Sora/Riku, maybe a bit of AkuRoku and other side pairings later on

Angsty romance

Rated M for language, sexual content, heavy drug use, and character death

Riku is the rich, spoiled playboy who's used to getting everything he wants. He neither cares for nor loves anything nor anyone except himself and his money. Sora is the coffee shop waiter by day, stripper by night, struggling to survive in a harsh world, with a light that struggles to shine through the darkness of his life. Can the two discover what love is in a dark underground world of sex, sin, and drugs or will they be consumed by it?

Hello all! I'm back and posting my first multi-chapter Kingdom Hearts fic. I'm not sure where this idea came from, but it was one that I just had to write for some reason. I'm also working on many other fics along with this one, but this is the one that got started quickest, so expect to see more from me hopefully in the near distant future! Anyway, I hope you like this. I'm pretty proud of this chapter, though it could probably be better. It's un-betaed, but I read it over and corrected it as much as I could. I'm sorry for any mistake that may have escaped my notice!

This is just the prologue, things are going to heat up a bit in Chapter One, so review if you would like me to continue!

Reviews: Welcome. I always love to hear what you all think! It's your love that keeps me going! So please leave something for me so I know you'd like me to continue. The more reviews I get, the faster I update!

Constructive Criticism: Welcome. I really hope to make a career out of writing, so anything that can help me improve is met with open arms.

Flames: Welcome. What's a party without a little fire? ;)

Enjoy, pretties!

-Duckie

Disclaimer: Nothing but the plot is mine.

Dirty Vegas

Prologue: Life is a Perception of Your Own Reality

Butter yellow rays of light shifted restlessly on the carpeted floor as they poured in through an open window, disrupted by fine linen curtains fluttering in the gentle morning breeze. The celestial rays cast their mellow luminescence onto the soft carpet of a fine hotel room that was of no diminutive size or price. The walls were a warm autumn beige, accented by the fine mahogany furniture that adorned the room, the chairs covered in a superior fabric, and the bed dressed with expensive looking 400 thread sheets. Despite their worth and quality, however, those smooth sheets were, at present, carelessly thrown and wrapped around two motionless bodies, tangled in the folds of fabric, sleeping soundly.

The first was a finely-built man of what looked to be about nineteen at the youngest, twenty-one at the oldest. The sheer sheets clung shamelessly to his shapely hips, revealing only his finely sculpted upper body. With each flawless dip, cut, and curve, he seemed to have been crafted from marble by the hands of the finest sculptors of Olympus. Fanning over his pale skin, his hair was of an ultra silky texture, like the robes of a most exalted emperor, only more precious. It shone in the morning light with an uncommon color that resembled ice water and snow tinted subtly with mercury. His skin was akin to the hue of equatorial sands with a light dusting of snowflower undertones, highlighted gorgeously by his natural rosy blush. His lips were pursed slightly as he slept, full, curved and feline, flourishing gently with a petal-soft pink carnation tint.

As the morning sun began to pour more fully into the room, creeping from the floor and up to the bed like an illicit lover, the rays illuminated this slumbering seraph's face in an ethereal glow, stirring him from his slumber. His catlike eyes fluttered open like butterfly wings to reveal a spectacular pair of blue-green eyes that possessed the blitheness of island summers, but also the cunning and prowess of city streets. Through lengthy and pleasantly curved lashes, he squinted drowsily up at the ceiling, shielding his eyes from the sun's intrusive light.

Too early, dammit…he thought groggily. He groaned and began to roll over, seeking to delve back into the fathoms of sleep. His progress was halted, however, by a warm blockade nestled beside him.

"The hell…?" He growled before sitting up irritably and glaring at the figure waking slowly beside him.

His bedmate was a blonde bombshell of a man, young and enticing. His heavy lids began to lift, dark eyes peering through long bangs. The black eyeliner that he had worn from the previous night was smeared carelessly around his eyes and his bare neck and shoulders were littered with glowing red lovebites and nail marks. Stretching and sighing, he turned to gaze up at his silver-haired companion, a sultry smile turning up his lips.

"Morning, Riku," he murmured in a tired voice, "Did you enjoy yourself?"

So that's what happened last night…the silver-haired man named Riku thought with a frown. If what little of his liquor-dulled memory served him correctly, he had gotten a good fuck last night. The blonde, whatever his name was, beside him sure as hell had known what he was doing. But Riku didn't expect any less of such an expensive whore. When Riku put as much money out as he did for such high class lays he expected nothing but the best.

