Next fanfiction. It's angst and romance and drama. Lots of Yaoi! You've been warned. Lots of Sora abuse too, unfortunately.
Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts or any of the characters sadly. Just my own storyline.
Pairings: Soraxlots of people. Geez, that sounds bad.
I unbuttoned his shirt with practiced, nimble fingers. His breath was hot over my lips, intoxicating, drawing me in to an aybss I couldn't escape. I didn't want to. His touch sent my body spiraling in ecstacy. I had loved him. Once before. So why did I still do this? I still craved his soft lips, his pale hands massaging my skin. He always handled me with care. He was never violent or rough.
Our bodies were pressed together, no room for either of us to snake a hand between us. He drew his strong, muscular arms around my small waist and hoisted me in the air. I groaned loudly as his lips met my bare skin, nipping, licking the flesh. His tongue flicked across my neck, finding my speeding pulse. He bit down hard, rewarded with a well earned gasp. He knew exactly where to touch me, to kiss me, to send a shiver of pleasure down my spine.
I wrapped my legs around his waist tightly as he worked down my neck across my bare chest. I lazily looped my arms around his neck, mindlessly stroking his silkly silver hair as he continued his advancements to my tan chest. I wasn't really ripped. I had abs. I was mostly just skinny. Skinny but with abs.
"Nn...Riku!" I moan as his teeth graze my small, brown nipple. I can feel his soft lips smirk against my heated skin. He's such an asshole. He toys with me because he knows just what to do to send me over the edge. He cranes his head to lick a line up my toned chest back up to my neck and to my ear.
"Don't let go," he breathes, nearly panting already. His breath tingles in my ear, sending chills across my arms.
I strenghten my hold around the nape of his neck while he fumbles furiously with me belt loop. He pulls the studded belt off before planting hard kisses into the contours of my abs. His tongue is as skilled as my fingers are. We've been here many times before. Too many times to count. It's passionate, mindblowing, and then it's all over.
I lose my concentration as he lowers me down. His striking aquamarine eyes bore into my cerulean blue orbs for just a moment before our lips crush bruisingly together, tongues flailing wildly. I moan into the kiss, allowing his tongue to slip in, brushing up against my own tongue.
Our lips are perfect together. He tugs at my lower lip, revealing my teeth. I moan loudly as he hitches me up again, my clothed erection pressing against his chest. His hands rake down my back and suddenly, he's so fast it shouldn't surprise me, but it does, he removes my black jeans. Well, sort of. He kind of just pulls them down far enough so that he has access. He doesn't bother removing them completely.
That bothers me. It's because he knows this is short-lived. That we're basically just fucking around with each other. Which we are. Or at least, I am. I hate myself for it. He still loves me, and well, I don't know anymore. We had a humble beginning. High school changed all of that. We're not together. But whenever we're around each other, we act like it.
I wasn't bored of him. We just fought. Constantly. Like a damn married couple. Every little thing drove the other one insane. So we cut it off. Actually, I did. He still hates me for it.
He doesn't show it, but I know he does. How could he? I've put him through hell, literally. Before we had even offically broken up, I was long gone.
He pulls my body away from his for another moment to eye me closely. "No boxers?"
I roll my eyes. "Shut up."
That's mostly how our conversations go. One word, two sentences maybe. Mostly it's just sex. I still sleep in his bed, nearly every night when I'm not with someone else. I still live with him. I'm just not with him.
I sound horrible. Like I'm a damn whore. Maybe I am. I'm just looking for love in all of the wrong places. That's what Riku says. He gives me way too much credit, but I don't call him out on it. If he's stupid enough to deal with my shit, then I won't complain.
It doesn't matter though. Something always drives me back to him, like he's some magnetic pole and I'm attracted to him.
He doesn't even bother preparing me. I don't really need it. Now how bad do I sound? Well, at least I don't need it that much when I'm with him. Okay, so it still sounds bad.
He looks me in the eye one last time before driving his length all the way into me. I cry out, fisting his hair, head thrown back in lust. He kisses my chest softly, waiting for my muscles to relax before continuing.
"Stop fucking with me," I growl. Sometimes it annoys me how he won't just cut to the chase. His concern always drives me crazy. By now, you would think that he wouldn't care. But he does and that's what pisses me off the most. I stopped caring about him a long time ago, at least I stopped showing it.
