Authors Note: This is my first fanfiction to write, so…^ ^;; I hope I did well. The characters are OOC, obviously. It will be mostly Roxas/Sora action. The top will, if all goes as planned, vary depending on various things (What? Don't expect me to tell you now. You have to read it. :D). I don't come up with plotlines or anything beforehand though: I just write and write so bear with me. Thank you for your time.
Disclaimer: As is obvious, I stake no claim in the Kingdom Hearts series.
Warning: M for all the expected stuffs: Yaoi, language, etc. If you have issues with it, simply don't read. If there are additional warnings for a chapter, I'll put 'em here. Other than that, this'll probably be a copy-paste situation.
Don't Play With My Feelings
The brunette lay on something soft and silky. He could hear his breath, hard and heavy, but could not see much in the strange half-light. He was comfortable and warm, and he ran his hand through his spiky hair, feeling his strangely fevered skin. He realized his warmth was strange, for he lay devoid of any shirt and, he realized after a moment, lacking in pants and underwear as well. His thinking was strangely muddled, and he tried for a moment to clarify his thoughts before giving up. He was so warm and comfortable, and he felt good.
He gasped as cold fingers ran lightly down his back, from the nape of his neck toward his ass, stopping far lower than he thought he should be comfortable with. But he didn't care, he even moaned a bit, pushing himself slightly off the bed into the touch. He heard a soft, exhilarated laugh, a sound that to his ears was lighter and prettier than the most sought-after orchestra. The hand obliged, running down his back again with a rougher touch, rather than feathery teasing. The other hand reached down and twisted his chin, and the other person pushed his mouth against the brunette's.
"I…I'm not gay," the brunette heard himself attempt to say, and he wondered why. But the other person, the other male judging by what he'd just said, used his protest as an opportunity to push his tongue into the brunette's mouth. He played his tongue around the inside of the brunette's mouth, and his hand moved from the no-longer-resisting chin slowly down the brunette's bare chest, grabbing one of the brunette's hard nipples and pinching.
"Mo…more," he heard himself moan into the kiss, yet immediately the parts of his mind that could still think beyond this treatment regretted it. He was asking for another man to do more. 'I'm not gay!' the brunette screamed in his mind, but he could not make himself say it again aloud. "If you weren't, you wouldn't like this so much," the voice chuckled, a voice that was definitely male, even if not very deep. The brunette tried to respond, tried to keep himself from moaning forlornly and learning back into a kiss that this time he initiated, but he failed. Their tongues were locked once more in a play that disproved any protest the brunette might hope to make.
The two remained like that for some time until the brunette surfaced for air, panting heavily. As they had been making out, the hand on his back had moved slowly downward again, and was now once more on his bare ass. This time, however, it crept toward his front before the brunette realized what was happening. All he knew was the hand teasing his nipple and his desperate desire to resume the kiss, which was soon realized. A kiss that he broke hastily, his face flushed, when he felt a finger rub down the length of his cock. "Nnn! N-not-!" he tried to protest, but his body betrayed him as the playful fingers kept moving and he deteriorated into a moan of need.
Kiss broken, the other man trailed his tongue down the brunette's neck and chest, down to his navel, and kept going. The brunette looked worriedly at the mass of spiked golden hair moving lower, but did not trust himself to speak as the blonde's finger swirled around the tip of his need and, despite his protests of not being gay, the brunette had hardened. He gasped as he felt the tip of the blonde's tongue gently prod his tip, then without warning he was taken into the blonde's mouth and down his throat, astounded he could be swallowed so completely. The brunette tried to resist his urges, but failed and began humping the blonde's mouth as he sucked.
"Fuck…"he moaned, and he could feel the blonde grin around him and speed up the blowjob. The brunette moaned and cried out, knowing he was close and knowing he should loathe this, and also knowing that, for some reason, he felt as if this was not enough. The blonde seemed to read his mind, and took the hand from the brunette's ass, causing the brunette to make a sad cry between gasps of pleasure and longing. The warmth of the blonde against him lifted slightly, and the hand toying with his nipple stopped and moved to the bed beside him to help prop the blonde up a bit. The brunette heard himself attempt to protest the sudden lack of hands touching him, but the blonde continued his blowjob and the brunette could only moan and thrust into the blonde's mouth. "I'm not gay," he mouth silently to himself as he heard himself moan and felt his body move. But he knew he thought this felt good, knew he was not protesting, and knew that this certainly was something gay.