The blonde boy reached out a hand and began to caress Riku's back, still staring up at him expectantly. Riku merely rolled his eyes and slid out of his touch and from the bed, picking up his discarded pair of underwear from the floor and pulling them on.

"That's Mr. Marcello to you, Blondie." Riku replied coolly as he finished buckling his pants and commenced putting on his wrinkled shirt from the night before. It smelled of vanilla cigars and hard liquor. He snatched up his cellular phone from the night stand and flipped it open, reading the text messages that he had received when he had been…occupied. As he read through and responded to each, he reached into his pant's pocket with his free hand and pulled out a thick wad of rolled up cash, held together by a blue rubberband. Not even sparing a glance he tossed it onto the bed.

"It's the agreed upon amount with a little something extra for that thing you did with your legs." He said shortly, sending out the last of his texts and closing his phone with a snap. He looked back over at the blonde who had settled himself back into the pillows and was now counting the money. Riku scoffed. As if he would ever cheat anyone out of money; he certainly had enough. But that wasn't really a surprise when you were the heir to the chain of Elysia Casinos, one of which was located not far over in the Third District. You could afford anything, you could have anything, you could do anything.

And Riku Marcello made damn sure that he did. The son of casino tycoon Sephiroth Marcello and supermodel Rikku Palisades, endless nights of partying, drinking and sex was the lifestyle that Riku had become accustomed to. He drank at the finest bars, partied at the hottest nightclubs, and hung out with the richest people. Most would call him spoiled, but he preferred to call it following his parents' example. Well…following their example to a certain extent.

Though he was the son of a married man and woman, Riku was completely, undeniably, and utterly gay. His parents constantly introduced him to the young daughters of other big businessmen, but to no avail. Riku found it so much more fun to waste away his nights with gorgeous boys, bought and paid for, rather than "settle down with the right girl" as his parents suggested. He was young and had no interest in love or marriage. Love held no mirth for him and it certainly did not keep the same company as lust did for him. Many called him cold; a machine, a robot. Riku figured that the only thing worth loving was what would love him back: his money and himself. He supposed he loved his parents, and they did too in their way, but in Riku's eyes, romantic love was superfluous.

He stuffed his feet into his shoes and quickly raked a hand through his after-sex slash bed hair. Digging into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes, he walked over to the door, not even turning to look at the blonde man whose name he still could not recall. He decided that it wasn't that important as he opened the door.

"Give my regards to Queenie, wouldja?" Riku called nonchalantly over his shoulder before stepping out and closing the door on another one of his used. He paused in front of the elevator that was just down the hall to pop a cigarette into his mouth and light it. He merely smirked at the no smoking sign nailed to the wall. Riku inhaled deeply as he pressed the down button and released the smoke in a smooth, gray stream. The elevator dinged to life and he stepped into the empty metal box, pressing the button for the lobby.

As he traveled downward, he straightened his clothes as best he could, using the smooth metal of the elevator doors as a mirror. Despite his efforts however, the state of his appearance left no question as to where he had been. When he reached the front desk, he paid for his room, returned the key, and was out the door, finishing off his cigarette as he stepped into the morning light.

Traverse Town's Second District was abuzz with the working class, pushing off to their jobs and making their livings. It was rather strange to Riku: how he had been born with money practically coming out of his pores and all these people around him now had to struggle everyday to earn their keep. Riku smirked. No, not strange. Amusing.

Entering the parking lot, Riku pulled out his keys and pressed the little remote that unlocked his car: a stunning silver Gillet Vertigo which was currently taking up two spaces. He frowned as he noticed how poor a parking job he had accomplished.

I must've been totally smashed last night… He soon dismissed this notion from his lack of the Hangover from Hell, and concluded that he had either been a) too lazy or b) too horny. Either way his parking sucked.

His phone vibrated in his pocket as he lifted the driver's side door, drawing his attention away from his forty-five degree angle parking. He pulled out a sleek, black phone and smiled when he read the name on the caller ID.

"Talk to me, Queenie," Riku said warmly when he answered the call.

"Riku, you bad boy," A female voice cooed from the earpiece, "You're breaking all of my boys' hearts! Poor Gabriel"—So that's what his name was…Riku thought—"just called to tell me that you didn't even say goodbye and Troy has been wondering when you're going to call upon him next." Riku smirked and rolled his eyes. He was used to Queenie's lighthearted admonishments.

