He has the image of Roxas drenched in blood floating around in the back of his head as they make their way to the shuttle. Axel has been clammed up, looking dark and brooding, but after his explosion the lava slowly begins to slip away and cool, until he is smiling broadly once again.
It's a kind defense, the idea of which is cemented in Sora's thoughts.
He resolves not to aggravate this particular issue again.
Not overtly, or at least not soon.
"You know," he offers. "I really miss being able to fence."
For once, it seems to be the right thing to say. It makes the redhead's smile widen. He gets a thoughtful look on his face and the relief Sora catches, peripherally from Demyx, is visceral and palpable together.
"We'll arrange something. You need to stay in shape if you expect anyone to fuck you."
It's a funny sort of hypocrisy though. Sora doesn't believe this playfulness to be an act. Especially not after the picture Demyx had painted of the time in the Junkyard. Though, Sora could be entirely wrong. Their profession is lying and selling things that cannot rightfully be sold, let alone possessed, but they convince people otherwise.
Defense, it is… it is adorable—in a very sick way—how everything is about defense to them. And the sex they have on the ship is definitely security. Demyx on his knees, playing a part that doesn't really quite fit. If he's lived in the Junkyard, he can't be that way, that simpering and weak, it isn't possible. If everyone could know how he'd been back then… they might find him even more beautiful.
He is ugly, really perfectly ugly, drooling around Sora's cock, taking Axel's up his ass like he could never ask for anything else. Demyx is emitting the same morose resignation that Sora has understood about Axel since the very first day. These are same things he sees hints of in Irvine's face, Reno's too.
It's something that Roxas doesn't allow himself to wallow in, and that fact makes the blond all the more tragic, that fact makes Sora care for his friend that much more.
He's got a quiet kind of hatred building in his abdomen, and it's all for Xemnas.
It's for the Castle.
It's for the Tribes once known as the Nobodies, the Oblivion, and the Sun, Moon, and Star.
He really doesn't want to let all that anger go, not here, not now, but it almost seems as if Demyx wants it, right down his throat. Except Sora is certain neither of them understand how much this injustice infuriates him, how much it makes him think of Riku and himself and Paris and all the things he thought he'd been running from.
Maybe he's been a little sheltered and maybe he's a little scared and maybe that makes him that much more determined.
ﮚ
When they dock with the Castle, Demyx leaves immediately, murmuring something quiet and sad about having a prominent customer in the next hour.
That's all right with Sora, nonetheless.
He smiles up at Axel, so vivid as to be disarming.
"You don't have to go out until later. How about you fence with me?"
The redhead almost looks surprised. "I don't fence," he answers evasively, after hot little moments clutter up the air. "But, you know, since we've been in China… I've learned the Wind and Fire wheels."
The atmosphere is finally getting brighter of its own accord.
"Let's see who's better."
The physical exertion and the violence are exactly what they need.
Though, they both realize it is entirely unacceptable to take any blood at all, let alone the first. So, their fight is more of a contest to see who can make whose bones ring the longest from sheer force.
Who can push and push and push until their heart is thundering, their breath is heaving, and their body is drenched in sweat. Who can get completely lost within the parameters of steel on steel and the words it whispers.
The training room is painfully benign and also ridiculously soft, contrived entirely of drab colors and padding and not a speck or a fleck of blood. Which lets Sora know that the room either it isn't used, or those who use it are flawlessly skilled. Masterfully so, and that piques his interest in all the ways which so obviously infuriate Axel to the boiling point. To where his hair fairly bristles and flames pop at his fingertips, just like Sora knows it really can.
It's hours later when they collapse and they both fall back to the mats of the training hall at about the same time. The pads remind Sora of the sturdy foam used to line spaceships. Their irony remind Sora, unfailing; of what he'd heard earlier in the day and how inescapable the human virus is, even when some of those involved are not human at all.
Axel is laughing quietly. "For a spoiled little rich kid…"
"Don't get me started, Axel!"
They laugh like they've been friends for a lot longer than they have been. It is--
"Isn't that just endearin'." The voice comes from the doorway and, when they look, Xigbar is there. His black hair, streaked with stormy lightning, hangs down around his bare shoulders. He's obviously come here to exercise; he holds a pair of escrima sticks loosely in one hand. "I've been hearing a lot about your protégé, Axel, but I haven't been properly introduced, yet."
Sora doesn't really need to hear Axel's hiss to know Xigbar is trouble. The scars and the eye patch and the natural growl of his voice do enough to warn him. Not to mention the terrible way the bold lettering of II glares out from where it's carved jaggedly into the flesh above the man's right pectoral.
The redhead gets up, his body showing a strange amount of languid grace, the jut of one of his hips and the pull of his shoulders conveying some kind of jaunt.
