This Won't Feel Right At All in the Morning
RikuxSora
Rated M for slightly noncon yaoi sex and language
Okay, so to those who're reading Dirty Vegas you're probably like "afgkhgomfgwhytheEFF are you writing another fic??" Well, truth be told, DV has been giving me some issues. I basically have the entire plot mapped out, but the words aren't just flowing. So I swear I'll jump back on that when creativity decides to grace me with its presence again.
This fic I've started, put down, started back up, put down, started back up, put down for awhile over and over. I don't think it's one of my best written and I honestly can't remember what brought this idea about since I started this back in June, but there are a few themes and elements I tried to express in the fic:
Warmth
Impurity, dishonesty, loudness, harshness, gaudiness and fakeness of gold
Heat
Cool down
Dizzying, fast-paced night passions
Past fears
Cold
Lust
Purity, truth, reality, silence of silver
Review and let me know if I did a half-decent job of expressing and painting the picture with these elements; it would help me out a ton! Thanks, baby dolls. Now...on with the fic!
PS This is in need of beta-ing so I apologize for misspelled words and grammar failures. I think and hope I ironed out any plot inconsistencies. Also, this does not contain a hardcore lemon, that's not what this fic was meant to be. You know what's going on, some things are a little explicit, but it's not full in your face smut. A light lemon we'll call it then? If that turns you off...sorry?
Disclaimer: Is there an M rating on any of the Kingdom Hearts games? No? Well then, no, I don't own it.
This Won't Feel Right At All in the Morning
It was supposed to be a simple delivery. I would be in and out. Just like any job. At the time, I had no idea how wrong I was.
I remember it was on a warm, summer Sunday. Twilight Town was aflame with the setting sun's molten light, turning the town to resemble a copper and gold El Dorado. It was nearing seven o' clock and the lazy light and hazy humidity that thickened the air had me feeling sleepy and lethargic as I wiped down the tables at my place of employment: Sunset Terrace Café and Bakery.
"Sora!" the gruff voice of my boss, Cid, called from the backroom, "C'mere, I gotta job fer you." With a slump of my shoulders, I abandoned my task of cleaning the tables and allowed myself a despairing sigh. So much for going home on time tonight….
"Couldn't you wait till Olette got in?" I whined as I shuffled into the kitchen, spotting the source of my despair—a gruff looking blonde man, late forties, early fifties perhaps—across the room, "My shift ends in two minutes."
"Think of it as overtime," the tall blonde man grumbled as he dug in the giant refrigerator. Leaning against a cluttered counter, I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms as I waited for Cid to find whatever it was he was looking for. I turned my head slightly to the right, and caught a glimpse of myself in the smooth, reflective surface of the stainless steel cabinets.
I definitely needed sleep. My cinnamon brown skin seemed to have paled in the last few days, losing its usual russet glow. Azure eyes that once sparkled with mirth and curiosity appeared subdued and drained, ringed with faint shadows; the subtle bruising of violent nightmares that hunted me through the night. Even my inexplicably geometric spiky hair had seemed to have lost some of its volume and drooped like tired palms in an island sun, the usually rich chocolate hue muted to flat brown.
"Do not let this melt or your ass is grass, got it?" Cid's voice snapped, reclaiming my attention. I blinked stupidly for a minute, letting my mind register the yellow-orange box, stamped with the Café emblem, in Cid's calloused hands that were lightly powdered with flour.
"Uh, yeah, sure..." I assured him lamely. I scratched the back of my head, a nervous compulsion I had developed years ago, and tried to look attentive as possible.
"Right, so you're gonna get a bit of exercise since we're a bit short on time," he began, all business, "The next train to Central Station leaves in about ten minutes, so you're going to have to book it over to Sunset Station. Now, if you're feeling lazy once you get there, see if you can hitch a ride on the tram over to the place and you know the deal from there."
This has to be hand-delivered to someone and you have to tell them to refrigerate it until they're ready to eat it. Are we clear? I don't want any complaints or demands for refunds. Have the master of the house sign the receipt, as always, and then you can come back, clock out and go home. We clear?"
"Crystal," I affirmed, stifling a yawn. After working here for two years, this was all rudimentary to me.
"Good kid, here's your contraband and the address" he said, handing me the box, a white square of paper pressed to it, Cid's messy scrawl upon it, "Now get outta here!" He gave me a companionable shove out the kitchen and I was on my way.
