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kinkfestTitle: A Thousand Voices
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nekokoban
Rating: R
Prompt: Kingdom Hearts, Saïx/Kairi: dubious consent, oral sex - on her knees in the moonlight, his hands in her hair
Word count: 707
Summary: The Castle will keep those secrets.
+++++
There is a subtle chill that lingers in every area of the World That Never Was: a cold that sinks deep into one's bones and stays. The whole world is unwelcoming to those with hearts--a Nobody of a world, cobbled together out of fragments and memories of places long since consumed by the darkness. It runs on inertia and the ghost of emotions.
The castle is also never completely silent: the architecture is all archways and open spaces, and a single Dusk's softest footstep causes echoes that may be heard a full three rooms away. The voices of people long-dead are still audible in both the deepest and highest parts of the castle. They whisper and mutter and feed off each other and the smooth walls, like the spectators of an audience. He wonders if the little princess is aware of this--if she, with her pure heart, can even hear them at all. Perhaps not. She makes choked little noises as she moves her head, wet little noises, adding her own small voice to the cacophony. It will outlast even her, he thinks.
Her hair rustles through his fingers, the texture as fine as the raw silks from the Land of Dragons. It takes only a little pressure to make her move: a tug here, a push there, and she responds with perfect grace. Though she was raised carelessly alongside the Keybalde Master, there is an inherent ease to her that is lacking in most living beings. He was never a scientist, as Xemnas and the first five were, and even their knowledge of a Princess had been limited to conjecture and observation rather than confirmed tests. A Princess is so pure that nothing can taint her--her Heart is anchored to her as firmly as the one of flesh and blood. Darkness slides off her without leaving a trace of its passing: she may know frear, or anger, or unease--but she cannot know terror, or rage, or despair. Though the cold stone floor must be difficult on her tender knees, she bears it with regal grace. When he looks down her expression is pained, but she makes no protest, her fingers curled at his hips, her mouth wet and open. There are no tears in her eyes where he would have expected them--she is still a feeling being, after all. She was not willing, though she had not fought when he pushed her down, had moved of her own accord when he looked at her expectantly.
He gives her no verbal warning, but she seems to realize anyway: she takes him in deeper than before, until her nose is pressed against his belly, and her fingers dig into his knees as if in some attempt to hold him still. He lets her move, watching her bright hair slide through his fingers, studying the look of concentration on her face, and thinks: even now, you do not hate me.
And then it is done and he finally lets go of her. She sinks back and coughs a few times, but she does not bow her head, meeting his gaze without wavering. She says, "Sora is coming." The curved walls and arched ceiling of the Addled Impasse catch her voice and echo it with glee: Sora is coming, coming, coming.
"Maybe so," he says, "but you won't be there to meet him." He reaches and takes her arm, hauling her to her feet--she weighs so little, part of him can hardly believe she's an actual being of flesh and blood. She does not fight him, but her eyes and clear and unwavering, and though she looks at him, he has the feeling she is also seeing straight through him. He would not doubt if she could; he wonders if she is disturbed by the hollow places inside of him. He wonders if would tell her precious Sora this, given the chance, or if the whisperings of the castle will tell him the truth. When he casts his eyes upward, the moon tells him nothing; for tonight, at least, she keeps her secrets close.
If the Princess says that the Keyblade Master is coming, though, it will be only a matter of time.
Author/Artist:
nekokobanRating: R
Prompt: Kingdom Hearts, Saïx/Kairi: dubious consent, oral sex - on her knees in the moonlight, his hands in her hair
Word count: 707
Summary: The Castle will keep those secrets.
+++++
There is a subtle chill that lingers in every area of the World That Never Was: a cold that sinks deep into one's bones and stays. The whole world is unwelcoming to those with hearts--a Nobody of a world, cobbled together out of fragments and memories of places long since consumed by the darkness. It runs on inertia and the ghost of emotions.
The castle is also never completely silent: the architecture is all archways and open spaces, and a single Dusk's softest footstep causes echoes that may be heard a full three rooms away. The voices of people long-dead are still audible in both the deepest and highest parts of the castle. They whisper and mutter and feed off each other and the smooth walls, like the spectators of an audience. He wonders if the little princess is aware of this--if she, with her pure heart, can even hear them at all. Perhaps not. She makes choked little noises as she moves her head, wet little noises, adding her own small voice to the cacophony. It will outlast even her, he thinks.
Her hair rustles through his fingers, the texture as fine as the raw silks from the Land of Dragons. It takes only a little pressure to make her move: a tug here, a push there, and she responds with perfect grace. Though she was raised carelessly alongside the Keybalde Master, there is an inherent ease to her that is lacking in most living beings. He was never a scientist, as Xemnas and the first five were, and even their knowledge of a Princess had been limited to conjecture and observation rather than confirmed tests. A Princess is so pure that nothing can taint her--her Heart is anchored to her as firmly as the one of flesh and blood. Darkness slides off her without leaving a trace of its passing: she may know frear, or anger, or unease--but she cannot know terror, or rage, or despair. Though the cold stone floor must be difficult on her tender knees, she bears it with regal grace. When he looks down her expression is pained, but she makes no protest, her fingers curled at his hips, her mouth wet and open. There are no tears in her eyes where he would have expected them--she is still a feeling being, after all. She was not willing, though she had not fought when he pushed her down, had moved of her own accord when he looked at her expectantly.
He gives her no verbal warning, but she seems to realize anyway: she takes him in deeper than before, until her nose is pressed against his belly, and her fingers dig into his knees as if in some attempt to hold him still. He lets her move, watching her bright hair slide through his fingers, studying the look of concentration on her face, and thinks: even now, you do not hate me.
And then it is done and he finally lets go of her. She sinks back and coughs a few times, but she does not bow her head, meeting his gaze without wavering. She says, "Sora is coming." The curved walls and arched ceiling of the Addled Impasse catch her voice and echo it with glee: Sora is coming, coming, coming.
"Maybe so," he says, "but you won't be there to meet him." He reaches and takes her arm, hauling her to her feet--she weighs so little, part of him can hardly believe she's an actual being of flesh and blood. She does not fight him, but her eyes and clear and unwavering, and though she looks at him, he has the feeling she is also seeing straight through him. He would not doubt if she could; he wonders if she is disturbed by the hollow places inside of him. He wonders if would tell her precious Sora this, given the chance, or if the whisperings of the castle will tell him the truth. When he casts his eyes upward, the moon tells him nothing; for tonight, at least, she keeps her secrets close.
If the Princess says that the Keyblade Master is coming, though, it will be only a matter of time.
