Fic! For the first time in a very long while!
So, hi, I'm dumb and only just remembered (while trying to get the fuck to SLEEP, self!) that I can post the fic I wrote for the first challenge at kink_las. (Fic tied for second place in its category, despite being in a fandom alien to most of the readers. Yay!) Since voting is over and writers are revealed and all, I can freely disclose that I wrote this and am rather proud of it. Had a hell of a job editing it down to under 1000 words though.
There were two kinks in this challenge, and we were given the opportunity to chose which to write. Out of watersports and rough sex, I chose the latter. Because when I saw that kink, I knew I had to write this pairing, which I have love in a demented fashion, for all that it's violent and fucky and generally twisted. And I don't think I've actually seen full-blown pr0n with these two that reads right, so hey, I set out to write some.
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts.
Pairing: Riku/Replica.
Rating: Explicit.
Notes: Takes place before/during the final Replica fight in Twilight Town, Riku's storyline in Chain of Memories...so just before the poor fuck dies. Clonecest. Mentions of non-con, but on-screen sexings are consensual. Also, I blame my usage of "it" to refer to the replica (at least from Riku's POV) on harukami.
Shadowplay
Under the evening glow of Twilight Town, in a little stand of trees, he meets the damn replica again. His own face staring back at him with mad intensity--something's different now. Hollowness in its face, voice. Like it's been broken and broken again.
They fight.
Not surprising. That copy, that fake throws itself into battle in answer to anything--which shouldn't be odd, he supposes, that it got from its template, himself. It's fast and strong and utterly merciless, and Riku needs every shred of power just to survive the onslaught--because, yes, the damn thing's better than him, inhuman strong, commanding darkness easily, fighting with desperation, no holds barred.
But he's real. And he'll win.
He doesn't expect, middle of the fight, to be slammed against a tree and kissed, teeth and tongue and ruthless. He can't breathe. His sword falls. The fake's sword is gone too; its body presses against his.
Riku freezes with a gasp as the replica yanks his vest open, baring his skin to the evening breeze. The fake babbles and rolls him to the ground, faster than he can react--
"I love Naminé and she broke me and I'm going to die and I'll never have--"
--Sora, or Kairi's love, here you are, my shadow, give me what I deserve--
His pants fly. Cards tumble from the pockets. The twilight forest flickers, twists, winks out of existence, revealing the bone white walls of Castle Oblivion that lurk behind every illusion. The fake lets out a sudden whine.
"Put it back," it hisses.
White flowers bloom above, bleached echoes of the seneschal's eyes. Riku fumbles for the nearest card, realizes too late which one it is.
Destiny Islands blossoms around them. A false and sorry echo of the home he'd destroyed. His heart clenches. The fake's eyes go terribly wide; then it laughs, sharp and humorless.
Perfect, Riku thinks, and it's not his thought at all. The fake slams him bare-assed into the bushes, and his naked fingers and toes scrabble in the warm sands of--not home. Not home at all. Everything's fake.
The replica's hot breath against his cheek, the cold tingle of congealed shadows pressing against his body, because he's naked and it's still fully clothed, wrapped in darkness made solid. Inhuman strong fingers prod and grab, and bruises will rise in their wake, he knows, and even when he strains, it's not letting him move.
"You want this," the fake hisses.
"What do you care?"
"I'm not Larxene," it snaps, livid with anger, and Riku puts it together, and twitches and aches with sympathy he'd rather not have. Fucking Organization, fucking nobodies, everything's wrong here, everything's gone mad--
He doesn't want this. Nothing so trivial. He aches for it, he needs it, and he writhes unyielding beneath the fake as it strips off its gloves in a flare of darkness and shoves its fingers down his throat.
If he was in danger, in real danger, the King would come. He's safe, he tells himself, completely pointlessly, because he's not sure he wants to be.