"We just don't see enough of each other, Xiggy."
It isn't incitement. It's very similar to the game he plays with Rufus. But there's real danger lurking beneath the veneer of disgust and Xigbar's sneer.
"No. We really don't. But we all know why that is. Since you're not doin' your job anyway, why don't you hurry up and introduce us?"
Number VIII grits his teeth for a second and then motions lazily. It's the kind of motion that should be followed closely by ten or so knives being flung. "Sora, Xigbar, likewise, etcetera, ad nauseam. We can be going now, if you want the room."
"Ah, no, don't let me scare you off now." His show of teeth is the best sort of unquestionable contradiction.
"It was nice to meet you, I've heard so much about you," Sora murmurs with some vague inflection of sincerity—it is habit. His habit and his propensity for lies really is vile. His words are more thoroughly absorbed by the mats than by the powerful man before him. "I'm sure I'll see you around."
As he and Axel make a break for the door, Xigbar snatches his arm, looks him right in the eye. It's like a golden bullet boring into his gray matter, leaving rips of black ink.
"I'm sure I will."
Then he shoves, sends Sora's lithe frame colliding with Axel's. The redhead catches him and still manages to offer Xigbar a cordial goodbye.
In the hallway, he gives Sora a look. Its message resides in a worrisome crack between 'I told you so' and 'I told you'. The difference between the two being all-consuming and also wholly irrelevant.
The way back to Axel's room has become almost instinctual, and Sora isn't entirely sure why. Though he doesn't think anyone would dare to push Axel so far as to invade his inner sanctum.
It's a safe haven.
They wash up together and Sora observes as Axel dresses. The redhead rubs something sweet smelling onto his skin, which reminds Sora undeniably of Riku, though he refrains from saying as much. He feels an empty ache in his stomach and an arousal of interest from his groin.
"You don't usually bother with perfume."
Axel doesn't usually bother with jewelry or makeup either, but his eyelids are darkened and intense, and there's gold glittering around his throat. He slides on several more pieces of fabric, sleeves to cover his arms and legs, taking away the sharp jut of joints with sleek black velvet. The cloth he puts around his waist is much the same, with soft tassels hanging at the fringe.
"Seymour enjoys the game more than he enjoys the sex," Axel murmurs, still in the process of fastening dangling aurulent chains to the upper cartilage and lobe of his ears. "There's a valuable lesson in there somewhere; about learning and gauging people's sexual tastes." He makes a sort of face. An unhappy, disgusted downward spike from the corner of his mouth.
It takes a great amount of effort for Sora to resist saying he just shouldn't go.
"I know." His words holds the nuances of things far more painful, and far less pressing. However, the brunet feels the statement is appropriate enough to ease his conscience until something else can be done.
Axel stands, clicks off the light of his heavy metal vanity table—sin, they all have their sins—his jewelry jingles and his hair flows wildly over his shoulders.
"I can't take you with this time, so stay out of trouble. I'm getting sick of saving your ass."
It is a warning Sora fully intends to heed.
ﮚ
When he leaves Axel's room, he searches only to find food and to pass by Roxas's quarters to see if the blond will speak with him for a few moments. Despite Axel's vehemence and Demyx's reluctant abhorrence of him, Sora is yet unwilling to hate XIII.
The kitchens prove elusive, but after wandering the halls, employing sheer bloody mindedness, Sora finds his way back to the strange room where he and Axel had attempted to eat and where he had first met Lexaeus and Zexion.
It is the time of night when whores are otherwise occupied and he sees no one. Although, admittedly, Sora has found reasons to suspect the nature of everyone's involvement in this forced prostitution. There is no way that simple blackmail could keep all eleven of the others against their will. There must be further dealings and stipulations, conditions and alliances that he is yet unaware of.
This room still reminds Sora greatly of his father's study, though, his father had rarely used it and it had previously been his grandfather's, before he moved to the Twilight sector. His grandfather, Ansem, had been very good friends with Monsieur Noirtier.
Empty, Sora finds the chamber much more inviting. Its heavy brocade designs are warm and infused with the flickering heat of the hearth. The smell of food, of the gas fireplace and incense are absolutely intoxicating in a way he did not noticed the last time he had been here. He wishes suddenly that Axel had brought him more often instead of insisting he remain behind in the rooms to rest or stay out of trouble.
Sora takes one of the delicate china plates from the stack and heaps food on it, his hunger having gone unabated for the entirety of the day. He blames it on that harpy Courtellia Shifelle and her heavily creamed coffee and sour inquiries that had settled on his stomach like lead.