He doesn't look surprised by my outburst. But he doesn't listen. He looks down at my erection. It's painfully swollen. I guess that's what happens when you rush into things. He removed an arm from my back and slid his thumb across the slit of my cock.
I groan loudly, my hips bucking instinctively. His grip is too strong against my hips though, so he just pushes them down. "I don't know if I should take care of this or not for you," he says, eyeing me. He's smirking. God. He's up to something. "I should just let you keep your hard-on before you go off, fucking Strife."
"It's Cloud," I growl, glaring at him.
Cloud is my thing right now, I guess. We've been together for a few weeks. How did we meet? The club. Our relationship is sex. That's what all of my relationships are about. We don't really talk or anything. We kiss and touch and that's what it's made up of.
"It makes no difference to me. All the same, at least he would know what kind of shit you're pulling."
He pulls out and slams back into me, making me wince. Okay, this is going to be angry sex.
"You're an asshole. I hope you know that," I retort angrily.
He smirks again, grabbing my erection and pumping it once. Fuck. He's toying with me again. He's killing me over here. Heat is pooling in my groin. I just want him to take it, relieve me from the pressure.
"Is that why you come back here every day, shit-fucked and crying because they hurt you again?"
I freeze. His words hit home. I feel all of my muscles tense and the blood drain from my face and suddenly, I hate him. I think we're both bipolar, because one moment we're cool and sweet, and the next we're at each other's throats like damn wolves.
Or maybe it's because we know exactly what to say to ruin each other's days. But his words...they sting. They hurt more than he knows. Or maybe he does know and that's why he says them. Shit. I hate the way he gets to me.
Because they hurt me again. I'm too vulnerable and gullible for my own good. They say the most beautiful things to me, but their actions never match their words.
Especially recently. They've learned how to get me going, how to seduce me, so to speak. They know what I'm looking for and they take advantage of it. And the worst thing is, he knows it.
He knows what they do, and yet he still just sits there and lets me do this to myself. I hate him for it. Absolutely can't stand his guts for it. He was supposed to love me, wasn't he? But I guess this is the fucked up life I lead. Everything I do is the same. I go around and around in the same God forsaken circle. And I can't get out.
I turn into a robot with no feelings. Or at least I try to. I can feel the tears before they even come. His words...they destroy me. They hook me right in the heart and rip it apart like it's nothing. Like I'm nothing.
I guess I deserve it.
He notices that I stop kissing him and that my hands untangle themselves from his silverly locks.
He pulls away, his icy eyes glaring suddenly.
"What the fuck! Why are you crying?"
I shake my head, angry with myself that I wear my emotions on my sleeve. I can't hide them. With him. He brings out the worst of me. The tears, the self-loathing. I stopped loving myself a long time ago. Coincidently when we broke up.
He brings a hand to my face but I slap it away.
"I'm leaving," I mutter, hands on his muscled shoulders. He already knew what I'm doing. He pulls out of me, ignoring the sexual tension that is hanging in the air. I want to go back and let him screw me senseless, but I'm more than mad at him. I'm furious. Crushed. Annoyed. Too many things at once.
I quickly pull my jeans back up to my hips, stuffing my erection back into my pants, cursing infuriatedly.
"Sora," he groans in exasperation, rubbing his temples with his fingers. Don't talk to me. I fucking hate you right now.
He puts his own hard erection back into his pants, walking over to me. He places his hand on my shoulder, comfortingly. "Sora." I hate my name. I hate how he says it. He doesn't say it like he's mad. More like he's disappointed that I do this.
I shake my head again. "Leave me the fuck alone."
"Fine," he shrugs his shoulders. "Go on then. Go fuck up your life some more. It's what you're good at." His tone is bitter. It makes me cringe. I hurt him too.
It's back and forth, neverending. We hurt each other so badly. Maybe that's why we can't be together. I watch him, curious to see how he reacts. It's alwayas different. Sometimes he pleads with mem apologizing until I can't get his stupid rant out of my head. Other times, he acts as if it doesn't bother him. And sometimes we start shouting at each other, yelling and fighting.