"Fuck you," he growls, when he can speak again. "You're not going to win--"
"Because you're the real thing and I'm not? Fuck you." The fake sinks teeth into his throat and two spit-damp fingers into his ass, and it's not slick enough to be anything but painful. He's going to need a potion after sex, Riku thinks, faintly dizzy--fighting, fucking, it's like the fake doesn't even know the difference, and that's exactly what he--
The other hand grabs both his wrists, crushingly tight, and yanks him up to sit. Fingers pull out of his ass, and the fake dissolves its pants and shoves its cock down his throat. He's sucking himself, he thinks, faintly hysterical. This is absurd, this is humiliating, he can hardly breathe, if he opens his eyes he sees his own silver curls, and when he thinks about biting, a hand closes around his jaw, wet and smelly, and he beats his fist aimlessly against strong legs wrapped in darkness and realizes that he's hard, aching hard, oh, fuck.
The fake yanks him off its cock, sharp and sudden, slams him back down, throws his legs in the air, pins him with one hand at his throat, and shoves into him, to the hilt, hard. Riku stifles a yowl of pain as the replica fucks him, rough and dragging--
And then the fake throws back its head with a triumphant, piercing cry, and darkness blooms, inky and dribbling, pouring off of it, into him, filling him--
Riku screams, full-throated. The darkness in the back of his mind roils and hums in answer. Ansem, that damn beast of a man, gathers himself as if to ride him, take over his body again--
"My darkness," the fake grunts. "Not his. Shut him up. You don't get to run away from this, you don't get to be anybody but yourself."
It's too much. Riku thrashes, in vain, howls as his fake pounds him merciless and agonizing, and he can't even think, replica teeth at his throat, his bare feet kicking the air, darkness, darkness, darkness--
But not Ansem's darkness. Just himself.
It lasts seeming forever, harsh and needy, until a fist surging with darkness wraps around his cock and pulls, yanking him off, and he comes with a desperate screech, but nothing stops. Oversensitive, he's a live wire, can't comprehend the noises he makes, vaguely aware of the fake muttering nonsense in his ear, yes, real thing, this is what you want, Riku, isn't it, this is what you deserve--
Heat in his ass as it comes.
It's over. The fake slips out of him, drops its full weight atop him, wraps around him parasitic tight.
It's sobbing. Hoarse little hiccups in the back of its throat.
Riku stares up at the unreal sky, body aching head to toe, bright false sunlight making his eyes water, and wraps his arms around his replica.
There were two kinks in this challenge, and we were given the opportunity to chose which to write. Out of watersports and rough sex, I chose the latter. Because when I saw that kink, I knew I had to write this pairing, which I have love in a demented fashion, for all that it's violent and fucky and generally twisted. And I don't think I've actually seen full-blown pr0n with these two that reads right, so hey, I set out to write some.
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts.
Pairing: Riku/Replica.
Rating: Explicit.
Notes: Takes place before/during the final Replica fight in Twilight Town, Riku's storyline in Chain of Memories...so just before the poor fuck dies. Clonecest. Mentions of non-con, but on-screen sexings are consensual. Also, I blame my usage of "it" to refer to the replica (at least from Riku's POV) on harukami.
Shadowplay
Under the evening glow of Twilight Town, in a little stand of trees, he meets the damn replica again. His own face staring back at him with mad intensity--something's different now. Hollowness in its face, voice. Like it's been broken and broken again.
They fight.
Not surprising. That copy, that fake throws itself into battle in answer to anything--which shouldn't be odd, he supposes, that it got from its template, himself. It's fast and strong and utterly merciless, and Riku needs every shred of power just to survive the onslaught--because, yes, the damn thing's better than him, inhuman strong, commanding darkness easily, fighting with desperation, no holds barred.
But he's real. And he'll win.
He doesn't expect, middle of the fight, to be slammed against a tree and kissed, teeth and tongue and ruthless. He can't breathe. His sword falls. The fake's sword is gone too; its body presses against his.
Riku freezes with a gasp as the replica yanks his vest open, baring his skin to the evening breeze. The fake babbles and rolls him to the ground, faster than he can react--
"I love Naminé and she broke me and I'm going to die and I'll never have--"
--Sora, or Kairi's love, here you are, my shadow, give me what I deserve--
His pants fly. Cards tumble from the pockets. The twilight forest flickers, twists, winks out of existence, revealing the bone white walls of Castle Oblivion that lurk behind every illusion. The fake lets out a sudden whine.
