kingdom hearts | kink meme part two
More kink meme ficlets: variations on a theme. Check tags for warnings. Both written for and dedicated to blizzardseason, who asked for it, damn her eyes.
Kingdom Hearts | Axel/Roxas | 1200 words | AU | scorch | unbeta'd. Thanks for blizzardseason for the gorgeous header.
Because in France, they're all queens anyway.
"What are you reading, dearest?"
"Fie! Thou darest thus invade a lady's private boudoir?" Roxas turned wide, kohl-lined eyes upon him in scandalized pleasure. "Begone, sir, lest I call the guards forthwith!"
"You gave me the key to your own chambers." Axel pointed out. "I hardly suspect you did it to have me thrown in prison."
"Clearly then, you haven't read nearly enough Machiavelli." Roxas primly closed his book, laying it aside and twitching his corset into a more accommodating position. His skirts cascaded onto the carpet in artistic disarray, pearl-embroidered turquoise over immaculate ruffled layers. It was a good color on him, Axel thought, although of course, better off than on.
"If you know me, Highness, then you should be acquainted with the fact I never read Machiavelli," he demurred, still eyeing the fit of the satin against Roxas' trim waist. "Altogether too many politics, and it is a known fact Italian women are quite hideous, so there is not even that for comfort."
"La! How you do carry on, sir." Roxas opened his fan with a snap, glancing at him coyly from behind its lace fringes. "Italian women are quite as pretty as those of French origin. I should know; I've had one just last week."
"Have you now?" Axel fought down an illogical surge of jealousy; Roxas was Queen, of course he slept around more than a homeless mongrel. "I hope she hasn't done anything disfiguring to your nether regions. I should be quite beyond consolation if it turns out you aren't a virgin anymore."
"Not since the age of 10, thank you."
"Oh, surely there is time until the 11th birthday, Highness." Axel said, and immediately ducked to avoid a thrown cushion. "I say! That's rather rude."
"Suck my fucking arse, sir." Roxas raised a perfect eyebrow, the golden ringlets of his wig falling into his eyes just so. Axel smiled, baring his teeth, and took a smooth step forward.
"With pleasure, Highness."
He kneeled, and Roxas leaned back upon the duvet, running idle fingers along the shoulder-seam of his jacket. He seemed entirely unsurprised by Axel's immediate response; on the contrary, he seemed to have been expecting it.
"Crushed velvet, Axel? It looks quite ridiculous with the additional embroidery. Regardless, do wear more black: it flatters your complexion. Oh, one moment; unlace my corset, would you?"
Axel gladly complied, loosening knots and deftly tugging free the whalebone. Fortuitously, it was a familiar design; else he would have been considerably less proficient. After a moment, Roxas began to breathe easier, and settled into the cushions contentedly.
"Go on, then, darling. I'm positively leaking in excitement."
"You're positively a broken facet, rather." Axel muttered, but he snaked a hand under Roxas' skirts, ready to hoist the wretched things up, hoping he didn't suffocate in the process-but they slipped from his fingers like water.
"What-?"
"Oh, yes, didn't you notice? Slit to the hip in three different places. I dare say it caused quite a scandal at court today. I was stalked by a veritable storm of whisperers, squeaking at each other behind their ugly fans."
"I can imagine. How... modern you are in your fashions, Highness." Axel eyed the new design hungrily and burrowed his face in the fabric; felt it slide away and reveal Roxas' bare thighs, fancifully powdered and smelling of perfume. He breathed in deep, and gently bit down on the skin.
Roxas wet his lips. "I must say, I've been waiting for this moment almost all day. You have no idea what it feels like, walking with legs bare, feeling every breath of wind, every brush of fabric, imagining it to be your tongue-"
Axel licked a long stripe up Roxas' thigh, reveling in the cool drag of fabric across his cheek. He left a shining wet trail of saliva; his mouth was quite freely drooling. Up and up, into that shadowed crease at the top, letting his spit dribble and pool onto the sofa.
"Twice I had to excuse myself to the toilet: it was altogether too much, I simply had to slip my hand between the folds and touch, moaning quite unabashedly, I must say-"
He could imagine it perfectly: Roxas spread against the porcelain walls, flushed red beneath his white make-up, cherry lips parted, hand buried in a mess of ruffles and working, pumping-
In one smooth motion, Roxas lifted his legs and hooked them over Axel's shoulders. It was the perfect position: with one loving nuzzle to Roxas' cock, Axel leaned in closer and moved south.
"See how much more freedom it allows? I could even run in this dress if I want to-oh-oh!"