"Well, who am I to give them false hopes?" Riku countered with a grin, "They know exactly what they're in for when they get with me."

"All fucking, and no loving?" Queenie said, a smirk in her voice. Riku smiled.

"Damn straight." Honestly, what else was a whore used for?

"Unlike yourself." Riku laughed openly at her comment.

"Yeah, well I guess I can't argue with that." He replied as he slipped gracefully into the driver's seat of his car, closing the door, putting in the key and starting it up. He opened his glove compartment and began to flip through the many CDs that were crammed inside.

"So, will you be needing my services tomorrow night?" Queenie asked curiously, "It is your birthday and all." Riku selected a CD and slipped it into the player, choosing a track and keeping the volume low.

"Nah, the boys are taking me somewhere," Riku informed her, checking his reflection in his rearview mirror, "To where, I don't know, but we're going somewhere."

"Oooh, surprises are always fun," Queenie giggled, "Well, I hope you enjoy it, and don't have too much fun." Riku could practically envision the wink that Queenie was giving him over the phone. He chuckled, rolling down the windows and revving the engine.

"I'll call you later, yeah?" Riku spoke into the phone, pulling on his seatbelt and clicking it securely.

"Ciao, darling," Riku grinned and snapped his phone shut. He liked Queenie. Not just because she was the mistress behind the prostitution ring Queen of Diamonds (where he sought most of his "business"), but also because she was the only woman besides his mother that he had patience for. Every other girl he met was superficial and super skanky. Shallow rich girls with fake tans and fake personalities; with their too small dresses, their too high heels, with their too small dogs in their too big bags. Queenie was the only girl in the world of glam and glitz with an actual thing called depth.

Tossing his phone carelessly into a cup holder and shifting the car into reverse, he pulled out of the hotel lot and eased out into the street, speeding towards the Third District turnoff. He cranked the volume back up and began to sing along.

She can't behave, and I'm just a slave

Don't worry; I'll be gone when the morning comes

The night sky seemed blind, a new moon in the air and the stars blotted out by the volts of glaringly neon lights that erupted from the buildings below. The streets were crowded with people intoxicated with alcohol and the nightlife alike. They laughed and swayed, indulging themselves in the fluorescent pleasures of the hours of darkness that the nocturnal Third District of Traverse Town offered: bright lights, loud music, and vice in the form of alcohol, gambling, and debauchery.

The clatter of change, the boop-booping jingles of slot machines, and the cries of lucky winners rang from the casinos while music from nightclubs, bars, and strip joints slipped through walls and mated with each other in the air to create a symphony of sin.

The thumping bass bleeding through the bricks of one particular club was like a heartbeat pulsating through a megaphone. Between a tropical island themed bar and a blacklight lit club blaring techno music was a fairly large building with bright glowing green lights proclaiming the word "Illusions" high above the door, the double l's substituted by the silhouettes of a finely figured man and woman.

Illusions was one of the first strip clubs to ever make its place in the Third District, otherwise known as the Vice District. It was extremely popular for its co-ed staff. The place attracted all types of men and women: straight men, and gay men, straight women, and lesbians, bisexuals and transsexuals. At Illusions there was something for everyone.

At present, a gorgeous, leggy raven-haired woman was entertaining the cheering masses inside on a shiny, silver pole, her nude body manipulated by the music that played. She was one of the many strippers that worked at the club, either out giving lap dances, working the pole, serving drinks in the crowd, or back in their dressing rooms waiting for their turn to take the stage.

In one particular dressing room a young boy of about nineteen, sat perched upon a stool before a brightly lit vanity. He was clad in a black leather vest that appeared airbrushed onto his body, and a pair of shorts that left little to the imagination. Covering his slender tan calves was a pair of knee-high black leather lace-up combat boots, adorned with silver zippers and buckles. He had a lithe form, slender, yet defined in the arms and legs, with a flat stomach as taut as dolphin backs. His hair was a dark shade of chestnut that blended well with his bronze skin. He looked disgruntled and irritated as he attempted to line his blue eyes with glittering amethyst colored eyeliner.

