, please."
Well. Xigbar wasn't one to deny a heartfelt request like that. He fumbled around in the darkness (well, where else would he keep his lube during Naked Demyx-Molesting Adventures?) and sat up to generously apply the slick oil to his hand. He took the opportunity to really take a good look at Demyx - it wasn't with anything near enough regularity that Xigbar got to see him like this, spread out and panting, entire body flushed with desire.
Xigbar grinned again, grabbing Demyx's leg under the knee, intending to shove it up to his shoulder, but paused at the shuddering, tensing twitch that ran though it. The grin spread to a smirk, and Demyx groaned in exasperation.
"Xigbar, not now-"
"Ticklish here too, huh? How come I never noticed that before?"
"I've always been holding my own legs before now- ah!"
Xigbar shoved two slick fingers into the Nobody underneath him at the same time he brushed his thumb under the silky skin of the back of Demyx's knee. His leg twitched as he tried not to kick.
"Xigba-a-a-a-r..."
"Like that, Demy?"
"Stop - ah! Stop tickling me, you bastard!"
"Hmmm, nope, I think you like it." Xigbar curled his fingers and tickled Demyx's knee again, causing the kid to moan and clench up around his hand and oh but that would feel wonderful on his cock.
"Ready for me, Dem?"
"Powers, fucking finally, please, yes, do it!"
Xigbar obliged, removing his fingers and replacing them with his cock, thrusting forward in one smooth motion. Demyx opened to him easily, pressing forward to meet him, until Xigbar was in as deep as he could get.
Leaning forward and down to capture Demyx's mouth, he returned one hand to that delightfully ticklish ribcage. Between Demyx's thrashing and the little, desperate movements of his hips, Xigbar didn't even have to thrust, Demyx's muscles clenching hot and fucking hells tight.
Xigbar broke away from Demyx as he came with a shout, pressing tighter against Demyx as his orgasm smashed into him. He caught himself on his arms to avoid crushing the younger, catching his breath.
It wasn't until he heard Demyx's plaintive whine of "Xigbaaaaar..." that he realized the kid was still hard and heavy underneath him. His hands were still slick enough to slide easily, although the arm he was bracing himself on was shaking. Xigbar was fast, hard, and impatient in bringing Demyx off, but when he came it was with a howl, digging his fingernails into Xigbar's arms.
As they both lay inter-sprawled on Demyx's not-really-wide-enough bed, Xigbar's cheek-aching grin crept back upon him. It was, Xigbar happily admitted to him self, a fucking awesome plan.
---
Title: Tactile
Characters: Vexen, Demyx
Rating: NC-17/PORN
Warnings: Hair pulling, pushy!Demyx, first pr0n I've ever ever written, first KH-Fic I've ever written, first fic I've written since '05.
Summary: The neophyte was utterly infuriating, really.
If there was one single, primary thing about missions with IX that drove Vexen completely, totally, irrevocably up the wall (besides his unfortunate tendency toward inane chatter) it was his inexplicable need to be so... so... touchy-feely. Vexen was certain that, by this point, he had spent more time shrugging off casual arms slung across shoulders or linked around elbows, nudged aside encroaching knees, swatted at hands flitting about his person, and generally fended off IX than he had actually attending to the mission (a rather pointless exercise in his opinion; really, didn't the Superior have better things for Vexen to do?). But Vexen could endure. IX wasn't especially difficult to ignore, and slapping aside his probing appendages eventually became habit.
However, Vexen decided a line had definitely been crossed when IX deemed it appropriate to plunge one of those infuriating, invasive hands down the front of his pants in a seat situated toward the back of a dirty train car.
"Nine!" hissed Vexen, seizing the offending wrist in a vice grip. "This is highly inappropriate!"
The neophyte blinked up at him with those (deceptively) innocent eyes. "Hm?"
Vexen realised that he was hadn't actually made any effort to remove IX's hand. He jerked on the wrist, but Nine's arm held firm, his skinny limbs stronger than they looked.
"This is a train, Nine! Someone-"
"It's like eleven o'clock," the neophyte practically purred, clearly enjoying himself. "And were way at the back. No one's gonna come in." He swung his leg over Vexen's thighs, straddling his lap.
"There are other people on this train, Nine!"
"No one's gonna hear us either, Vexy."
Vexen sputtered. "Vexy- Vexy! That is no way to address your superi- mph!"