"Ah! Ahh…" He groaned, thrusting harder into the blonde's mouth, closer and closer to coming. He tried to resist the urge to release: if he did so, he'd be admitting with his body, even more than the moans, how much his liked this. In his clouded thought process, he thought as long as he didn't admit it, he could still protest he was not gay, that he did not want it, that this was, in fact, rape. But his body wanted it desperately, and he knew that he wanted it too, even if he told himself he didn't. Suddenly, the blonde's mouth was no longer there either. "What the hell?" the brunette groaned. "Don't worry," the blonde responded in his silky tones. The brunette groaned again and collapsed face-down on the bed, no longer having the strength or will to push himself up: the blonde's voice was so sexy, it should be outlawed. A voice like that could turn anyone gay, he argued. And, of course, he added he still was not gay
Without warning, the cold hand returned to his ass, the fingers colder even than before and slick. The blonde leaned against him, and the brunette realized the blonde's shirt, which had remained stoically in place through his earlier treatment of the brunette, was now missing, the blondes bare chest against the brunette's back. The fingers prodded around his bare ass and he suddenly felt something slick slip into him. "What the hell?" he moaned again as he felt another finger slip into his opening. It was only when the fingers scissored and the brunette felt himself stretch out that he finally had some idea what was happening and he squirmed away from the touch.
"Why am I the girl?" he complained as one of the blonde's hands pressed down on his shoulder and held him down, preventing his half-hearted attempts to flee. Even to him, his voice sounded whiny and childlike, as if he were a small child given a green version of a gift, when he'd really wanted the red one: petty and infantile. He heard the blonde chuckle again and shuddered in lust at the sound of the laugh. Damn. His laugh really couldn't be legal. "Maybe next time," the blonde responded brightly, coaxingly, as he snuck another finger into the brunette while the brunette was pouting.
"There won't be a next time," the brunette sulked, yet he gasped as he felt the blonde's fingers begin to move, coating inside him. Suddenly, spots of his vision whited out and his brain went numb with pleasure. "More, damn you, more…" he heard himself moan, but the voice did not sound like his: it was rough and husky, but at the same time needy and pleading. The blonde complied, ramming the spot again and sending another rush of pleasure through the brunette. Again, he continued until the brunette was close to coming, and then stopped suddenly, pulling his fingers out.
Before the brunette could even protest the sudden lack, he felt something rubbing between his butt cheeks and suddenly realized that the blonde, too, was completely naked now, and the blonde's cock was hardened and coated in the lubricant as well. The brunette gasped, knowing what was about to happen, but did not struggle or protest. He wanted it, and wanted it badly. "Do it," he moaned lustily, "Fuck me now, or never."
The blonde obliged, and the brunette felt him at his entrance, than beginning to enter.
"Fuck," the brunette groaned as he sat partially up in bed. It had been a dream, and a very strange one. Which was not to say that he didn't know who the spiky-haired blonde in his dream had been, but rather that he knew he shouldn't be having sex dreams about another male. He groaned as he saw a tent under his blankets, yet refused to get up to go to the shower. Jacking off after a sex dream about another guy would be like admitting he was gay, 'Which I'm not, definitely,' he clarified to himself. Instead, he tried thinking about the most horrible and gruesome things he could imagine, and he felt himself gradually subside and go limp. He collapsed in relief and lay there a moment in peace. His alarm suddenly went off, blaring into his ear, and he started up again, sitting bolt upright.
The brunette groaned, eying his alarm clock before slamming its off button. Usually, he hit Sleep and let himself get another 15 minutes of sleep, but he was already completely awake, so it was useless. He dragged himself out of bed and dressed hurriedly, darting into the bathroom before the rest of his family could take it.