The train wasn't crowded at all since the afternoon rush hour had died with the passing of five o'clock, and there were only three other passengers besides myself: on the extreme end of the car, in the seats opposite me, a tired looking man with reddish hair sat reading a newspaper through heavy lidded eyes, shopping bags marked with the names of toy stores, children's fashion shops, and the local grocer's, while a young girl (his daughter, I assumed) with strawberry blonde ringlets spilling around her shoulders clutched his arm, trying to see what it was that had her father's interest.
Also opposite, but directly across and slightly to the right from me, was perched a voluptuous woman with short, elegantly curled blonde hair and full ruby lips that matched her barely-there dress. She was patting and fluffing her glossy curls, monitoring her efforts in a black compact. It was obvious that she was off to one of the many soirees frequently held by Twilight Town's high society, or perhaps on her way to a more illicit engagement.
Her heavily lined blue eyes slid to meet my curious gaze and she winked and smiled in a way that made me shiver. I promptly shifted my attention to the window across from me, the rushing scenery turning the window into a movie screen on fast forward. I heard her compact shut with a sharp snap and I wondered if she saw in the mirror what I had seen. Did she see the gorgeous, maybe loose, woman with cherry lips and midnight lashes that I had blushed at? Or did she find something darker behind her flawless façade? These questions only led back to myself and I began to wonder how I had looked to her. Had she seen a young man, tired after a day's work? His clothes slightly wrinkled and dusted with flour? Or did she see the plagued man that I was: twenty one years old, never young, tormented by the memories and nightmares of a summer long dead and buried in the darkest corner of my mind?
For a half second I thought I caught a glimpse of a terribly familiar figure beside me. A ghosting of red hair. A fleeting glint of green eyes.
Strong hands. Too strong.
And a dangerously alluring smirk with an equally dangerously alluring voice to match.
"Ssh…don't cry…it'll be alright…"
I shivered visibly before pulling the box closer to me, willing away the chills that began to tremor in the pit of my stomach.
No, she hadn't seen the tortured soul that I was. No one ever did.
By the time I arrived, the sun had finally set and was replaced by a silver medallion of a moon and an invisible webwork of constellations.
My destination, however, seemed to shamelessly defy the night.
The great mansion was its own realm of classily chaotic luminosity. Every window glowed golden radiance against the shadowed walls of the High Victorian styled edifice, interrupted only by the perpetual passing of the jovial bodies inside. Spilling out into the night, the soft echoes of windowed light barely spanned the ground of the front yard and gave way to a more subtle illumination of secret silver.
It was there that more of the affluent guests continued their carousal…and I waited, hidden and petrified.
They hovered and floated about like fireflies amongst the champagne and stars, whispering sweet nothings, fiery passions, and elegantly acidic truths, lies, and rumors. I lingered nervously beside a weeping willow tree, sparkling with tiny, silvery-gold lights.
In a rush of drunken laughter, the front door swung open violently and out spilled several unsteady bodies in a mess of lace, liquor, and lust. They dipped out of the golden light that poured from the open doorway and I took my chance to proceed: straight ahead. Arms in. Eyes down.
My feet shuffled the grass as my pace quickened as I neared the door, ignoring coos of "hey, baby," as I ducked past the outside crowd. Recklessly jovial music and voices infiltrated my ears as I reached the threshold.
I was met with a wall of hot, sweaty flesh trickling out the front door. Pressed and risqué in their movements, I swallowed, afraid to go any further as I backed down the stairs. But the longer I stood there, the more people there were that began to notice me. Inviting smiles and lusty eyes were thrown my way and I could feel my palms weeping my nerves.
I had to get out of here.
Keeping my head low and my stride swift, I clutched the box (my only proof that I had not completely transcended reality) tight and pushed my way through the people and the massive wooden door that stood open.
Stepping into the crowded foyer was like inhaling a drug.
Chandelier and sconce lights set the room afire with golden heat and a heightening of the senses. The extreme warmth mingling with the increased body temperatures of the never motionless guests caused my skin to glow with a light sweat and suffusion of cherry blood beneath my cheeks. The hot scent of sweat and alcohol made me lethargic and left me with a dangerously curious desire to undress. I knew that I had to quickly complete my task and leave posthaste. A poor boy had no place amongst these well-heeled demigods and their rash joie de vivre.
