Honest ReactionTitle: Honest Reaction
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
Summary: Vexen/Zexion - Everything's tumbling down, and there's no logic left to hold onto.
Any notes you want to add: Prequel to "Cold Sting", and... by far weirder and more seemingly drug-induced.
The Keyblade Master had come. Despite Marluxia's "assurances"... the Chilly Academic knew. Details weren't important--the sky was falling. That's all there was.
Normally, Zexion would spend his time in the library. Seeing as how Larxene was on the warpath, however, he thought it better to find a nice, quiet corner with a small table and a comfortable chair. Why such things were located in various nonsensical spots around the castle was a puzzle even he had been forced to drop at some point. At the moment, such things did not matter; just a quiet spot, alone, with a book.
Or, that's exactly how things went for an hour or so. Right up until the scent of the air shifted; the overwhelming smell of Darkness, and then--
Without so much as a glance in the younger Nobody's direction, Vexen passed by in such a way that one might almost call "casual"--if one did not know the man in the least. He did not stop as Zexion had expected; instead, he passed close enough to the table to leave something on its surface before walking on and around the corner.
Zexion blinked at the object laid before him; a syringe full of something blue and opalescent. Despite not having a heart, he still had survival instincts--and adrenaline had begun to surge through him. How was he supposed in interpret... that?
VI muttered to himself as he walked the halls. Why he still had that syringe clutched too tightly in his hand was utterly beyond him. What the hell did it mean? And why was he... obsessing over it?
Zexion's non-existence had revolved around puzzles, around figuring things out regardless of scope. His Other had enjoyed them, found great pleasure in those sudden epiphanies that illuminated the situation, finally allowing a puzzle to be solved. As a Nobody, there was no longer that kind of pleasure taken in a solution. Maybe it as because every supposed solution only seemed to present more problems... but the lack of a heart meant an end to that kind of fulfillment.
And yet... there was pleasure as a Nobody. At least, he thought that was what he'd felt however many weeks ago it had been when... Vexen had...
He immediately unclenched his fist, grip having almost been tight enough around the syringe to shatter it in his hand. No, that hadn't been pleasure. That had been an insane Nobody's sick experiment, without consent. Vexen's Other hadn't even been so mad as to...
But then, Zexion realized, Even had always gotten Ienzo's consent. They fought often, verbal sparring that would occasionally lead to yelling matches that even Master Ansem would mutter about and walk away from. Those particular times were events for the rest of the assistants, Braig and Dilan not so secretly placing bets with Elaeus pretending not to be interested. All the while, Xehanort watched on, fascinated. Always watching, always so fucking fascinated.
"What an asshole." Zexion whispered, chuckling to himself with no true humor behind it. His sentiment was honest enough, though; Xemnas was responsible for placing them in Castle Oblivion, under Marluxia's instruction. It was no secret that the neophytes and the original six rarely managed to stand one another's presence let alone get along, but... Marluxia?! Certainly their dear and darling "Superior" had something up his sleeve. Otherwise... otherwise. He did not care to think of the possibilities.
He stared back down at that damn syringe, treating it like the puzzle it was. A message, then. A signal..? It didn't pull up any memories, any hidden messages from the distant past. Perhaps it was... an invitation..?
--Why would he even entertain such a guess? The very word "invitation" suggested the possibility of consent, of agreement to attend... something.
But... he had... "gotten off" the last time... hadn't he. Utterly, revoltingly ridiculous.
No, he had a better idea. He'd visit Vexen, alright. Return like the loyal dog he was--breaking the chain from Vexen, Marluxia and Xemnas at once. At least... for a little while.
For once, perhaps a traditional entrance was best. The rarely-used door to the labs slammed open with surprising force, rattling glass and shifting papers in its wake. Zexion managed to catch IV's flinch at the unexpected noise, savoring it fully before walking into the room itself. Each step was sharp, a march, a painfully close memory of anger rushing through him as he approached Vexen, the man still seated and leaning over a lab table--watching. Coldly. Carefully.
The younger Nobody slammed the syringe on the table with a glare colder than the man's ice. "What is this?" he hissed, failing to entirely remove his hand from the item in question. He couldn't chance a lack of control.
"Did you come back to find out?" Vexen schooled his tone and expression. Perfectly still, absolutely emotionless. It came with very little need to practice.