Roxas was tight, so tight; hot and clenching and perfect around Axel's tongue. The lace fell into the space between his thighs like a waterfall spilling into an empty ravine. Bloody good job, Axel thought; usually the ruffles obstructed his vision, and the satin made it impossible to breathe. This was amazing-and Roxas seemed to think so, too.
"Get-ahh-higher, you're not quite-oh, fuck, yes you are-" Roxas squirmed and writhed around him, toes curling against his shoulder-blades and ruining the brush of his jacket. His cock was flushed and wet, pre-come smearing against his corset and then dribbling into Axel's eager face. It was messy and shameful and completely debauched: the French way to have sex.
"Getting there?" Axel tried to say, except his tongue was deep inside Roxas, his teeth gently nipping at the outer skin, his lips sucking clumsy kisses around the hole. Apparently, though, it did the trick: Roxas cried out, his fingers digging into the upholstery, hips pumping obscenely against Axel's face as he came, ass clamping down in spasms and quite drenching the immediate area in bodily fluids.
"Mmph." Axel gave one last swipe with his tongue, making Roxas shudder bonelessly, and withdrew, running a tentative hand through his hair. The red strands were glued together with come, hanging in limp spikes around his face. Axel the nobleman was rebelliously proud of not wearing a wig to court, but during times like these, he often wished he had a bathing cap handy.
"I say, darling," Roxas breathed, gazing at him with half-lidded lethargy and fairly glowing in post-coital satisfaction, "you're quite superior to the marquis."
Axel was momentarily bemused, until he glanced left and espied the book Roxas had been perusing earlier to his arrival: Philosophy of the Bedroom, by Donatien Alphonse-François de Sade, self-styled marquis.
"Oh, I don't know," he said casually. "It holds some rather elucidating insights. Unlike Machiavelli, you see, the good marquis numbers me among the avid readers of his work."
Now that he was slightly removed from temptation, Axel was extremely self-aware: of his rumpled appearance, his ruined make-up, Roxas' musk lingering all over his face and shoulders. The erection pressing desperately against his thigh was not inconsiderable.
Roxas seemed equally perceptive of his state of dishabille. He gave Axel a slow once-over, wet red lips curling in amusement. "Why don't you show me, darling?" he drawled, and Axel was only too happy to comply.
Kingdom Hearts | Axel/Roxas | 500 words | AU | mild | unbeta'd.
Over Coffee and Cream
The first time Axel met Roxas-and shit, doesn't that sound like a chick flick title? Disgusting, really-he was sitting in a patisserie, eating éclairs. He'd heard that was what people did in France, and so far had not been disillusioned. It was a good size, too; not huge, like those monstrous glazed penises sprawling across the adverts he'd seen at the airport. The tip was just large enough to fit comfortably in his mouth.
Mmm. Sticky-warm.
Roxas had sat at a nearby table, blindingly conspicuous in a three-piece suit, tailored and suave except for the black-and-white checkered fedora which looked like an artifact from the Zoot Suit riots of forties LA. It was tilted artfully on his head, for all the world an Escher drawing which had lost its way home.
He was talking on the phone in loquacious English, and openly watching Axel.
"No, no, half-wit; have your brains been melted to crème chantilly? Oh, look at this, look-now you've made me swear in French. How despicable is that? I shall be in a foul mood all day: I, who sullied the French language by speaking it to an Englishman. No, even worse-an American; you who have no respect for patois, for dialect; you who are all stealing words and raping their true meaning with your malodorous slang, ever since you left that wretched pile of merde that is Britain. Your intelligence is meager. Your speech is reprehensible. You are shameful, squalid beings, singularly obese, wallowing in your own stupidity and contaminating other nations with your horrible affliction. Your customs are ridiculous, and your personal hygiene beyond contempt. Now go and register the cargo. Adieu."
He shut his phone with a snap, still staring right at Axel, unblinking. Axel gazed back thoughtfully, lips loosely enveloping a vanilla-glazed éclair.
After a moment he seemed to reach a decision; then, very slowly, he bit down. The tip of the pastry tore away, flooding his mouth with a burst of milky cream. He sucked slightly, mouth smearing with sticky-sweet icing, and then swallowed.
Roxas' throat worked in tandem with his: Adam's apple bobbing tightly, lips parted like an open rosebud. Axel could observe his breath; a tad quickened, coming shallow through his mouth.
They stared at each other for another moment, almost hungrily. Thick cream stained Axel's lips cloud-white.
Then, abruptly, he broke eye contact: gesturing for the waitress and some napkins, signaling a check, loudly apologizing for his poor French; after all, he's just a good old American boy, doncha know?
He left without a backward glance, running his tongue over the lingering taste of vanilla and privately vilifying all Frenchmen with their stupid checkered hats. To an intrepid tourist, it was common knowledge French pastries were all enormous dicks; he just hadn't been expecting the same to apply to the people, as well.