My feet seemed to drag as I maneuvered around moist skin and sticky clothes, struggling to see through the brightness dulled only by the cloud of smoke that drifted lazily through the rooms. But for all my clumsiness, everyone was more or less unaware of my presence.
Wrapped up tightly in their glittering world of ball gowns and cocktails, no one seemed to notice or care that I was obviously not dressed for the occasion. I, however, noticed all too much.
All around me were swanlike femininities curved in expensive gowns with plunging necklines and missing backs that fanned and fluttered about their perfect calves, giving way to dainty feet fettered in achingly high stilettos that seemed to kick up the fairy dust of their enchanted realm with each frivolous step.
The men were well dressed, looking hungry for the enticing female-figured dreams that flitted about them with coquettish smiles, high laughs, and sweet breaths. Everyone had a drink about them, and it seemed that with every sip and quaff, their behaviors became more risqué and another article of expensive cloth disappeared and another bodily boundary was breached. Beneath the heady molten light, this wanton cavorting caused me to sweat and sway.
Find the master of the house and get out. I tried to tell myself; tried to keep my mind straight. Don't talk to anyone but him and get out.
It was a good plan. A solid, simple plan. Little did I know it was to be a failed plan.
"Hm, did you miss the dress code on the invitation?" a velvety voice purred from behind me. It was all I could do not to jump out of my skin right there. As soon as I had stepped foot into this house of some surreal universe, it had been my goal not to be noticed by anyone. I had been doing well—with a few minor exceptions—up until this point.
With a shaky breath I turned to face the most beautiful man I had ever been privileged to lay my eyes upon.
He was taller than me, probably older, though not by much. He was dressed elegantly in black, a single gold pin of a cat fastened to his chest.
His skin was a sharp contrast to the fiery atmosphere of the world around him. Equatorial sands flushed with faint salmon kisses draped over his fine bones and framed by moonsnow hair that reflected the harsh light in the gentlest way of mercury blue possible.
But it was his eyes that made me want to collapse from the weight of his beauty… and hide from his impurity.
Sea glass buried in the sand, his eyes shone Aegean aquatic wonders, disguising snowfaced winter pearls.
And that's what scared me.
Beneath the exotic hue of his blue zircon eyes, a cold frost ghosted, cupped by the feline slant of his shapely sockets. Glacial ideals worked behind those eyes, and he stared back at me through frosted windows of sight. What he wanted is what he got. Given or taken. No questions asked.
And the way he stared.
Eyes roaming. Prying. Imagining. Undressing. Scheming.
I suddenly felt disgustingly exposed in my black Terrace Café uniform as his eyes seemed to delve into the folds and between the buttons as I stood there like a virgin Catholic school boy in a prison hall.
"U-um, no," I stuttered stupidly after regaining my thoughts, scratching at the sides of the box anxiously, "I'm not a guest, I have a delivery for a Mr. Riku—"
"Dellegratti?" He finished before I could continue. I bit my lip and nodded once in confirmation. He merely smiled and I felt myself shiver, despite the heat.
There was a feline air about him that unsettled me. His pleasantly catlike eyes and sly, crooked smile seemed to invite me to darker things; darker pleasures.
"Mm, yes," he hummed, "Master Dellegratti is expecting you, but I'm afraid he has been detained." He fixed me with a sharp gaze that pinned me to the floor, a metallic glint flashing briefly. "Shall I take you to him?" he asked, offering his hand.
Unsure of what else to do, I gave a timid nod and allowed myself to be taken by the hand. His skin was soft and warm. Too warm. Hot.
I could feel eyes on me as I was led through the crowds. Past laughing red faces and scarlet festooned golden windows, he guided me up the stairs and down corridors where detailed doors closed and locked as men led ladies or other men or both to indulge in dark fantasies. It hadn't occurred to me that the forbidden acts unfurling behind those closed doors also awaited me.
He led me to the first open door of the corridor—six doors down from the staircase—and opened it, bowing me in with a smirk. I remember shuffling into the dark room, clutching the cake box in confusion.
"Where's…" I began but was cut short by the silver-haired man's shutting and locking of the door, engulfing us in total darkness save for the moonlight filtering in through a large window.
"Allow me to introduce myself," he interrupted, stepping into the rectangular moonlight on the floor and resembling a rogue seraph. "I am Master Riku Dellagrotti and I believe you have something for me?"
After a moment of taking his words in, I nodded slowly and held out the box dumbly. Riku, however, made no move to retrieve it.