Zexion bristled. One didn't need a heart to be sincerely irritated. "I want to know what the fuck is going on. Now."
A slow smirk spread over the blond's face like cold oil. "It's not like you to come out and ask for the answer."
Baited. He knew he was. It was an old trick from the days of their Others--but Ienzo always fell for it then. He'd learned a bit, since... but he didn't have to make that clear until he'd already won. A small victory, perhaps... but enough. Even the slightest victory over Vexen would drive the man mad. "I demand an answer, IV. You... you attacked me. Drugged me. Not to mention..."
"And you could have used illusion to escape at any time, VI. Not to mention portals." Vexen reminded, coldness turned a little closer to smugness.
Ah... so familiar, that reaction. Though the words held a sharp sting of truth--but a Nobody learned denial faster even than want of a heart. "I was surprised--"
"I've seen you in circumstances far worse." The Academic stood, walking around the table. "If I didn't know any better--"
The sentence ended abruptly with a battle. Vexen had reached forward to grasp one of Zexion's wrists, but the younger Nobody had darted to the side to make an incredibly rare attempt at attacking. Though IV was older, his body seemed composed of little more than skin and bone, he remained rather tone for the off-chance he would ever have to fight. Added to the height advantage and the simple planning for the possibilities of the encounter beforehand, it was surprisingly little work to pin the Schemer against the empty lab table by the wall. Using the advantage of knocking some of the wind from Zexion's lungs, Vexen further turned the tables and unbalanced VI by yanking his coat zipper down, adrenaline making it easy to half-pull, half-rip the front of the younger Nobody's pants open.
Zexion hissed, struggling against the hold and the unwanted activity. "Bastard, don't--"
"Tsk tsk, VI. You shouldn't use your illusions now." Vexen produced the syringe that he'd had ready in his pocket, forcing his body harder against the trapped Nobody for emphasis. "I have a very good grasp on you, after all. And despite what might suddenly appear before me... I am going to use this syringe. I would hate to cause you any... undue pain or bruising. Stabbing it hard into somewhere it really doesn't belong. The needle could break off in an artery... or worse."
It took every thread of concentration, every last molecule of willpower not to move. And Zexion did most desperately want to move. The needle was pressing with sudden urgency parallel against the vein on the underside of his unexplainably semi-hard cock. Was that panic causing the physical organ in his chest to race? How obnoxiously unbecoming. Not to mention... revealing.
The Academic allowed himself a raised eyebrow at that reaction. It was certainly something to keep in mind... At the moment, however, it was much more in his interest to thrust the needle into the boy's shoulder, emptying every last drop into his bloodstream.
Zexion growled with the surprise pain, trying to push the scientist off of him. Vexen proved to know what he was doing, however--a very unfortunate thing. VI quickly found his limbs growing heavy, warm and numb and... the room was... spinning...
"I can't have you hurting yourself, can I..." Vexen whispered lowly. A very, very dark idea had formed in his mind... and he no longer saw any reason to hold onto a single thread of control. Further research would be necessary.
Zexion barely comprehended the words, limbs growing more cold and numb by the moment. Vision flashed in bright colors--then dimmer, black and white and unraveling at the edges... and then, for a moment, there was nothing.
When next Zexion saw light, he realized he'd been staring into it for long enough for his eyes to have gone dry and his vision to spark and blur. A hand reached up shakily to rub the haze away--something solid stopped him. The other hand, too...
Vexen's face suddenly eclipsed the light for a moment--before it was adjusted to allow for a full, well-lit view. Zexion remained in the middle of a realization: he'd been strapped down to the table he'd been pressed against mere moments previous, the drug in his system still causing a disconnected sensation in his limbs. He couldn't quite grasp was was going on, couldn't exactly work out why he ought to be screaming and clawing madly for escape--
But Vexen ever so helpfully reminded him. VI's pants were still open, nothing changed since he'd been temporarily knocked out; Vexen still had theories to be tested. "Now... this kept you quite still, didn't it?" Again he pressed a cold needle against the boy's length, watching as the flesh dimpled ever so slightly with the controlled, gentle pressure he applied to the tip.
Zexion made a sound, that time--some kind of hiss and a moan and something pleading that he hadn't meant to let slip out. That wasn't fear. That wasn't fear. "He always... favored you..."