All characters © their respective owners, I claim no right nor profit.
Kingdom Hearts | Axel/Roxas | 1200 words | AU | scorch | unbeta'd. Thanks for blizzardseason for the gorgeous header.
Because in France, they're all queens anyway.
"What are you reading, dearest?"
"Fie! Thou darest thus invade a lady's private boudoir?" Roxas turned wide, kohl-lined eyes upon him in scandalized pleasure. "Begone, sir, lest I call the guards forthwith!"
"You gave me the key to your own chambers." Axel pointed out. "I hardly suspect you did it to have me thrown in prison."
"Clearly then, you haven't read nearly enough Machiavelli." Roxas primly closed his book, laying it aside and twitching his corset into a more accommodating position. His skirts cascaded onto the carpet in artistic disarray, pearl-embroidered turquoise over immaculate ruffled layers. It was a good color on him, Axel thought, although of course, better off than on.
"If you know me, Highness, then you should be acquainted with the fact I never read Machiavelli," he demurred, still eyeing the fit of the satin against Roxas' trim waist. "Altogether too many politics, and it is a known fact Italian women are quite hideous, so there is not even that for comfort."
"La! How you do carry on, sir." Roxas opened his fan with a snap, glancing at him coyly from behind its lace fringes. "Italian women are quite as pretty as those of French origin. I should know; I've had one just last week."
"Have you now?" Axel fought down an illogical surge of jealousy; Roxas was Queen, of course he slept around more than a homeless mongrel. "I hope she hasn't done anything disfiguring to your nether regions. I should be quite beyond consolation if it turns out you aren't a virgin anymore."
"Not since the age of 10, thank you."
"Oh, surely there is time until the 11th birthday, Highness." Axel said, and immediately ducked to avoid a thrown cushion. "I say! That's rather rude."
"Suck my fucking arse, sir." Roxas raised a perfect eyebrow, the golden ringlets of his wig falling into his eyes just so. Axel smiled, baring his teeth, and took a smooth step forward.
"With pleasure, Highness."
He kneeled, and Roxas leaned back upon the duvet, running idle fingers along the shoulder-seam of his jacket. He seemed entirely unsurprised by Axel's immediate response; on the contrary, he seemed to have been expecting it.
"Crushed velvet, Axel? It looks quite ridiculous with the additional embroidery. Regardless, do wear more black: it flatters your complexion. Oh, one moment; unlace my corset, would you?"
Axel gladly complied, loosening knots and deftly tugging free the whalebone. Fortuitously, it was a familiar design; else he would have been considerably less proficient. After a moment, Roxas began to breathe easier, and settled into the cushions contentedly.
"Go on, then, darling. I'm positively leaking in excitement."
"You're positively a broken facet, rather." Axel muttered, but he snaked a hand under Roxas' skirts, ready to hoist the wretched things up, hoping he didn't suffocate in the process-but they slipped from his fingers like water.
"What-?"
"Oh, yes, didn't you notice? Slit to the hip in three different places. I dare say it caused quite a scandal at court today. I was stalked by a veritable storm of whisperers, squeaking at each other behind their ugly fans."
"I can imagine. How... modern you are in your fashions, Highness." Axel eyed the new design hungrily and burrowed his face in the fabric; felt it slide away and reveal Roxas' bare thighs, fancifully powdered and smelling of perfume. He breathed in deep, and gently bit down on the skin.
Roxas wet his lips. "I must say, I've been waiting for this moment almost all day. You have no idea what it feels like, walking with legs bare, feeling every breath of wind, every brush of fabric, imagining it to be your tongue-"
Axel licked a long stripe up Roxas' thigh, reveling in the cool drag of fabric across his cheek. He left a shining wet trail of saliva; his mouth was quite freely drooling. Up and up, into that shadowed crease at the top, letting his spit dribble and pool onto the sofa.
"Twice I had to excuse myself to the toilet: it was altogether too much, I simply had to slip my hand between the folds and touch, moaning quite unabashedly, I must say-"
He could imagine it perfectly: Roxas spread against the porcelain walls, flushed red beneath his white make-up, cherry lips parted, hand buried in a mess of ruffles and working, pumping-
In one smooth motion, Roxas lifted his legs and hooked them over Axel's shoulders. It was the perfect position: with one loving nuzzle to Roxas' cock, Axel leaned in closer and moved south.
"See how much more freedom it allows? I could even run in this dress if I want to-oh-oh!"
Roxas was tight, so tight; hot and clenching and perfect around Axel's tongue. The lace fell into the space between his thighs like a waterfall spilling into an empty ravine. Bloody good job, Axel thought; usually the ruffles obstructed his vision, and the satin made it impossible to breathe. This was amazing-and Roxas seemed to think so, too.