"You're up early," his mother commented when he sat at the table with a plate of toast and large globs of butter five minutes later. "Want some?" He nodded and she added another two eggs to the glass in which she was beating the eggs for scrambled eggs. "I have…a thing," he muttered, taking a large bite of toast. She knew a bad excuse when she heard it, but did not pursue it further, and they waited in comfortable silence a short while, the brunette keeping his mouth occupied with food as a precaution against her asking further, and his mother bustling about working on breakfast for herself and the brunette's father and sister. Usually, the brunette wasn't downstairs until just before the bus was due to be there, and he darted out the door grabbing the proffered pre-buttered piece of toast with a hasty "thanks" and "bye."
She set a glass of orange juice in front of him and a plate consisting of his portion of the scrambled eggs and a few pieces of fruit next to him, then sat down with her own food and a mug of hot coffee. Still, she did not ask about his "thing" he had to do, and the brunette heaved a sigh of relief. Having downed his food in what he considered record time, he thanked her and downed the orange juice in one large gulp before grabbing his coat and backpack and rushing out the door. He hesitated a moment, then opened the garage to pull out his bike, closing it again behind him. Despite that the morning was cold, and it had frosted the night before (he could see the frost holding the doors of the cars shut), he could not justify waiting for the bus when he'd so hastily fled the house. He shivered and set his backpack on the back of his bike, then pulled on his thick gloves and jacket, pulling his hood as far as he could to protect his ears from the cold. He groaned, eager for his looming birthday when he'd finally be able to change his Learner's Permit to a no-strings-attached (that weren't attached to everyone) drivers license. He looked longingly at the frosted over cars, and was grateful that there was no wind as he began to pedal for his life toward Radiant Garden Preparatory Academy, his private school.
Perhaps it was their similarities that drew him to him. They both had the same sort of unkempt hair, hair that refused to ever be calmly held back in a normal fashion, regardless of how long you spent attempting to coax it down with a brush. They both had brilliant piercing blue eyes, impossibly bright and shining eyes that always seemed to glimmer enticingly. Perhaps it was their differences: one a tanned brunette, the other a pale blonde.
They were both the centers of their groups, though the brunette's group seemed to consist of almost the entirety of the school and the blonde's group only held the often underrated "theater nerds." Yet within his group, the blonde was as much a shining ray of light as the brunette was toward most of the school. More so, because his "light" was directed at a few close friends and allies, while the brunette's was distributed through false smiles in hallways to people he'd never spoken to almost as much, if not more, to those the brunette would consider his few closest friends. Being popular and remaining so was not as effortless as it seemed.
The brunette's crystalline blue eyes followed the blonde hungrily as he stood with his friends and twin sister, the five of them talking happily, animatedly, and the blonde the most vibrant of them all. It was as if each of his movements was carefully studied, yet at the same time careless, natural, and free. It was as if his life were a performance of one of the plays the theater class put on three times a year (though the only people attending were the parents and friends of those in the play, and the friends of those in the play were almost always in the play as well). This blonde had been the one in his dream, the one who he'd let fuck him. His eyes moved from the messy golden locks down, remembering how the blonde had felt, naked against his own naked body, then shook the thought from his head. It was a dream, and an odd one he'd rather forget, as he attempted to convince himself.
As the blonde left, his twin sister before him and his three friends behind, all giggling and chatting, bantering with each other as they left, the brunette sighed imperceptivity. He knew that, if he should be interested in either of the twins, it ought to be the sister Namine. Her skin and hair were both slightly paler than her brother's, but her eyes were the same shimmering blue. She was quite pretty, if often overlooked in the category due to her lack of popularity and tendency to dress in simple clothing, and a general refusal of the school uniform, a pretty and very effeminate one in direct contrast to her clothing (it was strange how her small white slip of a dress was unappealing, and it was not just the brunette that thought this: it was almost as if she wanted to be ignored, and knew the exact things to do to trick everyone into it). She also had the "air of mystery" that supposedly often attracted: she smiled often, especially around her brother, yet she would more often be seen staring off into space. A sketchbook never left her side, and very occasionally you might feel a strange gaze on you and turn to see her watching you intently, drawing. The brunette had had this experience only yesterday, and it was quite unnerving. It felt like she drew more than just your appearance, that she drew you. It was, the brunette could testify, quite creepy, though he realized that somehow most did not even realize she was drawing them. But her twin was far more open, far happier, and just as pretty as she was.
