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Cold Sting

Title: Cold Sting

Author Name: Orin Drake

Disclaimer: All characters and worlds contained within this work are from the Kingdom Hearts series, owned (and pwned) by Square-Enix and Disney. I only get to play with them, and not for profit. Alas.

Category: Needles/Blades/Cutting, Torture

Rating: MA/R

Summary: Vexen/Zexion - Sometimes a scientist's work requires a bit of illogical procedure.

Any notes you want to add: This would be a prequel to "Honest Reaction". And... very weird. It definitely does not make sense.


A bit hard to get used to, to say the least. Vexen had been a Nobody for... perhaps three, four years. He'd stopped counting when he'd realized memory wasn't always reality, preferring instead to immerse himself in more research. Sometimes, though... for no reason at all... he did remember. Vividly. Those things that had made life worth living when he'd had a heart, like a great discovery... or...

Annoying, to put it simply. Right in the middle of taking notes, he'd merely... gotten a pang of some sort. There didn't seem anything in particular to have inspired it. Zexion had been out for most of the day, had just entered the room to place some samples in a bin across the room...

Another set of notes was begun, quickly and sloppily. The academic had known from experience that physical pleasure was still possible. Over time, however, he'd begun to suspect that fading memories of emotions had begun to affect the physical sensations of touch. More and more he'd found it harder and more time-consuming to find release, turning to... certain thoughts he'd shoved into the very back of his consciousness. But if they had no hearts... and they were creating their own set of morals, so to speak... why not conduct a little experiment?

It was ridiculous, of course. He was a scientist, he knew one had to set up a control before any proper experimentation could take place--though he also remembered enough about being human to push logic aside. The decision had already been made by the dulled shiver through his body, and the very lucky act of the young schemer turning away to attend to his own work.

Everything was easily within reach. Nothing would be suspected, and to tell truth he moved swiftly and without the least bit of question or uncertainty. He grasped the boy around the throat and the waist, making very effective use of the relatively short time they'd been Nobodies. Ienzo had been the youngest; as such he'd been the closest to his emotions--Zexion would have remembered fear and utter shock the best out of all of them. It made him the easiest target for the scientist... and he was always the closest.

Vexen himself hadn't been without a heart long enough to ignore the blissful memories the boy's struggling brought to mind. He found his body responding, perfectly. If he concentrated, he may have been able to force himself to remember thinking of such a scenario as Even... but, as things were, it was a bit hard to think let alone recall the minor details of a once-existence.

Whether Zexion actually managed to made a verbal protest was uncertain even to himself as he felt the coat yanked away from his shoulder, the action forcing the zipper open and the flesh from neck to bicep to become exposed. His mouth had been open at that point--snapped shut at the strange sensation suddenly playing through each individual nerve. Just the whisper touch of unyielding needle against soft skin... the barest understanding of sharpness, the almost unseen scrape of the point being dragged ever so softly against the flesh to part only the first layer. Just a little, just enough to warn... to inspire...

The slow, cold sting. The gasping breath at the alien metal invading flesh. Past skin, past muscle with hardly an effort and yet so calculated, so patient.

Vexen took his time, eyes ticking back and forth between the thin gleam of silver disappearing into the supple shoulder, and the young face still caught up in remembered emotions. He felt his breath quicken with Zexion's pained gasp, his length harden within its confines as the boy attempted to struggle--then the whole of his body became absolutely fevered when he heard a most distinct moan. Ah, not so naive.

Plunger depressed--almost sweeter than the dirty, physical act of sex. This went into the blood, deeper than anything else could ever reach. Steel and plastic, clean and certain and designed for specific, perfect, purpose. Empty of fluid, the needle was drawn back almost tenderly. There would have been a bruise there if they were still of imperfect flesh and blood.

"Wha--..." Zexion licked his lips, trying to gather the strength to still his voice. "What was in that..?"

"Saline." The elder scientist lied.

--And was caught. Almost as if he'd been expecting it, inviting the situation, the youth rubbed once against the hardness he felt pressed against the small of his back for impact. "Then why is it so warm, Vexen?"

Instead of excuses, Number IV merely reached back to place the used syringe on the table behind him. Both hands free, he quickly went about unzipping the rest of the boy's coat. Then his leather pants. There was no patience any longer, no waiting. Both already hard and wanting and ready, it was too easy.

Zexion fought--though exactly what he was fighting against was fogged and uncertain. Not quite an aphrodisiac, not quite a stimulant; whatever he'd been injected with was nearly irrelevant.

One hand pumping the youth in swift rhythm, the other reached back behind him almost of it's own accord. So close, but such simple stimulation was no longer enough--he slid the needle into the youth's neck with a surgeon's precision.

A field of white and a trickle of red. They both released; one into a cry of sweetened agony, the other moaning low and soft like a sated beast.

After a moment's rest, Vexen grasped the syringe and pulled. Waiting for the shuddering cry at the action to end, he stated in a very academic manner, "I'm starting to think... we made some mistakes."