Vexen blinked, words being the very last thing he'd expected--and especially those words. He... Ansem. Even and Ienzo had participated in the occasional verbal spar about who was more favored in the eyes of their master. Both would insist upon their own merits, tell of how Ansem's eyes rested on them for longer, his praise was brighter toward one or the other and never another.
The Chilly Academic found a tremble in his own hands. "You little bastard..." he accused, almost too softly to hold the amount of venom it most certainly conveyed. Was VI trying to find mercy by bringing up memories? Memories of very human lives that they all knew were best to forget when they didn't have the hearts to look upon them with much more than distant contempt?
Zexion's voice cracked as the shrill scream tore out of his throat. Vexen knew needles, and he knew how to administer most injections swiftly and painlessly. That had the unfortunate turn of knowing how to make them as drawn-out and painful as possible, as well. The younger Nobody thrashed in the restraints, panting and wailing and choking on the blood that he'd drawn from biting his own tongue.
Vexen reveled in the reaction. A truly unplanned, honest reaction. Not magic, not illusion, not shields or weapons from a distance--he provided the action, the Schemer oh so beautifully providing the reaction. He watched the blood drip from the boy's pale lips and over his chin, down his neck. Eyes shut tightly, mouth open, gasping and coughing and screaming and blood over white. Blood over pink and purple, as well; the boy's erection quickly waned, causing him even more pain as the surface area of the organ decreased and trickles of red ran down between his pale ivory thighs.
Even had always been a scientist. From the moment he could think in broad concepts, he'd had an analytical mind. There had never been much thought devoted to an almighty deity; it simply hadn't been his interest. And when they'd all had their hearts torn from them, he denied himself the possibility altogether. Looking down at that perfectly agonized body, however... he wondered. And he understood. It had taken him that long, but he understood. Xemnas wanted to take the place of God.
Depressing the plunger at last, IV pulled the needle from the bruised flesh and waited for the shouts and struggles to die down. Excellent. He didn't have much time to prepare for the next phase.
It was a bit harder to get into the thoughtless, base rhythm of sex when one was all too aware of how the body worked. Some things became... far less sexual. It wasn't that Even was a virgin when he'd had his heart stolen, of course--he was simply mildly disgusted by too much contact.
Vexen, however... despite never admitting to such, was desperate for it. All was numb and dark and cold--certainly there was something left in him. This game of power and control, of bending his beloved scientific instruments to his libido's will would surely cause some reaction in him... and any reaction in his subject was merely a pleasant additional benefit. First injection administered with ease into the unconscious body, IV went about mixing something... special.
Zexion shifted, though barely. He made a sound as if he were dreaming, low and quiet and just a touch inappropriate. Another shift, a touch of awareness. Fluttering eyes, but unseeing... Only when the second needle sunk into his arm did he truly start to realize what was happening. As the stimulant roamed his bloodstream, the thoughtless sheen over his eyes was blinked a bit clearer. "V-... Vex-en..?"
Another syringe full of fluid was emptied into a vein, pulled free in a smoothy practice maneuver. The response was just as cool. "Yes, Schemer?"
He tried to sit up. On the second attempt, he realized again there was something preventing him--wrists and ankles still secured to the hard metal surface. "Don't-- Vexen, what are... what's..?"
"Ssshh." The Academic almost sounded sincere with his false comfort. "There's nothing left to matter."
No. Zexion had thought perhaps he'd been able to feel pinpricks of panic before. That was nothing compared to that moment; he was naked. As was Vexen. And there was some... some movement to the air that he didn't think he should have been feeling... as though his flesh had come alive in ways it never had before...
"My hyper-sensitizing agent." The scientist confirmed unspoken thoughts, drawn to speak due to the goosebumps prickling on the younger Nobody's skin. He'd been certain to keep the room warmer than usual for just such an occasion, making it easier for the blood to flow and the reactions to be seen... but, the drug's effectiveness actually confirmed, he allowed the temperature to drop down to a more comfortable level for himself.
Zexion shivered violently. He opened his mouth to demand--or perhaps even, if he had to, to plead--but nothing spilled from his lips but a clipped, startled sound. A scalpel flashed in the light, held patiently and firmly in Vexen's hand.
IV didn't allow himself to think on things like insanity. It was simply too unimportant to allow to so much as cross his mind. The words were illogical... but somehow the situation seemed to follow a new sort of logic, and he couldn't see a reason to go against it. "Ienzo's skin was always the most beautiful I'd ever seen..." The sharp instrument descended.