"Get-ahh-higher, you're not quite-oh, fuck, yes you are-" Roxas squirmed and writhed around him, toes curling against his shoulder-blades and ruining the brush of his jacket. His cock was flushed and wet, pre-come smearing against his corset and then dribbling into Axel's eager face. It was messy and shameful and completely debauched: the French way to have sex.
"Getting there?" Axel tried to say, except his tongue was deep inside Roxas, his teeth gently nipping at the outer skin, his lips sucking clumsy kisses around the hole. Apparently, though, it did the trick: Roxas cried out, his fingers digging into the upholstery, hips pumping obscenely against Axel's face as he came, ass clamping down in spasms and quite drenching the immediate area in bodily fluids.
"Mmph." Axel gave one last swipe with his tongue, making Roxas shudder bonelessly, and withdrew, running a tentative hand through his hair. The red strands were glued together with come, hanging in limp spikes around his face. Axel the nobleman was rebelliously proud of not wearing a wig to court, but during times like these, he often wished he had a bathing cap handy.
"I say, darling," Roxas breathed, gazing at him with half-lidded lethargy and fairly glowing in post-coital satisfaction, "you're quite superior to the marquis."
Axel was momentarily bemused, until he glanced left and espied the book Roxas had been perusing earlier to his arrival: Philosophy of the Bedroom, by Donatien Alphonse-François de Sade, self-styled marquis.
"Oh, I don't know," he said casually. "It holds some rather elucidating insights. Unlike Machiavelli, you see, the good marquis numbers me among the avid readers of his work."
Now that he was slightly removed from temptation, Axel was extremely self-aware: of his rumpled appearance, his ruined make-up, Roxas' musk lingering all over his face and shoulders. The erection pressing desperately against his thigh was not inconsiderable.
Roxas seemed equally perceptive of his state of dishabille. He gave Axel a slow once-over, wet red lips curling in amusement. "Why don't you show me, darling?" he drawled, and Axel was only too happy to comply.
Kingdom Hearts | Axel/Roxas | 500 words | AU | mild | unbeta'd.
Over Coffee and Cream
The first time Axel met Roxas-and shit, doesn't that sound like a chick flick title? Disgusting, really-he was sitting in a patisserie, eating éclairs. He'd heard that was what people did in France, and so far had not been disillusioned. It was a good size, too; not huge, like those monstrous glazed penises sprawling across the adverts he'd seen at the airport. The tip was just large enough to fit comfortably in his mouth.
Mmm. Sticky-warm.
Roxas had sat at a nearby table, blindingly conspicuous in a three-piece suit, tailored and suave except for the black-and-white checkered fedora which looked like an artifact from the Zoot Suit riots of forties LA. It was tilted artfully on his head, for all the world an Escher drawing which had lost its way home.
He was talking on the phone in loquacious English, and openly watching Axel.
"No, no, half-wit; have your brains been melted to crème chantilly? Oh, look at this, look-now you've made me swear in French. How despicable is that? I shall be in a foul mood all day: I, who sullied the French language by speaking it to an Englishman. No, even worse-an American; you who have no respect for patois, for dialect; you who are all stealing words and raping their true meaning with your malodorous slang, ever since you left that wretched pile of merde that is Britain. Your intelligence is meager. Your speech is reprehensible. You are shameful, squalid beings, singularly obese, wallowing in your own stupidity and contaminating other nations with your horrible affliction. Your customs are ridiculous, and your personal hygiene beyond contempt. Now go and register the cargo. Adieu."
He shut his phone with a snap, still staring right at Axel, unblinking. Axel gazed back thoughtfully, lips loosely enveloping a vanilla-glazed éclair.
After a moment he seemed to reach a decision; then, very slowly, he bit down. The tip of the pastry tore away, flooding his mouth with a burst of milky cream. He sucked slightly, mouth smearing with sticky-sweet icing, and then swallowed.
Roxas' throat worked in tandem with his: Adam's apple bobbing tightly, lips parted like an open rosebud. Axel could observe his breath; a tad quickened, coming shallow through his mouth.
They stared at each other for another moment, almost hungrily. Thick cream stained Axel's lips cloud-white.
Then, abruptly, he broke eye contact: gesturing for the waitress and some napkins, signaling a check, loudly apologizing for his poor French; after all, he's just a good old American boy, doncha know?
He left without a backward glance, running his tongue over the lingering taste of vanilla and privately vilifying all Frenchmen with their stupid checkered hats. To an intrepid tourist, it was common knowledge French pastries were all enormous dicks; he just hadn't been expecting the same to apply to the people, as well.
All characters © their respective owners, I claim no right nor profit.