He isn't in the mood to think about her and as he relaxes into one of the huge chairs, he instead considers just who the cooks might be. A trip to the kitchens could be an enjoyable venture, if he could convince someone to take him. Axel does not seem the type to pass up on free food, but with Demyx along for the ride, the atmosphere might remain clearer, maybe a little more cheerful if he can be coerced into bringing out his sitar.
At one point, Sora has the inescapable idea that someone is watching him. It lingers overlong until his appetite disappears and his appreciation for the warm quiet room fails him in its entirety. He looks hurriedly for a place to leave the plate, doesn't find one, and so sets it on the table. Then he flees out into the well-lit hallways, away from the rustle of the many books, with their many pages, on their many shelves.
As he moves through the abandoned hallways, he realizes, logically, that Roxas will not be at the Castle, he will be out with one client or another, just like all the others. However, the brunet has not spoken to the other in many days and his longing for the other—he has begun to think of as friend—has grown strong, too strong to really resist any longer.
On his way, he meets with Larxene as she is headed off somewhere. She stops long enough to punch him, hard, in the shoulder and comment on his guest appearance to Shiffelle's talk show. Then she hurries on her way, still sneering at him like he's a bug smear she's left on the carpet.
He passes by number X's door as he goes and feels a chill shoot through him as he reflects upon the story of the day. He questions how deep the bond between Roxas and Luxord goes, and just how much of it has come from torture and fanatical emotional dependency.
Sora is not sure whether to be surprised or possibly not… that Roxas's door is open. The panel protruding from the wall is exposed and it appears someone has entered the code to gain their access without Roxas's consent.
There are only so many scenarios Sora can think of as explanation. It is easy for an innocent person to gain entrance to the Castle, they can waltz right in the front door, but just like any other casino or well-to-do brothel, the entire place is constantly monitored. Roxas will never have to worry about any trouble, except from his fellows.
It is Luxord inside the room and Roxas is with him. From what Sora can hear, they are discussing the Shifelle Show, quietly, hurriedly. It makes sense that they would need to keep well informed with whatever current, entirely vapid, storyline they are meant to act upon. However, the conversation turns sharply after the love triangle has faded from the fore.
"He should leave, he'll just cause trouble, he's worse than Saïx." Roxas is complaining.
"Do not bring that issue into it." Luxord dismisses him wearily.
"That issue? That is the issue. Saïx and Xemnas and Sora. Why? Why am I still indebted? Haven't I done enough?"
"You know that if you are discontent, you need only come to your big brother."
"Shut up!" Roxas is pulled to Luxord's chest as the man embraces him. The younger man's voice hitches terribly. "Fuck you! I don't want this anymore."
"What you want has never mattered," Luxord croons and pets his hair. Sora thinks he will be sick, violently so. "We only care for what Xemnas wants. Since Morcerf has fallen from power his plans have been derailed, he needs a companion, someone calm and deadly, like you, to keep him composed. Xemnas always gets what he wants… it keeps him happy and oblivious to what I do and you would never want your big brother to be troubled… would you?"
"Shut up," Roxas repeats weakly, his entire body giving way to pathetic tremors and wild hiccupping breaths. "I would rather go back…"
"Would you?" Luxord pulls him up, holds the boy's tiny body —but he's deadly and he isn't a boy—into his arms and takes them both to Roxas's large bed. Lays them out together and cradles his creation to his chest. "Big brother can arrange for you to go home."
Roxas is silent, but at length he murmurs. "Not yet. I… I am afraid to go back to the darkness."
"You will never have suffered enough, Roxas," Luxord says. His tone implies he has had counsel with fate, with the very Gods, and he knows that all of Time is his to divine. Yet, he still kisses Roxas's forehead as if, with no consolation whatsoever, he will at least forgive the sinner. Sora can see quite clearly how Luxord has Roxas wrapped in golden razor wire; lies and promises and fears.
"Not Sora too," Roxas begs. He is very small in Luxord's arms. His body wracks with one irrepressible sob, as if he has given up. "B… brother, please. Not him too."
The urge to kill Luxord then and there is nigh on irrepressible.
But Sora backs away.
He leaves Roxas there, trapped in the jaws of the beast and turns to flee down the hallway.
His cowardice screams out with shrieking delight.
ﮚ
Sora is wearied of watching everyone around him suffer.
His own pain he could weather, could eventually overcome.
However, it makes his blood boil to see the people he cares for held in bondage as they are. He is not over all the tragedies of Paris. He is still scarred by the ruins of all he had thought unshakeable in his youth.
He returns back to Axel's heated room, because he has nowhere else to go.
His thoughts center on Roxas and then upon Riku and… he masturbates hurriedly, jerking roughly and taking nothing but a perfunctory sort of pleasure and a languid emptiness from the act. The exertion makes it that much easier to boil away his anxiety in a bath and then tumble lifelessly into his own bed.
It's a retreat, of sorts.
