Title:
Drag
Coupling:
Vox x Albel, Cliff x Albel
Disclaimer:
Star Ocean is the property of Squeenix.
Summary:
Vox returns from the dead. Albel Nox is less than pleased with this
development, to say the least.
Rating:
M (or R) for violence, language, non-con, character death, and weird
shit.
Notes:
And the non-existent plot thickens! Sorry, I'm totally brain dead.
On the other hand, I did finish one of my big papers (16 pages, plus
2 pages of bibliography), but I have one more and a three-pager that
is probably going to cause me more grief than the 12-20 pager. Weird,
right?
But
enough of my whining. Thanks to the readers and reviewers for
sticking along with this! I hope you are enjoying it as much as I did
when I wrote it, and sadly enough I really did like this fic. It's
sorta (sorta??) weird, I have to admit, but I can't help but like
it nevertheless.
And
of course, many, many thanks to Sahara-darling!
four
Albel has spent the last four days trying to break the door down, and so he's more than a little enraged when it abruptly opens in his face. It makes his previous attempts look rather foolish, especially when it sends him sprawling, a bruise now adorning his face.
He's even more pissed when he discovers that the idiot opening the door is none other than the man whom he has sworn will be donating all of his vital organs to Crosell, and as he stands, he snaps peevishly, "What the hell do you want, Vox."
It's not a question because he knows that it's nothing more than another opportunity for Vox to humiliate him. Not that there hasn't been enough of that already, even though he's had minimal human interaction. But simply existing in this form is degrading, especially when it acts in ways that he doesn't quite understand. Yesterday he started bleeding, and if it wasn't for the fact that he had been trapped on the celestial ship with more than its fair share of females, he might have panicked. As it was, knowing what it is did not exactly prepare him for the cramps, and he's not sure if it's the moon that is making him so mood swingy or just the pain. Either way, he's in no mood to see Vox, and it's clearly written on his face.
Vox is very good at ignoring the obvious though, or maybe he's just deliberately being irritating. It doesn't take much brain activity for anyone to realize that right now Albel wants nothing more than to paint the castle walls red with Vox's blood. Yet instead of turning and walking away from his fearsome scowl, Vox just smiles indulgently and closes the door. It's followed quickly by the click of a lock. Heh, seems that the morons 'guarding' the room have finally gotten the message. They're not taking any chances now even though he's weaponless, and it certainly took long enough to pound that lesson into them. Apparently, the fools had decided that since he was missing his customary claw and katana, as well as being saddled with a body he was not quite used to, he must have been helpless too. That delusion had only lasted them a day, during which two of them ended up in the hospital wing. He might have gotten out too if it wasn't for the damned fact that there was a lot more of them than even he could fight through with weapons, and since then he's been locked in this accursed room with nothing to do but systematically destroy all the furniture. It's a petty thing to do, but it's worth the look on Vox's face when the man realizes that all his precious shit is now in shreds.
Albel grins, even though Vox recovers quickly from his shock. But that half-second of annoyance is more than enough to sustain him for now, although it's not as nice as seeing the man's head on the opposite side of the room than his neck. Still, it's good to show that whatever the bastard's planning, he's going to have trouble getting Albel to play along. If he thought this was going to be a simple matter of locking him in this room, Vox has another thing coming. Albel is not about to let whatever happen just happen; he's going to fight tooth and nail until Vox's corpse is permanently six feet under. But that's really the least of which the bastard's going to have to worry about; Albel's been in this room with nothing to do but think of elaborate plans of revenge for quite a while now, and he'll be more than happy to act out on any of the bloody fantasies that have been parading through his mind.
"You're being childish, Nox." Albel snorts in reply because that's certainly obvious. But childish is better than stupidity, and that's a curse Vox is never going to be able to escape from. It seems that Vox has read his mind because the man glares at him, "Do you really think that doing something like this is going to change anything?"
"And do you really think that just because you believe something, it's actually true?" he retorts. "Believing yourself a king doesn't make you one, and believing yourself a man certainly doesn't change the fact that you were born a eunuch. Perhaps you should just learn to accept your lot in life and move on. Maybe then you'll have less wrinkles on your face, but that might just be you getting as old as Woltar."
He's never had a sense of self-preservation. He never will, at this rate. He's always been borderline masochistic, pushing himself to levels that would cause any person with an ounce of common sense to turn back, but that's what allowed him to move past the tragedies of his life. Some people turned to melodramatic poetry, some people broke down, but Albel has found a coping mechanism that allows him to gain even while he suffers for the losses that his incompetence has caused. It continues to this day, even though it really doesn't have to. But maybe that's because he still hasn't managed to forgive himself, and probably never will.