"Put it back," it hisses.
White flowers bloom above, bleached echoes of the seneschal's eyes. Riku fumbles for the nearest card, realizes too late which one it is.
Destiny Islands blossoms around them. A false and sorry echo of the home he'd destroyed. His heart clenches. The fake's eyes go terribly wide; then it laughs, sharp and humorless.
Perfect, Riku thinks, and it's not his thought at all. The fake slams him bare-assed into the bushes, and his naked fingers and toes scrabble in the warm sands of--not home. Not home at all. Everything's fake.
The replica's hot breath against his cheek, the cold tingle of congealed shadows pressing against his body, because he's naked and it's still fully clothed, wrapped in darkness made solid. Inhuman strong fingers prod and grab, and bruises will rise in their wake, he knows, and even when he strains, it's not letting him move.
"You want this," the fake hisses.
"What do you care?"
"I'm not Larxene," it snaps, livid with anger, and Riku puts it together, and twitches and aches with sympathy he'd rather not have. Fucking Organization, fucking nobodies, everything's wrong here, everything's gone mad--
He doesn't want this. Nothing so trivial. He aches for it, he needs it, and he writhes unyielding beneath the fake as it strips off its gloves in a flare of darkness and shoves its fingers down his throat.
If he was in danger, in real danger, the King would come. He's safe, he tells himself, completely pointlessly, because he's not sure he wants to be.
"Fuck you," he growls, when he can speak again. "You're not going to win--"
"Because you're the real thing and I'm not? Fuck you." The fake sinks teeth into his throat and two spit-damp fingers into his ass, and it's not slick enough to be anything but painful. He's going to need a potion after sex, Riku thinks, faintly dizzy--fighting, fucking, it's like the fake doesn't even know the difference, and that's exactly what he--
The other hand grabs both his wrists, crushingly tight, and yanks him up to sit. Fingers pull out of his ass, and the fake dissolves its pants and shoves its cock down his throat. He's sucking himself, he thinks, faintly hysterical. This is absurd, this is humiliating, he can hardly breathe, if he opens his eyes he sees his own silver curls, and when he thinks about biting, a hand closes around his jaw, wet and smelly, and he beats his fist aimlessly against strong legs wrapped in darkness and realizes that he's hard, aching hard, oh, fuck.
The fake yanks him off its cock, sharp and sudden, slams him back down, throws his legs in the air, pins him with one hand at his throat, and shoves into him, to the hilt, hard. Riku stifles a yowl of pain as the replica fucks him, rough and dragging--
And then the fake throws back its head with a triumphant, piercing cry, and darkness blooms, inky and dribbling, pouring off of it, into him, filling him--
Riku screams, full-throated. The darkness in the back of his mind roils and hums in answer. Ansem, that damn beast of a man, gathers himself as if to ride him, take over his body again--
"My darkness," the fake grunts. "Not his. Shut him up. You don't get to run away from this, you don't get to be anybody but yourself."
It's too much. Riku thrashes, in vain, howls as his fake pounds him merciless and agonizing, and he can't even think, replica teeth at his throat, his bare feet kicking the air, darkness, darkness, darkness--
But not Ansem's darkness. Just himself.
It lasts seeming forever, harsh and needy, until a fist surging with darkness wraps around his cock and pulls, yanking him off, and he comes with a desperate screech, but nothing stops. Oversensitive, he's a live wire, can't comprehend the noises he makes, vaguely aware of the fake muttering nonsense in his ear, yes, real thing, this is what you want, Riku, isn't it, this is what you deserve--
Heat in his ass as it comes.
It's over. The fake slips out of him, drops its full weight atop him, wraps around him parasitic tight.
It's sobbing. Hoarse little hiccups in the back of its throat.
Riku stares up at the unreal sky, body aching head to toe, bright false sunlight making his eyes water, and wraps his arms around his replica.