IX had taken the opportunity to press his entire body forward, crushing Vexen's lips and trapping their arms between their torsos. IX's tongue was nothing if not forward, taking advantage of Vexen's open mouth, caught mid-word. It was not altogether unpleasant, having that talented tongue skimming over teeth, over lips, teasing his mouth. And there was the delicious pressure of that infuriating hand on his groin...
Vexen grabbed a handful of the long hair at the nape of IX's neck and yanked, the neophyte breaking away with a pained gasp. "Vexen, ow-"
"Nine," hissed Vexen, through gritted teeth, eyes narrowing.
The neophyte leaned away with a pout, back resting against the seat in front, removing his hands from Vexen's person to fold them across his chest. "And here I thought I'd be nice, let you enjoy yourself for once, honestly, Vexen, you never just relax, do you? I mean..."
Vexen nearly growled. He was not certain what he'd meant to accomplish, but now he was aroused, his pants unbuttoned (and when had IX gone and done that, anyway?), with a flushed and pouting Demyx still settled on his lap, running his mouth off.
Vexen really did growl, this time. "Would you just be quiet, Nine?" he demanded, grabbing the neophyte by the hair again and dragging him forward. He could feel that insolent idiot smirk against his mouth, but he'd be damned if he let his subordinate win now.
He bit at the neophyte's lips, more the wipe away that smirk than anything, and this time it was his tongue invading. IX still tasted like the rather bad coffee they'd had not long before, some part of Vexen's mind noted, but most of it was devoted to the feeling of IX responding in kind to his advances.
Vexen's hand found the fastening of the coat's chain first, and nearly ripped it off in his hurry to unfasten it and yank down the zipper. One gloved hand ghosted over IX's abdomen, gliding up to caress his collarbone before teasing slowly across the neophyte's chest. With a flare of cold, his thumb raked across one nipple, causing IX to moan out loud.
With his other hand, Vexen reached up and gathered a fistful of blondish hair. Pulling IX's head back, Vexen hissed into his ear, breath hot against his neck.
"Didn't I tell you to be quiet, Nine? Respect your superiors." Vexen pressed his hand, really and truly chilled now, hard against the flat of IX's chest, silencing his groan with a sharp yank.
"Vexen..."
"Nine."
IX let out a strangled breath when Vexen's mouth found his collarbone, teeth barely nipping at the skin. A whimper started in the back of his throat, silenced by a warning tug.
Vexen abandoned his grip in the others hair to drag his hips forward, IX's torso falling back, pressed hard against the back of the seat in front. Vexen leaned forward again, laving the flat of his tongue over IX's chest, threatening with teeth rather than a sharp yank to his scalp.
One arm snaked around the neophyte's back, holding him steady, while the other when to finish undoing the zip on his own pants. Drawing himself out, he skimmed his tongue lower, interspersing wet, sloppy kisses with light nips down the other's torso.
Pulling IX even farther forward, sliding him closer to horizontal, braced against the seat behind him, Vexen went to work, abandoning his own erection to slide IX's pants as far down his hips as the position would allow.
"V-Vexen - ah -" Whatever IX was going to say was cut of when Vexen squeezed his cock. He moaned thinly in the back of his throat. "Ngh..."
It took some manoeuvring for Vexen to position himself, sliding down in his seat, and pulling IX's hips into a workable position.
"Lubrication, Nine?" It was an effort to keep himself from panting.
The neophyte choked out a hum, and a tendril of fluid snaked up out of nowhere to wind itself around Vexen's erection. Vexen threw his head back at the sensation, smooth, cool, slick, fantastic, smacking against the wall behind him, as his hips snapped up, sliding against IX.
"Damn..."
Vexen steadied himself, grabbing one of IX's hips in an almost bruising grip, guiding his own cock with the other. He nearly moaned aloud at the sensation, sliding into IX's body -- it had been far too long since he'd done this last, oh yes -- digging his shoulder blades into the seat behind him to get more leverage.
His thrusts were slow and choppy, made awkward by the cramped positioning, but Nine didn't seem to mind. He moaned, deep and loud, and Vexen was too busy to correct him as IX reached down to pump his own cock at a nearly furious pace.