"Where the hell is he?" The brunette grumbled to himself as he struggled to correctly line his eyes with the sparkly violet. His hands were shaking something terrible and he was glossed over in a light sheen of sweat though his body was racked with recurring shivers. The tremors that were plaguing him made it exceedingly difficult for him to accomplish the task at hand and his patience was quickly growing short.

Throwing the eye pencil down in frustration, the teen stared balefully at his reflection in his overly illuminated mirror. His eyes that were normally the most gorgeous shade of bright azure were now dull and a dark cobalt. The subdued hue of his eyes only added to the gaunt and haunted look of his tanned cherub's face. Despite his make-up efforts, the dark circles beneath his eyes were evident and defined. His cheeks that were usually aglow with his smiles were devoid of any color and appeared hollow beneath his frown.

He knew he needed something. Anything. Something to get him through the night. Or was it the day? He hardly knew anymore. He heard a light knock on the door and a slight rise in the music volume as the door was opened.

"Sora, babe," a female voice called from the doorway, "You're on in thirty." Though simple and nowhere near loaded, those words struck Sora like a kick to the teeth. You're on in thirty…

Yeah…it was definitely night. Was it that hard to figure out that he didn't want to do this? To be here? To shed his skin on stage for people who couldn't see beneath the sexual exterior he presented and into the misery that manifested itself just below his carefully constructed surface? Would it even matter to them if they could? No, he concluded, it would not…and that's why he was on in thirty.

"O-okay, thanks, Lar…." He replied in a slightly defeated tone, not even bothering to turn around, opting to address the reflection of the scantily dressed blonde rather than the girl herself. He heaved a sigh that encompassed the woes of many when the door shut again. He picked up his eye pencil again, willing his hand to stop quaking. He once again attempted to trace the glimmering amethyst along the rim of his lid when his arm twitched spasmodically, effectively dragging a line of purple from his eye to the top of his cheek.

"Dammit." Sora growled as he hurled the pencil down again with a loud clatter and stuck his finger into his mouth, using the moisture to rub at the stray line. Instead of solving his dilemma, his endeavors made it worse. He had managed to do nothing but smudge the violet around his eye until it resembled a shimmering, pulsating bruise from a bad seventies disco movie. If he didn't look like the stereotypical cheap whore… The only thing missing were the cigarette burns. He sighed; he would have to request a mask tonight. He made to go seek one out when his phone buzzed noisily on the fake wood of the vanity. He pounced on it like a cat with a mouse and flipped it open without even so much as glancing at the caller ID.

"Zex?" Sora breathed desperately into the mouthpiece. He heard a familiar snicker from the other end.

"The one and only," the voice confirmed, "Outside the backdoor. Now." Before he could even utter another word, Sora had clicked off and was out the door and down the hall in record time. He nodded robotically to the familiar faces of his fellow employees that he passed in the narrow corridor, not really seeing or hearing them completely. They were the most important people to him. They were just like him, they suffered with him. They were his family.

But they didn't matter right now. Nothing did. The only thing that did matter was what Zexion had waiting for him outside.

The cool night air hit his overexposed body like an arctic freight train when he opened the door that led into the back alley and he instantly regretted not bringing something to cover up his nigh nudity. Sora glanced around the darkness of the alley through squinted eyes. "Zex?" he called out warily, one foot still in the door, prepared to retreat quickly if necessary. He knew exactly how dangerous the Third District alleys were at night, especially for such a skimpily clothed youth such as himself, and he wasn't willing to try his luck at self-defense.

"Vegas!" a voice responded with a snicker. Out of the shadows, just to the left of a dim doorlight from the building across the alleyway, stepped the tall and slender purple-haired man that Sora had just finished speaking with.

Zexion was devastatingly attractive with feline features and cunning eyes. His lean body was garbed in a figure-flattering black, leather hooded coat. On his hands were a pair of black leather gloves, and a pair of matching boots covered his feet.

He approached Sora with a warm smile. Sora grinned back and nodded in salute, stepping all the way out and letting the door fall shut.

"Finally! I thought you weren't gonna show," Sora said as they embraced in a brotherly hug. Zexion smirked as they pulled away from each other and he reached into the pocket of his long black coat.

"Would I ever let you down?" Zexion queried with a wink.

"That remains to be seen," Sora countered with a grin. Zexion chuckled and extracted a dime bag filled with a white powder. He held it before Sora who extended his hand eagerly, palm up. Zexion dropped it into Sora's waiting hand and crossed his arms.