"I am not gay," the brunette muttered to himself as he was reminded again of his dream, softly enough not to be heard. He balled his hands into fists and rammed them into his thighs, frustrated. "Sora!" A voice called, annoyed. "Hnn!" The brunette focused, startled. A girl with shoulder-length dark red hair had her face in his, and was waving her hand in front of his eyes. "Earth to Sora! You in there?" Her voice was in a singsong tone, mocking him lightly. "Jeez, Kairi, get off!" Sora said, pushing her away with a smile.
Kairi laughed. "Nice to have you back with us, Sora. Did you have a nice trip?" Kairi was one of those few Sora would actually believe cared about him: even though she often mocked him it was always in a lighthearted way, and mocking something he knew to be his stupidity. Riku, with his long silver hair hanging ignored in front of his eyes, stood behind her, smiling at Sora and echoing the mocking smile on Kairi's lips.
There was no need to ignore his friends in favor of the blonde. It wasn't even as if his interest made any sense. 'I'm not gay,' Sora repeated again in his thoughts. He had, after all, dated before. He'd even dated Kairi, and for a time thought he liked her quite a lot. They'd broken up on friendly terms: Kairi saying she could tell he thought of her more as a sister than a girlfriend, and that she liked Riku more anyway. She still hadn't told Riku, but Sora had not been too broken hearted, and the two remained friends, proving, he realized, that he truly did not feel as deeply about her what he'd thought he felt. Yet he'd dated a girl, been sure he liked a girl, and just because he'd had a strange dream about a male and did not have a girlfriend right now did not mean he was gay.
The bell rang and Sora, as well as the group surrounding him, groaned at the prospect of returning to class. Sora grabbed the slightly-melted bar of sea salt ice cream, the last thing on his tray, and bit into it, holding it in his mouth to keep his hands free as he slung his back pack onto his back and grabbed his tray to set it with the other trays to be cleaned. He quickly finished his ice cream, eating it in large bites rather than savoring it, and tossed the stick accurately into the trash. "C'mon! Let's go!" Sora smiled back at his friends, and at the rest of those who wanted to be, or thought themselves to be, his friends. He ran his hand through his unkempt brown spikes and began walking with Riku and Kairi toward his next class: it was Chemistry, and certainly far from Sora's favorite subject, but one of the few both Riku and Kairi were in along with him. And, as he remembered with a jolt, the blonde was as well.
"Roxas! Practice after school today, don't forget!" The blonde, Roxas, looked up at his friend as he walked away. "When do I ever forget?" Roxas called back to Hayner with a grin. He was the president of the Theater Club and was basically the Drama teacher, the real one simply sitting back lazily and letting him do all the work, and even when he was sick, sneezing and coughing, and missed school that day, he'd never once missed a rehearsal for a play. Even though there were still months until this play would be put on (to an audience of one or two dozen people, if things turned out as they often did), that did not mean that the group could slack off at memorizing their lines and practicing the personality, tone, and inflection of their character, as well as the way they interacted with each other. Roxas loved all parts of theater, yet probably the most simply nonsensically fun was at this stage, when they'd just recently decided the script and devoted portions of each rehearsal to improv actions between them in character. It had been Roxas' idea, originally, but they all enjoyed it, and found it was a great way to explore the minds of the characters they would, for a short time on stage, become.
The current play was a strange one that Roxas had found buried deep in the files called "Kingdom Hearts." It was before the actual auditions (which were always open, though no one outside the club's outcasts ever came), so they all read based on whoever could get to each part first each day to put their name on the white board next to their desired characters. Roxas was, without exception, first, and he always put his own name next to the lead role, Sora. The irony of the name parallels with the "Triad of Popularity" did not stop there: "Riku" and "Kairi" were also character names. In reality, Roxas thought the actual Sora was perfect for the role of "Sora," but he knew that to be an impossibility: it would imply the most popular kid in school deign to exist around the least popular group (saving the outcasts that failed to even fit into the theater club, though those went through short bouts of higher popularity than the theater club) for even a few minutes to audition, and the entire series of months before the play was produced. The concept was laughable.