Vexen huffed out short breaths though his nose, fingernails digging into the skin of IX's hips. Oh, but this was good, warm, tight heat as Nine's body jerked and twitched, and oh yes, that was it, the tight clenching of the neophyte's body around him as he came over his own bare chest.
Vexen shifted again, thrusting harder, driving IX back against the seat in front, driving into him so sharply his head smacked against the unyielding plastic of the seat back.
Nine was saying something, a complaint, maybe, but Vexen's mind was lost in a rush as his orgasm overtook him, bucking up into that delicious heat, waves of sensation cascading over him.
It registered to him, some seconds later, that Nine was still talking, tendrils of water swirling up over his belly to was away the splashes of semen. Vexen irritably shoved him away, settling in his seat and fumbling at his pants.
"Oh, yes, that's nice," griped the neophyte as he was pushed sideways to land halfway on his seat. He leaned against Vexen, whining. "I try to do you a favour, this is what I-"
Vexen scowled at him. "Get off and be quiet, would you, Nine?"
---
OKAY GUYS LET'S BREAK OUT THE FURRY SHIT *cracks knuckles*
Title: Through the Looking Glass
Characters: Zexion, Cheshire Cat
Rating: NC-17/PORN
Warnings: Furry porn, mindfuck, dub-con, clone!sex, really awful use of Caroll poetry.
Summary: He absolutely loathed it, really.
The list of reasons why Zexion hated Wonderland would probably take up most of his Lexicon.
There was no reason to this madcap world (though plenty of rhyme, nonsensical and blathering though as was), and even the most logical and carefully planned of schemes could be turned on its ear at the capricious whim of the backdrop. Add in the preposterous foliage, with its facetiously twisting curves and improbable size, casting its not-quite-matching shadows, Wonderland served to turn Zexion from the implacable Cloaked Schemer into a nervy, suspicious bundle of paranoia.
But this was a simple reconnaissance mission. If he was lucky, he'd be fine, as long as he didn't meet-
"'Twas brillig, you know."
That damned cat.
Zexion stopped dead, not bothering to turn. He'd met the Cheshire Cat enough times to know that he wouldn't be seen if he didn't want to be.
"And the slithy toves, how they gyred and gimbled. Quite a sight. The wabe was all atitter for days."
Zexion closed his eyes, letting out a breath through his nose. "If you say one word about frumious Bandersnatches, I'm turning around and leaving right now."
"Oh, what a pity. I haven't even gotten to tell you about the vorpal sword yet."
"What is it that you want?" Zexion opened his eyes to an infuriatingly familiar grin.
"Two's company."
The rest of the cat was fading into view behind the gleaming grin, different than usual. The grin was at Zexion's eye-height, for instance, and the cat didn't seem to be standing on some insubstantial floor this time.
"And misery loooooves company."
The cat seemed to unfold from the air, taking an unsettlingly humanoid form. That rotund body had been lengthened into a fur-covered torso, bowed legs now long and slender, and the comical grin looking predatory, a wildcat now.
He slunk around Zexion, far too close for comfort, but Zexion didn't move. The long tail wrapped around him, caressing his face.
"It was under this very TumTum Tree, you know, in this actual tulgey wood," the feline drawled, dragging his tail under Zexion's chin. "Where he rested, I mean. What a loooong time the manxome foe he sought, oh yes." The cat had stopped behind him, moving forward, whiskers tickling Zexion's ear. "Good resting tree, this, hmmmmmm?"
Zexion spun, although he knew it would be futile. The cat's mad laughter bounced off the trees, although the feline himself was nowhere to be seen.
"The Jabberwock whiffles through here from time to time, did you know?"
That made Zexion stiffen, listening. He'd met a Jabberwock once before here, and had no desire to do so again.
"I'd check the mushroom, if I were you."
"You're not me," Zexion said shortly. "What do you want?"
"Long has paled the sunny sky, echoes fade and memories die, Autumn frosts have slain July..." The eyes were back again, evil yellow, bright in the gloom of the wood, and much too close. "Or slain June, perhaps, in your case. Autumn fires, maybe, hmmm?"
"What-"
There were two of the cursed things now, both slinking and swaying around Zexion in cadence to their own words.
"In a Wonderland they lie-"
"Dreaming as the days go by-"
"Dreaming as the summers die."
There was a copy of the cat in front of him and behind him now.
"Ever drifting down the stream..."