And I mean really fighting. With our fists. He never tries to really hurt me though. I know, cause I never get out of it with a mark. But I try my best to hurt him. Our fights are awful.
But they're not the worst. The worst is when he acts like he doesn't care. He just dismisses my existence. That hurts the most. Just like now.
Grumbling, he throws himself down on his soft brown couch, remote in hand. I turn as I gather my clothes into an old, blue duffel bag, glaring at him. He has his arm settled under his head and lazily flipping through channels.
I try to ignore his words, but I can't. I just can't. I can't stop the tears. I can't stop the way he makes me feel like the awful, undeserving piece of shit that I am.
I sniff loudly, trying desperately to catch his attention. I don't know why I do that. I crave his attention. And he ignores it. I shove more clothes into my bag forcibly. I don't even notice that I accidently grab a black sweatshirt of his. I zip the bag so suddenly that the zipper breaks.
Fuck. That's just my luck, isn't it.
I throw on my shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles, put on my shoes and toss my bag over my shoulder. I try my best to ignore him as I leave his home. I open the door, thinking miserably about our argument and it takes me a second too long to realize it's raining outside. Not just raining. It's fucking pouring.
Great. This is my life.
I slam the door shut, grappling through my bag to find a jacket of some sort. The only thing I find is his damned sweatshirt. Of course. My guilt isn't enough. In order to halfway decently keep myself dry, I have to wear his clothes and smell his scent.
I stuff it back into the bag, refusing to wear his sweatshirt and I walk out into the rain.
In less than five seconds, I'm completely drenched. It's not even pouring. It's coming down in heavy torrents, each drop enough to soak my shirt all the way through. And it's cold. It's not even winter yet. Hell, it's barely fall. It's almost August.
The rain doesn't let up. I walk a single block before the shivering starts to set in. This is stupid. I should lose my stupid ego and jsut go apologize to Riku. But I can't. It's not that I'm too proud. It's that I'm too ashamed.
I'm ashamed of the things I do. Who I am. But I can't stop.
My shoes are so waterlogged that every step I take, I can hear the water sloshing from inside them. My skin is decorated with goosebumps. I'm shivering so violently. I attempt to rub my arms, but I'm too cold to even do that, so I simply hug my arms around my chest.
At least now I can cry without anyone noticing. From ten feet away, you wouldn't even notice me standing there. That's how bad the rain is falling right now.
In a matter of minutes, there are foot-deep puddles along the sides of the road. I wouldn't have taken notice to it had I not been sprayed repeatedly with stupid cars that slam into the puddles.
It doesn't really make a difference. I'm already soaked. It's just annoying. It's obviously that they can't see me, but it makes me feel metaphorically invisible. Like I don't matter. Like I'm not important.
The tears don't stop and I don't look up to figure out where I'm walking. Everything is blurry and gray. I can't even see individual drops. Damn. I made a real stupid decision.
When I finally do look up, I have no idea where I am. I must have missed a turn or walked too far. Damnit Riku. This is all your fault. This would have never happened if...
If what...
If we hadn't met. If I hadn't loved you. If I hadn't met you. If.
All these ifs. This isn't your fault. This is my fault. Now I have no clue where I am. I look up to see if I can see a street sign, but I don't.
Shoot. I must be in the middle of nowhere. I turn down a rather dark road, walking past several old, crooked dumpsters that wreak of trash and rotten food before coming to a dead end. A freaking brick wall.
Yep. Just my luck.
I turn around to travel back the way I came when I hear voices. Loud, obnoxious, ranting. I gulp. I shouldn't be here.
I can't make out any outlines of people, so I hope there's a chance that I can simply slide right by them.
Stupid. Again. Is there no end to my stupidity?
I hit whoever it is hard and fall backwards onto the ground, sprawled. "Ow!"
"What the hell?" I hear one of them say.
"What's this?"
I scramble to my feet, my hands up in what I hope looks like a submissive gesture.
"Kid, what are you doing out here?"
Kid? Well...I'm sixteen. Damn. Sixteen and already more one night stands than birthdays that I've had.
I don't look sixteen. I look...twelve? Fourteen if I'm lucky. It's a good thing I don't screw around in public, cause if I did, whoever was with me would get arrested for child molestation or something.