Zexion cried out at the cold-hot-wet splitting of skin beneath the scalpel, one long, curved cut made over the left side of his chest. It wasn't deep, he could tell it wasn't meant to kill--but the blood pouring down was not reassuring. A second slice was made next to the first, curving the other direction, before the tool was pulled away completely. The cuts burned--seared in such a way that he couldn't help but wonder if Vexen had ever bothered to clean the blade since whatever it was he'd last gutted.
It was oddly--"odd" in far too many ways to comprehend regardless of how few or how many drugs had been pumped into his bloodstream--when the Academic leaned forward to lap along the lines of the open wound that Zexion realized what had been carved into him. A heart. He reacted with a gurgle of mostly swallowed blood and bile, halfway between a scream and a laugh. He turned his head and he coughed, choked, gagged so he could breathe--
A cool, moist cloth moved over his lips. The texture of the fabric sparked new pathways in his brain, things perhaps humans were not capable of; a new universe of sensation rushed him as his face was cleaned of fluids, helpless to a simple touch. He gasped and kept his eyes closed, horrifying possibilities of the next torture flashing across his vision. He could feel, individually, every drop of blood flooding over his chest and abdomen, feel his own body heat contrast to the cold outside in ways he didn't even want to explain, the smooth metal of the table below him utterly foreign in the way he was experiencing it anew...
Vexen watched, savoring every twist and jerk as he tossed the cloth to the floor and proceeded to unstrap one ankle. Then the other. Zexion didn't even move, too uncertain--and perhaps even something akin to terrified--to bring unintentional wrath, either from his torturer or from his own body.
And then VI could not remain silent. He began to struggle again when his legs were pulled apart, more effort added when they were draped over shoulders. Experience or no, he understood the implications all too well. "Vexen!" he pleaded. His body so hyper-sensitized... even as a Nobody, he wouldn't live through the pain... "Even!!!" he tried desperately, his last possible defense.
"Do have a little faith in me, VI." The Academic smirked, pressing the head of his length just against the boy's opening, going no further. "You've already been prepared."
But Zexion wasn't of a mind to understand those assurances. The instant skin to skin contact was achieved, he gasped as though he'd been deprived of oxygen for millennia--and maybe he had been. Flares, fiery prickles of cold-hot-pleasure-pain raced straight through him from toes to fingertips. He was utterly blinded by the sensations, unaware of his thrashing against the bonds that remained holding him.
Vexen allowed himself a smug grin that perhaps even VIII would not have been able to match. The time for supposed gentleness was long since over, and the Nobody beneath him would not notice anyway; with a savage grunt-turned-moan, the older scientist seated himself in one violent motion. The deliciously tight, slick heat felt so utterly foreign, like a new discovery altogether. Abandoning himself to anything and everything that might perhaps grant him with its possession, he allowed his hips to move in quick, shuddering jerks.
Zexion was gone, even to himself. He was utterly helpless in a flood of pleasure that surrounded and caressed all things, even pain. It felt endless and complete--the sensation all-encompassing and much stronger than it had ever been in life or non-existence. Coherency, consciousness, understanding--all gone. Bid farewell and tossed aside in favor of this glorious thing drowning him, devouring every last bit of thought and strength and memory.
The Academic moved faster with the ever-louder mewls, the half-formed curses sputtered with a loose tongue. The taste of blood was still in his mouth, the wound still leaking. Though the boy's cock was still bruised and dripping a tiny trail of blood, it stood errect--and so he grasped it in his final moment, thrusting with speed and violence that he'd never seen let alone experienced before.
Zexion witnessed the end from a distance. It hurt, it burned, it was almost too much--his head was clearing just enough to wonder if an hour-long orgasm would render him unable to cum ever again. So close to funny. When the warm darkness of unconsciousness washed over him again, he welcomed it.
Vexen had cleaned himself meticulously. Dusks had taken care of the lab, and even the unconscious body. He'd instructed them to bathe VI and leave him in his bed with some potions, ethers, and a good book.
Pulling his coat back over himself, he refused to contemplate how ridiculous it was to feel "incomplete" without it on. Regardless of what clothing he wore underneath, it was never enough. There was a chill that simply would not go away... and did not belong to him.
The experiment had been a success only in the sense that it had taught him something. One thing. All he'd truly been able to feel was his destiny drawing nearer.