Zexion had had enough. He pulled at the shadows of this place, so saturated with illusion already that they were as solid and malleable in his hands as clay. The shadow clones spun up out of the leaf litter, one whirling at each image of the cat.
"Lingering in the golden gleam..."
The cat in front of him vanished in a way that wasn't customary: all at once, instead of fading away bit by bit, leaving the grin hanging in the air. At the same time, he felt one of his shadow clones dissipate, and turned to face the real animal, somehow managing to lounge behind him while remaining fully upright.
That ever-present grin was back, turned predatory again. Zexion felt the faintest memory of fear stir.
"Life, what is it but a dream?" It came out as a purr, and suddenly Zexion was on the ground. The remaining shadow clone scrabbled at the cat, hands passing harmlessly through him, even as he pinned Zexion with his full, considerable weight.
The grin grew, if possible, wider. Zexion felt the phantom-sensation of something grabbing the clone, a yank, and then he could see, out of the corner of his eye, the cat (or the illusion of the cat) pin his shadow-clone to the ground, mirroring the position he himself was in.
The cat moved with a grace that went far beyond feline, sliding his sinuous body around and pulling Zexion to his feet, tight against the bony, furry chest. One deceptively strong arm snaked around his body, holding him fast; the cat used his other paw to drag down the zipper of Zexion's coat. The cat ghosted claws down Zexion's chest, not quite hard enough to scratch, but with enough pressure to leave thin white lines. Zexion stood ramrod straight, unable to pull away.
"Echoes of echoes playing with shadows of shadows. Such a pretty display, hmmm?" Zexion could feel the purr rumble through his own ribcage.
With the paw that had recently opened his robes, the cat grabbed Zexion's chin, turning his head to look at what their illusionary counterparts were doing. The facsimile of the cat had removed the coat of the shadow-clone as well. Zexion gasped as he felt claws on his skin again, a phantom sensation received from the clone. He watched as the false cat lowered his head, one paw with velvet-soft pads tipped with needle-sharp claws splayed across the clone's chest, the other pinning both of the clone's wrists above its head.
There was a peculiar sensation, as the false cat dragged a dry, rasping tongue across the clone's bared skin at the same time as the real cat applied the same attention to Zexion's jaw line. There were the claws again, smooth, curved backs tracing cool lines down his abdomen.
Zexion closed his eyes.
The cat didn't seem to mind, constant purring rumbling against Zexion's back, tantalising claws dipping ever lower, only to sweep back up in a repeating rhythm. The strangely pleasurable sensation of the real cat ravishing his throat and the illusion tracing the contours of the shadow clone with its tongue.
Zexion heard the tearing sound at the same time he felt the very real drag of claws at hips; it seemed as though the cat had deemed buttons and unnecessary hindrance, and had opened Zexion's pants along the seams, allowing the front to fall.
The sound, coupled with the pricking pain as a few of the claws just barely drew blood, made Zexion open his eyes. So distracted had he been by that sandpaper tongue that he had lost some control of the shadow-clone. It had forgone any directed motion, and a majority of distinctive definition; the clone was recognisable as Zexion, but only just.
It was also naked. Zexion had lost focus on maintaining illusory clothing some time ago.
The replica cat seemed to be enjoying that immensely, sliding silky-soft paws across the clone's body. Zexion shuddered, enjoying the alien sensation of fur on his skin. He gasped aloud when one of the real cat's paws dipped down across his groin, brushing his half-hard cock.
Zexion was losing track of which sensation was from his own nerve endings and which were echoes of pleasure from the writing shadow clone. He found he didn't much care.
"Oh, but pretty, don't close your eyes. The puppets are dancing just for you."
Zexion opened his eyes witch hitching breath as the phantom cat drug its tongue down the length of the shadow clone's exposed torso, whiskers brushing teasingly against the rather solid looking erection.
The clone had gone patchy now, fading in definition in some areas, while others - those receiving the most intense sensations, those throbbing with pleasure - were picked out in vivid relief. The clone's face was a generic mask, its arms and feet simple and plastic-smooth, but the pulse-points on the throat, the flushed peaks of nipples, the quivering planes of its abdomen, and - jutting hard and proud - Zexion's cock, were all replicated with exacting detail.
Zexion couldn't help but close his eyes again as that oh-so-foreign mouth descended over his erection. It was furnace hot, desert-dry, and the feline lips couldn't stop the faint prick of needle-pointed teeth from scraping along his shaft. It should have been painful. With the sensations received from the clone as separated as they were, it set his nerves on fire.
