After saving Sora for what he swore would be the only time, four years ago, he made Ansem swear he would stop screwing with the other two. Riku loved his two friends, and everyone was savvy of that fact, especially Ansem, but the moment he got back home with them for the final time...well, in his own words it was 'knowing that he was loved, but didn't belong, like a dahlia in a strictly rose garden.' Everyone would hate to see him go, but they all knew his true place was in another garden -Ansem's garden. And, of course, intuition could tell you that when he was out late at on the island looking up at the stars that night, he was thinking of his adventures with Ansem. Which, one could argue, was why Ansem appeared before him to take him back, back to his true home, back to Ansem's 'garden,' as the Prince of Darkness.

Of course, it might be wrong to call him his prince after what Ansem had just seen, or he would think of them as incestuous the rest of his life. As many things that Ansem could live with- that was not one of those things.

It's not like Ansem was oblivious, no, not by any means. He'd always noticed the way that Riku had a certain sway to his hips if he knew the elder was watching, the way he was so quick to impress him, and the way that Riku would flush at the end of a sparring match in what had to be more than simple humiliation or pride. If Riku was pinned, that pink shade wouldn't be leaving for a good thirty minutes. It had been like that since the apprentice was fifteen and they'd only just met.

Yes, Ansem was surely anything but oblivious. But did his admiration go so deep? So deep to be seen as...love? Or perhaps just a lust.. he was instantly depressed by that thought and it occurred to him that maybe he was oblivious -oblivious to his own thoughts for the other. He supposed Riku had been making these for a while now, as there were some feathuring Riku as young as how he recognized him at fifteen, most of those still fully clothed. He looked at each canvas that wasn't put away, and he had to admit, they were beautiful, almost every last one featuring a silveret with tan skin and golden eyes with another, pale with aqua-marine eyes. The scene types varied, but all could be interpreted as featuring a romantic relationship. It was more than enough to give him the most ferocious of blushes the amber-eyed man had ever experienced, much like some of the more lewd acrylic and India-inked versions of the Riku's around him sported. As much as those intrigued the wielder of darkness, there was one in particular that didn't feature the boy that seemed so obsessed at all, one of Ansem looking at himself, perhaps in a mirror, pressing his hand to it. He realized immediately that there was something wrong with the picture, other than the fact that only one was crying, but he couldn't figure out what it was and he stared at it for a long while, minutes perhaps, and he realized with a sinking feeling exactly what the problem was...

It wasn't a picture of him looking at himself, and it featured the keyblade wielder after all. He put a hand over the figure on the left. The crying one. In the black cloak. The one that was Riku... Curious. Curious indeed... Riku had a rather...vivid imagination, in the best possible way.

It was then that he felt hands on his hips. It was obvious that it was Riku behind him, clutching the firm sides. Riku was almost tall enough to do that and rest his head on the taller man's shoulder now, but Riku would never actually reach the proper height to do so, probably around an inch and a half short of it, now being twenty-one and well past the age of growing. His hair was grown to the small of his back that year. He was going to donate it in three more months. "I never thought you'd come to the basement," he mused.

"Did you not want me to?"

"There was only a short period of time when I didn't want you to, and I even got past the embarrassment and wanted it again."

"What time was that?" He knew the answer, it was a pointless question.

"When I started getting to the sexual side of my artwork."

"Riku? Are these...your fantasies?"

"About half of them, yeah. But some are dreams or memories or inspirations."

"Wouldn't you call an inspiration a fantasy?" That was a better question.

"Not exactly. A fantasy is something you want to happen while an inspiration is something that comes to you, sometimes unwelcomed."

Ansem pondered that a moment. "Could you point out the difference?"

Riku pushed him deeper into the labyrinth of canvases, seeing all sorts, but still unable to tell the difference between them. He no longer knew his way out of the maze of art. "That is a fantasy," he pointed to one of Ansem bent over the younger, lapping at a nipple with Riku's mouth open, a look of surprise etched into the painted young fantasy lover. He pointed to the one across from it, a scene showing what looked like a black, shadowy, Heartless looking version of his friend Sora, somehow managing to display curiosity in yellow eyes. "That was a dream." He took a couple more steps into the abyss he created for himself. He stopped in front of one of a blind-folded Riku with the Oblivion key, poised as if to throw if at a Roxas who lie on the ground, seemingly unconscious. "A memory," he elaborated. and then they walked for along while, several paths to take in the canvas filled basement until they were in a corner. the boards here had cloths over them. "Pick your poison," he offered. Ansem pointed to the one on the inner left. "You may want to brace yourself, I don't remember which is which as I spend almost no time back here."

When the cover was removed, Riku grimaced and the best word for the look on Ansem's face was mortified. It was a gory piece featuring only Riku himself and what appeared to be his Soul Eater piercing his heart. Tendrils of darkness were peeling away from his waxen skin and his eyes looked completely dead. Riku was a fine artist, in every concept. He could capture anything he wanted, but Riku was also a tortured artist. His inspirations had to be placed outside himself to get away from them.

"Riku, I had no idea," Ansem murmured wrapping his arms around the youth.

"It means nothing to me," Riku shrugged. "I prefer to look at my fantasies," he jested. "But now, we put the cover over the painting, before it poisons my sanctuary."

Riku did just that. They moved through the maze, probably half of the sections all but forgetting the disturbing painting, placing it back into the deep recesses of their minds where it belonged.

Riku had shown him some of the finer points of his tangle of canvas later that night, a favorite of Riku's being from a time when he wore a blind-fold and enjoyed the kinky effect it gave to their painted sex-life, which had grown quite expansive over seven years. Ansem had surely seen Riku grow into a fine young man, but the more he saw, the more tantalized he felt by the Keyblade wielder. He started wondering why he never thought about him like that before, and decided he couldn't have lived with himself if he'd taken an interest anywhere near the same time the other had.

But when Riku asked: "Ansem, how would you feel about complying with my fantasies?"

He thought he just might...

A/N: Well, a little dark, but I enjoyed it.