"I...uhh...I just took a wrong turn," I stammer. Wow. I'm a hard-ass when I'm around Riku. Because he won't hurt me. But this doesn't look promising.
"I said, what are you doing out here?"
I can't see his face. I don't even know how many of them there are. I only hear quiet, humored murmers surrounding me. Suddenly, someone punches me hard in the jaw. I gasp, starting to fall backwards. Another one of the strangers takes a shot on me. I feel another crunching punch to my face.
I don't even remember what happened. I felt blood run down my nose and into my mouth. I stopped trying to fight it. Whenever someone started hurting me, I would just try to tune them out. Forget the pain.
This was a different kind of pain.
The others start joining in, slamming me into the ground, kicking and punching viciously at me. I shut my eyes tight. This was exactly how my day was going.
Please just stop. Somebody. Please take the pain away. I thought I had closed my eyes. I did. But not on my own accord. I passed out after a particular punch to the head.
I couldn't feel any rain. I wasn't...cold. I was warm. Actually, really warm. I tried to open my eyes, but they felt too heavy, like a lead weight was forcing them to stay shut. I force myself to open my eyes and now I wish I didn't.
The warm brown walls, the clean, white sheets that smelled like cinnamon. I turn over carefully on my side. The bedside is empty. Surprisingly.
I sit up, gasping as it causes pain to shoot up my back and chest. Fuck. What even happened?
I guess he heard me gasp, because not a second later, he walks in, clad in only black sweatpants. His pale, completely ripped chest is mocking me in the face.
"What happened?" My voice cracks badly. My head is throbbing. I feel like I'm swinging from a hundred feet rather than standing to my feet. I catch a small glimpse in the mirror and my jaw tightens.
Bruises cover my neck and face, decorating my cheek, jaw, and forehead with dark blues and blacks.
Riku crosses his arms solemnly, leaning against the doorway.
"Why didn't you just ask for a ride?"
Something is tightening in my chest. And it's not tears. I sneeze violently, barely missing his crystaline clear mirror. Damn. I'm sick. Now I know why my throat is constricting so badly everytime I speak.
I don't answer him. I'm too tired to fight, and I know that if I open my mouth to speak, it's going to come out as a curse or blow directed towards him. I can't help but be angry with him right now.
He was the one who had to start acting like an ass. That's why I decided to leave. And of course, he has to be the good guy who follows me because I foolishly decide to find my way to Leon's house in a drenching storm and then saves me from the stupid gang. If that's even what they were.
My wet clothes have been stripped off, and I notice that he kindly dressed me in his own sweatpants and longsleeve t-shirt.
I refuse to look at him while I remove his clothes and carelessly throw them on the bed. Usually, I would graciously fold his clothes, but my mind is still too jumbled.
I know he's watching me carefully as I grab a loose pair of blue jeans and t-shirt to put on. I wince as the shirt scuffs the back of my neck.
He starts forward, his eyes suddenly concerned, but then he changes his mind and returns to his position, leaning in the doorway, arms folded thoughtfully.
I feel the back of my neck and there's a square of gauze wrap taped to the back of my neck. Now I'm even more ashamed, and I know my cheeks are flushing.
He bandaged me up. I bite my lip, refusing the desperate urge to thank him and to check and see the damage that was done by the gang.
I sneeze again, groaning as I wipe my nose with my sleeve. I look as miserable as I feel.
Riku's clicking his tongue, just watching me, the creeper.
As I start forward, he moves out of the way, obviously avoiding another argument. But he still follows me as I walk down the stairs from his room to the front door.
As I'm reaching for the doorknob, preparing to leave again, I feel his hand pull my arm back gently.
"Let me take you there," he says, trying to hide the hurt in his voice.
I'm about to refuse when I sneeze again. I'm sick of him being the nice guy. It makes a lump in the back of my throat form. It makes me want to jump into his all-too welcoming arms and let him hold me and protect me.
I hate that I'm agreeing, letting him take my arm and lead me into the passenger's seat of the car, holding the door open for me, shutting it as I slide into the seat.
I hate even more that he's putting himself through this. Why is he offering to take me to my boyfriend's house?
"Those guys are dangerous," he says, breaking the silence as he pulls out onto the street. It's no longer raining, but there's a hazy fog that's simply hanging around the buildings, snaking across the streets. I hate how he seems to read my mind. I guess sixteen years of knowing each other makes me an open book to him.