"What do you think you'll gain from these insults? Do you think it'll protect you from the inevitable, that if you irritate me enough you'll manage to escape your fate?" Vox asks, sounding remarkably like Woltar when the man is lecturing Albel on not using the guards for target practice. But what else are the guards for? Still, he's surprised that Vox can say these things with a straight face, as if he himself is fate and capable of dictating the future. The arrogance. Albel has met the people who really did have control over this universe, and he has to say that he was not at all impressed by them. In fact, they were so ignorant and self-complacent that he had nearly gone mad in that 4-D world. But even compared to that, Vox is nothing, and he has no problem pointing this fact out to his face.
"You're a fool, Vox," he hisses, and even though there's no need, he decides to elaborate on that fact because Vox always has been a little slow on the uptake. "You're a fool for thinking that you've already won. You think that it'll be this easy, that everyone's going to just let you do what you want because you've won the first battle? That's the problem with you. That's always been the problem with you. You think just one win is enough, that one win means victory even though it's nothing more than the other party going back to lick their wounds to come back when you're complacent. But you'll regret that when you're bleeding to death and I'll be more than pleased to tell you 'I told you so'."
"Will you?" Vox replies, and it's at this point that Albel realizes that there's something wrong with this situation. Usually Vox would have resorted to petty violence by now, but the bastard's humoring him. There's something else going on in the background, something that he hasn't been able to figure out even though the majority of him doesn't really care because it has no bearing on the eventual gory end of Duke Vox.
"How the hell are you alive?" he demands sharply. "You should be dead." And the world would be such a better place for it.
"Maybe I am." With those dramatic words, Vox takes a step forward and Albel finds himself taking a step back even though it goes against his nature. It's like surrendering. It's not something he does, and the fact that he does makes him frown at his body's inexplicable reaction. "Maybe I'm nothing than a ghost come to finish the job that we started."
"Shouldn't a ghost have better things to do?" he replies. "And you're avoiding the question. Perhaps you're not as in control as you would like us all to think? Maybe you traded something in order to earn a second chance at life, or was I right and hell spit you back out because it just couldn't stand you any longer?" He wouldn't be that surprised if it was the latter, knowing that feeling all too well. One has to pity those poor demons who were stuck with Vox for the past year. It's a punishment that few should have to endure, although there are a few people that Albel can think of who would be deserving of such a fate.
"It's something that doesn't concern you." And now Albel knows that there really is something going on, and that thought makes him even more intent on figuring out what it could possibly be. But the determination goes out in a heartbeat when Vox reaches—much too close, much too close—over and takes hold of his hair which is now too thick to be put up in its customary ties. He knows; he's tried. Several times too because he was determined not to let it get in the way, and now look where it's got him. Vox smiles knowingly at his flinch and says, "My lady wife does not need to know these things."
Albel immediately pulls back, but there's only so far he can go because Vox hasn't let go of his hair and he'd rather not humiliate himself by testing his boundaries only to fail spectacularly. In order to cover for the fact that he's not as in control as he needs to be, he snaps, "I am not marrying a corpse. And you can't make me."
He sounds like a sulky, petulant child. No wonder Vox laughs at him. No wonder the entire world laughs at him.
"Don't be silly. The plans have already been put forth. We'll be married in four days."
"You wish," he snarls. Which is really just a cover-up for the fact that he feels like he's just been slapped in the face. He hasn't even adjusted to the fact that he's a woman and then to be confronted with something like this; sure, Vox mentioned it earlier but he had thought the man was just trying to get under his skin. Vox had never had any interest in marriage before his death, so why would that have changed? Besides the fact that no sane woman would ever marry him anyway. Well, now Vox has a not-so-sane and not-so-woman in his possession, but even then it seems ridiculous. It seems a little too far to go just to humiliate a rival, and even Vox has to have his limits. But the matter-of-fact way the bastard spoke of this… Albel's suddenly having doubts and he doesn't like that. Because then he's accepting that Vox really is planning on going through with this, and quite frankly he'd rather die, thank you so very much . "Find a dragon to fuck if you're that desperate. Or better yet, find a dragon to fuck you. I think you'll need it if you're really foolish enough to believe the shit spewing from your mouth."
"The sooner you accept this, the easier it'll be for you."
"Take your own advice, pig."
No sooner are the words out of his mouth that he is shoved to the ground. His snarl of anger is silenced by a rough kiss that is possessive and cold, and his body is pinned down so that it is difficult to move. It doesn't stop him from trying to shove Vox off but it's not enough, and Vox just laughs into his mouth at his pathetic attempts. The bastard doesn't even bother to pin down his arms; instead one hand rests on his chest and the other starts to reach lower until it's reached his leg and he feels the urge to vomit right then and there.
Before he can try to get some of the bile into Vox's mouth—it would serve him right too—the man breaks the kiss, looking down at him in cold triumph as that hand starts to move to his inner thigh, and even though he's injury free and there's nothing to impair his breathing, he can't do it anymore. Even his arms fall back as he stares at Vox, completely incapable of comprehending this situation. He's panicking, pure and simple, but then he'd have to confess to panicking and there's no way he can do that but what else is he doing right now?