He chuckled and stepped forward, unbuttoning his dress shirt as he went. "Funny," he mused, "I have something for you too…" The shiny black shirt slid like water from his torso, revealing buttery skin that rippled over subtle muscles. My mouth opened and closed like a dying fish, utterly bewildered by his actions.
As he advanced on me like a predator, my brain snapped back into action and I instinctively began to back up, only to meet the feather bed I had first missed in the darkness. He quickly closed the distance between us.
With a careless gesture, Riku knocked the box from my hands and pressed his lips to mine. My head screamed static as it tried to process, grasping at any excuse, no matter how ridiculous, to get me out of this place.
"I have to catch the train to get home," I quickly protested against his eager lips.
Dragging his warm mouth across my cheek to my ear, I felt him more than I heard him mutter hotly, "You don't need to go home tonight."
And then it all happened with a passionate, yet deliberate swiftness; each moment moving like falling photographs seen through red glass. His arms were around me, his tongue, tasting me. My head spun dizzyingly with bloodrush-induced madness. Then we fell, caught by the fluffy warmth of his bed that was so unfamiliar to me.
He was touching me, I was under him.
"Sora, is it?" he murmured, a slim finger tapping my nametag before it slid below the oval plastic and teasingly traced my nipple through the flimsy fabric. I gave a shuddering breath as he did so, momentarily helpless as he trailed his fingers across my shirt to the buttons. He then lifted himself from me and straddled my waist. Slowly, he curled his fingers into the spaces between the buttons and tore with sudden force. I failed to restrain the gasp that escaped my lips, shocked by his abrupt aggression. The shiny black buttons scattered in the air, catching the moonlight and shining like stars…before falling like forgotten wishes.
Red rosebuds bloomed across my flesh as he descended upon me with lips, teeth, and tongue, abusing the flesh of my neck and chest. Greedy hands grappled at my hips, then pants, working with such swift expertise that it was apparent he knew exactly what he was doing. I was almost unsure of his actions until fingers curled into my waistband and yanked, stripping me bare in the moonlight and making me gasp. Shame getting the best of me, I tried to clothe myself again, but his ghostlike hands gripped my wrists hard into submission before he brought his lips between my thighs, breathing hotly and teasing with his tongue.
I whimpered as my body reacted against my mind, and I felt hot arousal shifting in my groin. He chuckled and brought his face back up to mine. Planting soft kisses along my lips, eyes, and jaw, he undressed himself, only needing one hand to handle the task as he propped himself up with the other. I tried to slide from beneath him, but the weight he put on me effectively checked my efforts.
Cool fingers ghosted over my trembling lips, entreating entrance. When I swiftly turned my head away, the demanding digits followed, probing past my dry lips with a firmness not to be denied. His fingers tasted of alcohol and salt, and with the way that they shifted in my mouth, his intentions became obvious. My fright only intensified at the thought of having this strange man inside of me, and I did the first thing that came to mind. Biting down hard on the offending fingers, the taste of blood penetrated my senses, heightening the sound of the growl in the nocturnal seraph's throat.
I dared a defiant gaze as I chanced a glance at his face. His irked eyes bore back into mine, easily breaking my valor, an iced fire blazing within; a vision of Hell freezing over. I felt his smirk as I turned away, eyes blurred with tears.
Unprepared, my tortured caterwaul ripped through my body as he forced one, two…three fingers inside me, slick with my spit and his blood. Rivulets of pain rinsed down my cheeks with no end in sight and I felt myself choke on turbulent sobs.
"Ssh, don't cry, pretty baby," he whispered, his voice seeming to fluctuate between his own and another that I had tried so hard to forget. I whimpered and turned to catch his eyes, whereupon first glance they seemed emerald rather than aquamarine and accentuated by two black—
"No!" I heard myself shout, agonizing memories and unwanted sensations overtaking me. I tried to struggle against his unyielding weight, but only failed as he gripped my member. My sight saw white in the darkness as his touch awakened a feeling that I had feared and loathed for so long. My muscles tensed and relaxed in such a delicious way that it sent crushingly soothing shivers throughout and I felt myself slowly succumbing to his ministrations.
"Ssh," he commanded as he steadied himself at my entrance, forcing my hips to steady and slowly beginning to stroke me, "You'll feel alright in the morning." And then…
He was in me, I was screaming.