"I don't want you out there on your own."
"Why do you care?" I snap bitterly, right before I sneeze again.
Going out there was a really bad idea.
I see his face fall from the corner of my eye and I suddenly feel terrible again. I know he cares and it's not fair to him. I stare out the window, guilt running my blood cold.
Why was it so hard for me to just buck up and apologize?
"I couldn't find your bag," he said, breaking the tense silence again.
Stupidly, I look around his car for my bag and realize he's telling me the truth. Not that he lies to me. No, that's my job.
"I think they took it," he mentions again.
I lean my throbbing head back against the leather seats of his car. I groan, running my hands across my face, slowly raking my fingers down my cheeks.
Great. Just great. Not that there was anything especially important there. Just my clothes.
I still can't believe he's driving me to Leon's. That's just...driving me insane.
Why is he so damn nice to me? I don't deserve it. And he knows it.
God, I hate that. I hate him.
He pulls to a gentle stop and we're already at Leon's apartment.
I know I should say thank you. Thanks for saving me, from caring for me, for dropping me off. But I can't. It's that ego again. No, that's not it.
It's the shame.
I bite my lip hard as I open the door to leave. It's too much. I can't not say thank you. He at least deserves that much.
I turn around to thank him then...
"Tha-" I sneeze again.
"Stay inside," is all he says, offering me a kind, underserved smile. Then he leans across my vacant seat and shuts the door.
He drives off, leaving me standing by myself in the slight drizzle.
Damn, it's starting to rain again. I crane my head to see the droplets falling, then stop when the action aggravates my neck. I sigh.
Standing here in the rain isn't making things any better. I wonder vaguely what time it is as I clamor up the staircase to the different floors.
I don't know how long I was out. It couldn't have been too long because it was still raining.
I reach Cloud's apartment. I reached out to knock then hesitate.
He was going to wonder where I've been. And more importantly, what happened to me.
I better hope he gets distracted when he sees the bruises on my face so he won't ask me where I've been. Geez, I'm pathetic. I bet he knows where I've been. It's not a secret that I get around.
He's probably doing the same, just fooling with me, just playing this sick, demented mind game.
Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I knock on the door.
It takes a few minutes, but he finally hears.
"Shit, Sora! What happened to you?"
He looks groggy like he's been asleep. His spiky golden blonde hair is tousled like he's been rolling around the bed. He has on a wrinkled, plain white t-shirt and dark blue jeans. His blue eyes widen with...concern?
He pulls me inside, his eyes never leaving the disfiguring bruises on my face. "Sora, what happened?" he demands in a deep voice.
He sits on a small futon in his living room, facing the television and he pulls me down to the couch. "I was trying to walk home and...it was raining...It was really stupid," I try to explain with as little details as possible. "I ran into a gang...or something. It's okay."
He nods thoughtfully, but he just doesn't know how to comfort me like Riku does. Riku would have had an ice pack and a bowl of chicken noodle soup already prepared for me had I chosen to stay. I'm sort of regretting that now.
Riku's house is clean, roomy. Leon's is messy. Dirty dishes in the sink, clothes piled on the floor in the living room. It smells musty.
I sneeze again, all over him.
"And I'm sick," I finish. Not like he didn't already come to that conclusion.
"You wanna rest?"
No. "Yeah, sure." I fake a yawn.
It's all wrong. I don't want to sleep. Riku would have known that. I'm hungry, my head and neck is throbbing. I want ice. I want someone to rub my back and shoulders and tell me that everything is going to be okay.
I want...
God.
I want Riku.
All Cloud ever wants to do is sleep, go to the club, and have sex. He pulls me ontop of him, kissing me.
I don't really respond. I don't want this. He doesn't understand. But what can I say?
I made my bed, now I'm lying in it.
He puts his arms around me and in a matter of seconds, he's asleep.
I can't sleep. My body hurts too much. I sigh and let my head rest against his falling and rising chest, my eyes not really catching what's on the television screen.
Oh Riku.
I guess it's too late for an apology.
My first chapter in this series. What do you think? Please review, any thoughts, concerns, spelling errors, ideas, criticism, everything is appreciated!
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