Yet, even in his sleep, the misery haunts him.
ﮚ
Riku glows faintly at times. Like when he is coaxed and tricked into opening up his heart, which he holds tightly closed for reasons Sora cannot at all fathom.
Riku had glowed, but just a little bit, on the day Villefort threatened his beloved Count with a slug pistol and wild darting eyes.
Riku had glowed as he cried his tension out into his palms. It had angered Riku to be crying.
Now, Riku's lips are pursed, his lovely teal skin has a beautiful luster and his limpid eyes glitter with an unprecedented emotion.
"I'm sorry," Sora soothes hurriedly, confused but reveling in his companion's rare show of vivid emotions. However, he believes, he can understand if Riku does not desire to discuss how he came to be in the Count's service.
The forgotten prince of a betrayed country smiles in return, caustic, sharp, and twisted, but it is a smile, nonetheless. Straight rows of ivory teeth glimmer from beneath thin, curving lips.
"No, Sora," he says faintly. His voice calm, loving even, something which Sora has longed for since the moment he first laid eyes upon his prince. "It is high time I told you."
The young heir to the Favreau family feels like an awkward boy just now entering puberty once again. His voice cracks and his limbs feel strange as he gesticulates as gracelessly as a nonfunctioning autistic.
"If it pains you, Riku, please, not on my account."
"Shut up and listen, Sora."
Sora never fails to be awed by Riku, the royal way with which he always conducts himself, the self-assured hauteur that could be attractive on no one else. Yet all the while he holds a deep-seeded unrest, the mystery of which has always made him all the more handsome. He is vibrant and distinct and shines like a star, always recognizable, even amongst a crowd of huge swirling petticoats and ridiculous hats. He is a singular work of art situated within the museum of the world, drawing more open mouthed gawking than diamond pyramids and ancient masterpieces.
"My family name is that of Tebelin and I am the son of Ali, pasha of Janina who held all of Turkish space in his thrall. My mother was his favorite wife, Vasiliki. You… you must know, your father served in the war as well… though he was not stationed at Janina… Damn it, do you know who was? Albert's father. Morcerf, I would recognize him anywhere, even if he has changed his name."
Without any apparent reason, Sora shudders. Riku's eyes are murderous and they flicker without any shred of pity in them. Still, the man's cold fury is enticing.
"He was there at the fall of Janina, Sora. I was barely four-years-old, but I remember that night clearly. There are very few things which stand out more vibrantly in my mind. I remember my mother taking me from my bed, her eyes huge and wet, and the servants rushing all around us. I remember hiding all of my father's wealth away in the dark kiosk beneath the palace and I remember waiting there amongst the gold with my mother and my father's most trusted guard. For hours, waiting. Waiting for word."
Riku's eyes are exactly as moist as he has described his mother's have to been. Sora imagines she must have been strong and enchanting, just like her son.
"Please, Riku," he begs, taking hold of the hand of his heart's dear. "You do not have to continue."
"I will tell you everything, Sora!" the Prince retorts stiffly, pulling his hand away and gently wiping his eyes with the graceful fabric of his robe. "Everything… My father sent a French officer to make known our surrender, for our own garrison attacked us. The lazy pigs were tired of war, they wanted to cut their losses and run to hide beneath the skirts of the Alliance. Father and mother and I were meant to make haste for our retreat after the surrender was accepted and there we would have lived quietly. Had that officer not betrayed my father's most implicit trust. He sold us out, Sora. Our people were slaughtered except for the few of us they deemed worthy to sell. Morcerf bought his nobility with the destruction of my family. He claimed my father had left him his fortune and there was no one left to contradict him."
ﮚ
There is more to the tale. Sora can without fail recount every word Riku uttered. He can paint the scene of their slavery just as clearly as Riku could. He knows how Vasiliki killed herself in the streets as soldiers marched past with her husband's head mounted upon a machinegun. He knows how Riku came to belong to Monte Cristo. What the Count meant to him and how he helped him to find his revenge.
Morcerf has fallen.
The Count and Riku have exacted their revenge.
Yet there has been no fairytale ending.
Sora has his own painful memories.
Images of a crowded spaceport, shoving through throngs of people with untamed abandon and single-minded force. Catching sight of Riku, breathtaking, as always, with his head titled back, staring up out the port into the sky. The horrendous noise and pressurized hiss as the craft descends. Meeting his beloved's eye for one wretched second. Not being able to reach him. Watching helplessly as he boards the ship and disappears into space, without a word. Or even a goodbye. Leaving, as his wake, deep lacerations in his young suitor's heart.
Standard Disclaimers for Kingdom Hearts, Firefly/Serenity, Gankutsuou, (The Count of Monte Cristo is Public Domain), and Memoirs of a Geisha.