And it's all blurred black and white now from pointless repression and the lingering memory of an unwanted pleasure coursing through my being and taking hold of me, causing me to scream out of mind-numbing pleasure and gut-wrenching pain and sweetsweetsweet agony. The thrusting-clawing-sweating-moaning-bleeding fucking of it all. Musky, sweat-slick flesh slipping against each other so deliciously as passions voice themselves in a violently hot midnight serenade.
And the heat. And the hate. The fears, tears, and the ohfuckrightthereohpleasedontstop—FUCK. And my mind is sobbing as memories flash behind my eyes, but my body is aching for more and moremoremore as he pushes harder, faster, deeper and I scream his name over and over like a mantra.
And it's God's name upon my lips now. Crying to the heavens, parading my sin. And it's God's name I speak. God, oh God. And it's Riku. Fuck, Riku, oh fuck. And it's both. Oh, God, Riku! God, oh God, Riku. Until there's only one left.
OhGodRikupleaseGodRikumoreohfuckRikuohGodRiku
Until Riku is a god. My god. My sex god.
And he's riding me harder and I'm pushing back, wanting, needing more, my body no longer my own. Filthy hands, a lust-crazed caricature of my own, jerking my throbbing sex in time with his Ah! Riku, harder! thrusts.
And it just feels so damn good.
And my skin is unbinding, my mind imploding as I-I'm g-going to—
And it's a screaming release. Hot, wet white noise trickling down my fingers.
And he's baying and laying claim inside of me.
And then...
...I was standing beside his bed, fully dressed with my ruined shirt hanging open. He was sitting up in bed, naked between the sheets, and smoking a cigarette. His discarded clothes lay rumpled on the floor, washed out in color by the early morning grey light that broke upon the windows. Without a word he held the crumpled receipt out to me, complete with his sprawling, looping signature. I reached for it with timid fingers, unsure and utterly ashamed. I felt tainted and used; trashy and common.
Before my fingers could even brush the paper, the older man let it slip from his pale fingers and gripped my wrist, jerking me to my knees.
He regarded my terrified eyes and trembling lip with an expressionless face as he let the receipt drift back to the bed and took another drag on his cigarette.
"I would like to see you again, Sora," Riku purred my name through the wispy smoke. And with that he released me and turned away, staring pensively out the window, cigarette between his lips. He spoke not another word as I snatched up the receipt and stumbled out of the room and down the hall, searching for the stairwell through tears.
The golden glow that had gilded the atmosphere the previous night seemed to have died with the dawn and was replaced with cold grey, stripping everything and everyone of their nocturnal façades, revealing the ugly veracity beneath.
Lovely ladies that once dazzled the room now lay like unfortunate waifs; lost to liquored dreams, still in their evening gowns and draped like throws over couches, men and each other. Their lips bled with smeared ruby lipstick and their smudged, dark eye make up made them fit to model hospital gowns. They were bruised angels with their crooked halos of pearls encircling their svelte necks, and pale arms dangling in inebriated suspension, slender hands cold with diamonds that sparkled feebly in the watery light.
Men with missing shirts, pants, and pride clutched empty bottles and empty souls, their minds dead to the world, their nightly sins having leeched their luminous luster.
As I half-blindly navigated my body to the foyer, I tried my best not to look at any of them. The cold ugliness of the place that had once hid under the warm frivolity clawed at my clothes and sullied body, chilling me as I stumbled to the front door, my gaze fixed on nothing but the exit.
And it had felt so damn good.
But the night had been chased away by the grey morning.
Ssh, you'll feel alright in the morning…
I threw up somewhere along the path leading out, my knees crumpling beneath my weight like fragile glass. The air surrounding the place seemed to dance with the ghosts of last night's party and dizzied my senses and drew hot blood to my face. I squeezed my eyes shut and bent further over, pressing my clammy forehead to the cool driveway, whimpering and rocking, until I could breathe easily again.
And when I opened my eyes I was sitting half-asleep on a chilly bench at Central Station, waiting for the five 'o clock train to anywhere but here.
Hmm, not my best, but perhaps you enjoyed it? Drop me a review and let me know! I'm thinking of expanding upon this story since there's a lot of background stuff pertaining to Sora's past with you-can-guess-who and also to Riku's past. If you'd like me to continue with this fic in a multi-chapter form, just let me know and I'll see what I can do. Be aware, though, that this'll be on the backburner what with other fics I'm juggling. Thanks, pretties!
Always,
Duckie