He writhed, gasping, but the real cat held him still, even those teasing, velvet paws ceasing in their roaming. He could feel the cheshire grin against the side of his throat, but even as Zexion pressed back against the slick-soft body behind him, he could feel no signs of arousal, no telltale ridge of hardness against his lower back.
A sudden loss of sensation made Zexion open his eyes again, looking toward the performance. He was shocked, in a detached way, most of his mind otherwise occupied, to meet a pair of all too familiar eyes glinting above that infuriating grin. The damnable animal was a master of illusion, with enough control to display, flaunting, an evil-looking member, bulging at the tip, and Zexion's mind flashed back to vertebrate biology lessons in Radiant Garden, that male cats had barbs, and this was probably going to hurt-
The illusory cat slammed into Zexion's own clone without preamble. It hurt, yes, but not as much as he'd expected, with that detached, diminished sensation that transformed what should have been a ragged, tearing agony into thin, burning lines of pleasure that hummed through his entire body. There was sharper, dragging pain as the cat pulled out halfway, then slammed back in, drawing shuddering gasps from Zexion's lungs. He couldn't close his eyes now, wouldn't look away even if he could, sensations racing along his nerves more intense - infinitely more frustrating - than he could ever remember experiencing. It was only the Cheshire Cat's paws, snaking across his body again, damn - bless - the creature, that kept him from tumbling to the forest floor.
He longed to touch himself, to bring this to an end before he was utterly overwhelmed, loosing control here was dangerous, deadly, but those long limbs, disarmingly strong, held him immobile. And then the strong, slinking brush - oh gods, his tail - pressed hard against his cock, and Zexion came, hips twitching helplessly, entire body spasming, tense and rigid against the cat who - damn it all, was laughing the utter bastard - dropped him in an undignified heap on the leaf litter.
Zexion's clone was fading, his mind too hazy to consciously maintain it, body buzzing too numbly to allow it to exist on sensation alone.
The cat slunk around, tilting his face to meet those wicked, gleaming eyes.
"And as in uffish though he stood the Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, came whiffling through the tulgey wood and burbled as it came."
Something crashed in the trees some distance away, and a wet, scratchy ululation echoed off the oversized toadstools. The cat, mockingly, caressed Zexion's flushed face before fading, leaving him staring dumbly into a needle-fanged grin.
He forced himself to his knees as the distinctive warbling cry of a Jabberwock on the hunt reverberated through the forest again. The portal of darkness he summoned was weak, trembling almost as much as his limbs, but it would suffice to carry him back to Never Was, away from this unpredictable world and That Damned Cat.
With a growl, Zexion slid into the comforting, familiar roil of darkness. He absolutely hated Wonderland.
---
Title: Tithe
Characters: Sora, Sephiroth
Rating: Porn porn porny porn :D
Warnings: Naga!Vore. The prompt was "Snakes on a Sora, but better". Guys. I really don't know what I'm doing with vore D: Or porn, actually.
Summary: A fitting sacrifce.
Sora had expected terror. He had expected to be pinned to the wall with a piercing, hypnotic gaze. He had expected fear and pain and a slow death, known, prepared for, a tithe paid.
They called the Snake-God Sephiroth, whispered 'the demon' and were hushed. Offense would withdraw his protection, and the demons you could see were better than the devils unknown. This small price - one life, pure, every winter - so much better than letting the lurking dark in.
And so Sora had walked down the dim, muggy corridors of the temple, his mind numb, legs moving automatically.
The first thing to penetrate the haze clouding his brain was shock. Awe, maybe, was a better word. Filling the sanctuary seemingly to overflowing were thick ropes of quicksilver, gleaming, tree-trunk thick serpents' coils looping endlessly, seething, shifting.
"Sora." The voice was deep, almost a purr, felt up through his feet, tingling along his spine. A figure lifted itself from the mass of scales, beautiful, pale and smooth like polished bone, hard and cold like the roots of mountains.
Sora felt as though he should have been more shocked as the figure rose and instead of legs, those sweeping hips smoothed into scales as silver as the God's hair. The mass of coils shifted; Sora felt the solid bulk of them at the back of his legs, but he had eyes only for the figure gliding closer.