"Perhaps this is why I came back," Vox whispers viciously as the hand that isn't touching his leg slips under his shirt and he tries desperately not to feel it there, biting his lip and doing his best to glare even though a tiny part of him just wants to beg for mercy and get Vox off. But it's a very tiny part, not worth listening to at all, and he manages to keep quiet. "You've always been quite pretty. Even with that perpetual scowl and your crippled arm, your arrogance was… tempting. I always wondered what it would be like to control someone who doesn't know how to submit to the inevitable. I always wondered what you would look like when you came to realize that there was finally something you couldn't just wriggle out of. You've been luckier than you know, Nox. When you should have died in the dragon's fire, your father bravely sacrificed himself to spare your pathetic life. When you should have rotted in that prison, those beings from another world interfered. So many close calls, and yet you're still arrogant enough to believe that you're in control? Perhaps it will be best if you let go of your pride, finally."
He hisses even as he flushes in what can only be called embarrassment, but no words manage to come out. He's not sure what's worse; this or Vox's triumph. Both are doing an excellent job in making him feel sick. Even better at making his brain stop working. Because this is what he has to look forward to, if Vox gets what he wants. This is what he will be getting, except even more of it and more degrading that what he is experiencing now, if he really is to be married. Vox will use him and it's already obvious that he won't be able to fight him off, won't be able to stop it from happening whenever Vox wants, and already the touch is starting to creep so close that he thinks he will go mad if it manages to reach its intended destination.
But he refuses to give into the panic. It's already gone far enough. He's not letting this go any further. He's only allowed one person to touch him like this before, and luckily that person is off on another galaxy, hopefully having forgotten his existence because if Cliff Fittir ever shows his ugly face on Elicoor again, he'll break the moron's neck.
Which is what he does right now, even though it isn't Cliff and it isn't enough. Vox deserves an uglier fate, with more blood and more stabbing, but anything to stop this right now. It's easier than it seems. He just reaches up, takes Vox's head, and doesn't even smile as he snaps the neck with a very audible crack of the bones breaking. It sounds wonderful. Doesn't even take as much strength as he thinks it would and suddenly it's over.
And Vox is dead.
It's all very anticlimactic, but again, he's not about to complain about it as he shoves Vox's corpse away from him. Maybe later, when he's capable of coherent thought again. But he can still feel the ghost of Vox's hand touching him, and just that is enough to make him nearly vomit all over again. It sorta takes the triumph of the moment away, but right now he's just glad that Vox is gone.
For a long time it's just the sound of his breathing as he tries to calm his nerves long enough to stand. Once he does it's a miracle he doesn't fall right back over, but he holds on because he is stubborn and because he is tired of looking stupid. Even if there's no one to witness it, he'd rather not have to go through it anyway. Plus he needs to make sure the job is done; no need to take chances. Vox came back once, and he needs to make sure it won't be happening again. Probably the best way to do that would be to take Vox's sword and methodically cut the body into pieces. Send a limb to every corner of Elicoor so there's no way it can ever put itself back together, even if it does come back to life. Or at least not in his lifetime; after he dies it's not his problem anymore, and if Vox comes back that's for the next generation to worry about.
Or better yet, he could burn the pieces. It's terribly ironic and the thought almost makes him grin tiredly. There's definitely going to be no return from that. He can be a hero that way, saving the world from the dreaded return of a psychopathic zombie. A cynical laugh tears itself from his throat. That will be the day. He's tired of playing hero, thank you very much. Helping save the universe once was enough. He just wants to go back to the simple days of stabbing stupid people.
"Honestly. You're such a child."
He doesn't even hear Vox come up behind him. Or Vox's corpse. Or something. Because suddenly the corpse's arms are wrapped around him and he really can't breathe now as he's spun around to stare at Vox's head which looks crooked in comparison to the position of the neck. Which is really just a result of the neck snapping, but usually that has other side effects. Like continued death. Which isn't happening. Vox is instead carrying on as if nothing had happened, and a twisted grin makes the face ugly. "Did you really think that would work?"
He doesn't even know how to reply to that. Not that he could even if he did have an answer, but it doesn't matter anyway. There is no reply, at least not one that won't sound completely stupid. Because yes, he did think that it would work. Why wouldn't it? Or why didn't it?
The question stays in his brain instead of coming out as it should, but he can't ask it. It's a symptom of not breathing. A symptom of being held by a corpse. A symptom of the horrid realization that he's trapped in a nightmare that he can't make any sense out of, and anyway it's hard to think when Vox is laughing at him and his bug-eyed shock and how the fuck is any of this happening?
"My apologies, Albel," Vox smiles sardonically, and he tries his best to die on the spot because it's better than having to face what is to come. "But you'll just going to have to try a little harder than that if you're going to get rid of me."
End Notes: (sarcasm) Oooooh, twist! Okay, who didn't see that coming? I'm not very good at the… dramatic revelations thing, methinks. I try, but… no, trying is about the best I can do. Ack.
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