Roxas sighed, wishing that just once he could make his vision of a play a reality, rather than making do with the schools dredges: even if you wanted to go into show business or theater as an adult, unless you couldn't possibly join any other group, you would not join Drama or the Theater Club (viewed as, and essentially being, the same entity). And, of course, he had to have Chemistry next. It was, of course, just his luck to have a course with the full Triad of Popularity, and it's only saving grace was that it was one of the three classes he shared with his twin. Roxas had never been one much for the "logical" pursuits of math and science, opting instead to devote himself fully to his artistic pursuit of theater and hoping to someday be on Broadway with his name in lights, as any aspiring stage actor would hope. Namine, on the other hand, treated theater as a mere hobby, and, despite her obsessive drawing, was far more of a logical thinker.
Her drawings, for instance, always gave the appearance of holding more than just the physical appearance of a person because, as she put it, "I watch them a bit, and I mean watch, not "look" as most people do. I note their actions, their expressions. I note what prompts joy and fear. I don't just put down the superficial appearance, though I do that as well. I draw their personality." She enjoyed understanding things as fully as she could, and knowing why they did what they did, while Roxas watched things to see how they did things, and incorporated the studied movements into his acting to make it more natural. This, of course, meant she was often well liked by the teachers of this sort of classes, raising her hand happily and asking clarification questions on subject matter eons ahead of where the class was. Roxas was glad he could get her help on his homework.
He pushed open the door, letting Namine in before him, and was relieved to see none of the Triad had yet entered. He, as always, wanted to sit as far to the back as he could, to not be noticed by the teacher, and Namine, as always, tried to pull him toward the front. It was a ritualized event, neither ever succeeding, always leading to their sitting in the seats in the exact center of the room: seats that they had sat in every day since the beginning of the year, and they were well into their second quarter.
The teacher was not there yet as they took their seats at their usual table. Namine began to pull out all of her supplies (pencil, eraser, a binder opened to the day before's notes), aligning them neatly with the side of her desk to leave room for her sketchbook. Her binder was pushed over to what would technically be Roxas' desk, but Roxas didn't care: his head was resting on his arms and his eyes were closed peacefully, though he was not asleep. He was tired and hadn't slept well last night, though for the life of him he could not remember why.
Roxas sighed as he heard the class gradually filter in, some almost as fast as Roxas and Namine, some coming in far later. As the bell rang, he heard the last group dart in hastily and take their seats at the same table where Roxas and Namine sat: no one would sit with them if they could possibly avoid it, and obviously the entire class was here today or these would not be the only open seats. The bell stopped ringing and the muttering ceased abruptly as the teacher entered. Roxas made himself lift his head from his arm and it was all he could do to keep his jaw from dropping. The ones forced to sit with the infamous "Theater Nerds" was the famous "Triad of Popularity." It made him want to laugh, and he was surprised they'd even stayed when they realized where they'd have to sit. Suffice to say his views on "popular kids" were not flattering.
Roxas knew all their names (and too many details about their personal lives): there was no one in the school that didn't. Sora turned to him and saw his expression, then grinned at him. Sora's grin was more of a half-nervous smile that seemed as it should be accompanied by awkward giggling. "Erm…" Sora whispered after a moment, "I'm Sora. We've been in the same class all year, but I dunno if we've ever talked?" His voice was questioning and regretful, and Roxas was almost too astounded by the fact that the most well known kid in school was speaking with him to answer. "I-I'm Roxas," he mustered after a moment, shaking Sora's offered hand.
Sora smiled widely, for all the world like learning Roxas' name was the best present in the world. The teacher coughed as he always did before he began his daily lecture, and Sora whipped hastily around to face the front. It must have been the lighting, or Roxas' eyes playing tricks on him, as he could have sworn Sora's cheeks were painted a slight pink. Why would he be embarrassed to talk to Roxas, of all people? Roxas realized after a moment that his notebook wasn't out yet, and he hastily pulled it and a mechanical pencil from his bag and began to frantically scrawl word for word what the teacher wrote on the board.