"This should take you for a ride," he said in a businesslike tone, "It's pure—got it from a highly reliable source—and for a very reasonable price."

"H-how much is it?" Sora asked, chewing his lip anxiously, "I've only got forty bucks inside, and I can pay you back after I get off tonight so—"

"Sora," Zexion interrupted sternly, "You can barely afford to feed yourself let alone your addiction. When have I ever charged you?" Sora continued to overturn the bag of white in his hands shakily, his eyes alive with the need. He opened his mouth to answer, but couldn't form a proper sentence at the moment. He merely nodded, tucking his prize safely into the pocket of his vest.

"Now, if you want smack, then I'm gonna have to charge you only because the dude I get it off of demands a Queen's ransom for it…" Zexion explained, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a box of cigarettes and packing it before shaking one loose. Sora nodded again with a slight frown. Guess he would have to do without speedball for a while unless Zexion was feeling generous. He bit his lip, his fingers twitching; wanting to reach into his pocket that felt as if it was filled with lead. He grappled at something to say, trying to fight off the urge, to prove to himself that he could wait.

"S-so what're you doing with your night off?" Sora asked as Zexion lit up, guarding the flame with his hand, illuminating the sharp contours of his angular face and casting the hollows into dramatic shadows. Zexion snapped his lighter shut and took a long drag before answering in a cloud of smoke.

"Demyx and I are going to have a little fun," he said, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively and producing a tiny white pill from his pocket and holding it out before the brunette. Sora regarded it with a smirk.

"Heh, I can't even remember the last time I did X…" he commented, accepting a drag on Zexion's proffered cigarette. The silvery haired man slipped the pill back into his pocket and grinned.

"Cuz you prefer to trip acid instead when we go to raves." Zexion said with a grin. He sucked on his cigarette again before continuing. "We only use it sometimes for sex," he explained, "Makes it that much more fun." He winked and polished off his cancer stick, tossing it to the ground and grinding the dying embers into the ground beneath his boot. "Well…catch ya later, gorgeous!" He said giving the brunette a peck on the cheek and turning to walk down the alley.

"Wait!" Sora called after him, one hand on the doorknob, "You're coming in tomorrow night, yeah?" He tried to sound offhand, but there was a hint of desperation in the undertow of his voice. Zexion turned to look at him, a grin on his face, but sympathy and sadness in his eyes.

"Yeah, I'll be in," he assured the brunette, quietly. He then hesitated before speaking again. "And I'll bring something with me…" The perceptible relief that seeped into Sora's features slightly disconcerted Zexion; Sora's dependency was really beginning to worry him.

"Great, so I'll see you tomorrow," Sora chirped as he opened the door to the club and stepped in.

"Take care of yourself, Sora." Zexion advised before the door closed. Sora gave him the thumbs up sign before letting the door shut behind him. "…Please." Zexion murmured before heading back down the alley and into the shadows.

Once Sora was back in his room, he hastily locked the door, glancing up at the clock on the wall. He had about twenty-five minutes until he had to go out. He quickly sat himself down and knocked his old nemesis (the sparkling violet eyeliner) out of his way with a sweep of his hand and pulled out his stash. He then opened a drawer in his vanity and withdrew from it a small razor. With trembling fingers, he opened the bag and emptied its contents onto the surface of the vanity. Doing his best to control his quaking, Sora cut himself a rail from the powder, making it neat and straight.

Sora stared down at it for a moment, trying to command his erratic breathing into normalcy. When he was ready, he set down his razor and pressed his fingers to his right nostril, closing it completely. As he bent down, the thudding bass of the showroom music seeming to grow louder in his ears. Or was that his heartbeat? He neither knew nor cared. He brought his nose to the beginning of the white line and began to inhale, the tip of his nose skimming the vanity as he progressed to the end. When he came back up his eyes were watering and his nose was glowing red.

"Holy shit…" he murmured as he rubbed his nose vigorously. "Fuckin' hell…" He exhaled through his mouth heavily and gripped the edge of the vanity as he experienced the drip that began to collect at the back of his throat. He still hadn't gotten used to it.

But it all felt so very good. And it all felt so very right. And, in that moment, it felt as if it was all that he would ever need.

So how what did you think? Let me know! Review and such if you would like me to continue!

In the next chapter: Stripping, meetings, and angst!

Song(s) featured in this chapter:

Situations by Escape the Fate

Always,

Duckie