A hand slid up his neck, gripping his chin in a hold that promised crushing iron. Tilted his face up, bringing his eyes directly into green, drowning, cutting, ripping down into his heart and soul...
The coils swept Sora's legs from under him as lips like marble pressed against his own, almost chaste. Loops of silver held him upright, immobile, as though he was capable of movement. His lips parted in an inaudible sigh.
The dry flicker of a forked tongue against his own was almost alien enough to startle Sora from his stupor. Sephiroth felt the momentary tensing, smoothed hands through Sora's hair, down his back, soft, gentle, soothing, soothing. The cool, firm press of lips and ticklish flicker of tongue moved to his jaw, caressed his ear, trailed down his throat.
Sora's breathy moan turned into a gasp as two hot, blinding points of pain bloomed on his neck. The wounds felt searing, then icy, then a slow numbness spread. He blinked his eyes, flicking them down, to where Sephiroth was sucking at his throat. He withdrew slowly, bringing a hand up to stroke Sora's hair, a gentle motion, meant to calm.
"Still, pet, still," the god murmured, other arm reaching around to pull Sora against his chest. "You will sleep, soon. No pain, no fear, pet. Still."
Sora nodded against his shoulder. The pain of the bite was almost faded already, a contented haze falling over his mind. Sephiroth's arm slid lower, over the back of his thighs, lifting, balancing against the coils at his back. The hand on his hair settled between his shoulder blades, supporting him, the hand that had manipulated him like a child's doll curling around the soft flesh between Sora's legs.
"Your life, your essence, you are mine, pet," hissed the god.
"Yours," Sora agreed, already hardening under Sephiroth's hand. A complacent lassitude settled into his limbs, leaning limp against Sephiroth's iron strength. His mind wouldn't allow him much more than that small agreement, yours, lord, yours.
The pleasure rolled over him, soft, downy, like waves of flower petals. So different from the times he had done this himself, sharp, harsh, hushed and guilty, stabs of sensation and bitten-off moans. Sora was unable to manage more than weak mewls, now, his voice deserting him utterly. His little sob of protest as that beautiful pressure left him was almost lost in the whisper of shifting scales, the broken gasp as slick warmth enveloped him instead drowned in the lash of Sephiroth's tail.
Sephiroth's mouth was confident and certain, long, slender tongue twisting and curling around the shaft, shifting, squeezing. Sora moaned, breathily, hips shifting slightly, only slightly, out of sync with his thoughts. The god moved forward, slowly, swallowing Sora to the hilt, waiting tortuously, one breath, two, three...
Sora whimpered.
The muscles of Sephiroth's throat rippled, caressing, squeezing, and Sora cried out, the sound loud enough to echo in the small space. Sora didn't remember closing his eyes, but when he dragged them open, his God's lids were draped in bliss, gazing up through silver lashes, swallowing, drinking him down. His climax seemed gripped by the same languid torpor as the rest of his body, sensation not cresting and crashing over him, quick, intense, dirty, but flowing out slowly, no peak and fall, but a gradual drain, sand through the pinch of an hour glass.
Sora's breathing was heavy, desperate. The heat that had first seared from the bite had blanketed his whole body, the tingling numbness settling into his muscles. Those green eyes looked into his, gentle, kind, and he raised a hand to close Sora's heavy lids. He felt a brief pressure on each eye - a light kiss, like a blessing, the brush of a mother's lips over a fevered brow.
The next thing that Sora was aware of was velvety warmth, pressure, surrounding his face. A brief tightening, then the warmth was over his shoulders. Sora let out a breath, small and content, as the warmth and pressure took his chest, his stomach. A vague, panicked thought from his hindbrain screamed at him that it should matter much, much more that he couldn't take another one.
Sora dismissed it. He was tired, and so, so warm, so soft. The last of his air left him in a sigh as his hips passed that first ring of heat, flesh still sensitive, and it felt so good.
He could hear the rush of blood in his ears, the sound soothing rather than an annoyance. He wanted to sigh, to snuggle and burrow happily deeper as his feet were finally taken, but he was unable to so much as twitch.
It didn't bother him over-much.
That panicked part of his brain was screaming at him to breathe, to struggle and kick and fight back, but the rest of his mind had other ideas. Tired, it said, and sleep. Worry about that later. Now is for rest.
The black crept in from the edges of his mind, and Sora obeyed.