[fic] Kingdom Hearts, "From What I've Tasted of Desire" From What I've Tasted of Desire Zexion/Lexaeus Kingdom Hearts Not safe for work! User of POWARZ.
Lexaeus has been watching him.
Zexion is troubled to a certain degree. The response comes with more irritation than anything else; he is sure Lexaeus's interest is not a holdover from their past non-life. Few of their group had given Ienzo any interest. Xehanort had been one of the few; heaven knows the others mostly found him useful for his obedience as the youngest and the passion he had used to display to win over their equally-passionate troublesome master.
He is not Ienzo, and Lexaeus is not Elaeus. He knows this; is grateful to it, and yet irritated; had they still many remnants of those persons, he would have at least a better yardstick to judge by.
As is, it makes little sense. He requests a book to be passed; Lexaeus does so with a low, agreeable noise and his eyes fixed on Zexion.
Zexion's own flick over him; Lexaeus's face is carved deep and its lips, eyes, brow, even chin -- they are expressive. He cannot read whatever is there.
You choose to pay me attention now, when I lack the tools to interpret it? he thinks sourly. You have always had poor taste.
He closes his hand around the book, seems to weigh it. "Lexaeus."
"You are being particularly troublesome lately. Please desist."
The corners of Lexaeus's lips tilt downwards; his brows pull down as well. "If you mean the work I have agreed to do on Vexen's behalf--"
"You've agreed to do work on Vexen's behalf?" It's wasteful; Vexen's side projects do little but divide the Organization's resources too thin. If he's wasting Lexaeus's valuable time--
"Yes. On my day off."
"Oh," Zexion says; it comes out a little sharp. "Well, as long as it's on your day off."
True to his word, Lexaeus is not around on his day off. Zexion presumes him to be in Vexen's lab, fetching and carrying -- never an enviable task; it's a shame that Vexen is reducing one of the original members of the Organization to such a poor position. It would be better suited to the newer ones.
His absence wears on Zexion, a fact he considers at length over a cup of hot tea and a plate of light snacks. It's too quiet in this room, too empty; he has become too used to Lexaeus occupying his own portion of the room with his books and games. They are not the sort of thing he usually pays attention to; he had this time, he comes to decide, because when he would glance over he would generally catch Lexaeus's eye.
This has to stop, he decides; he will push it to breaking and see what becomes of it.
They are later sent to Hollow Bastion to gather up what remains of the other reports and access certain texts that would be of use to them; to adjust what they can in the computer system to erase all remnants of their presence. To dodge the witch while doing so.
It suits Zexion fine; he leaves the computer system to Lexaeus -- who has always been slightly better at such things -- and goes himself to the library. It is strange, in an achingly empty way, to return to this place; little wonder that Xemnas himself did not go. He moves this book there and rearranges the shelves, finds the dusty little nook that he had once used when he needed the peace and quiet away from others for his own studies. There is a piece of paper on the desk that he gathers up, and a book that he recalls only half the contents of -- Ienzo had not yet finished reading it -- and then he leaves again, closes it up. Strange, he thinks; he feels strange.
It is a dissatisfying feeling.
There are several access points Lexaeus uses; he works his way downward and it is there, below the ruins of Hollow Bastion, that Zexion approaches him in silence and in darkness. The illusion creeps down the hallway of the hallway itself, empty and alone. Lexaeus doesn't notice where the reality fails to happen, and he works instead, types with his large shoulders hunched over the keyboard.
Zexion lets him finish his work, waits until the system locks down and Lexaeus slides the disc into his pocket and straightens, and then he moves.
Hands ooze out of the darkness; a pair to start, spaced properly to function as if human, taking hold of Lexaeus's shoulders with a comfort that wouldn't be possible from Zexion's normal height. A moment's thought and he adjusts the illusion, slides the wall closer so that Lexaeus is pulled back against it while there's yet room for him to slip behind, lean up behind Lexaeus.
"What do you want?" Zexion asks him.
Lexaeus is frowning; it's not a dangerous expression yet, but it is very heavy. "Zexion," he rumbles.
He adds a hand, grasping Lexaeus's chin roughly and pulling his head back, baring his long strong throat so the hard press of his adam's apple stands out in sharp relief. He murmurs, low, "It's shameful, the way you've been staring."
Against the illusion's grip, Lexaeus's shoulders tense as though he's thinking of trying to break free; it would work on anything but this. Perhaps Lexaeus decides not to or perhaps he realizes it, but he relaxes again. "Perhaps," Lexaeus agrees, his voice low and resonant. "I am not completely without shame."
"You could fool me," Zexion says sharply. He's not angry, exactly; for all that it's an emotion still accessible to them, he doesn't get angry easily. But he feels tense, irritable, wound tight. Calm down, he thinks. "You haven't answered my question."
"I generally," Lexaeus says calmly, with an edge of anger in his own voice, "prefer not to answer pointless questions with useless answers."
"Useless," Zexion echoes back in Lexaeus's own voice. "Is that so?" in his own again, and he shifts around to look at Lexaeus while his hands remain behind to hold Lexaeus tight.
"Yes," Lexaeus says, and as Zexion stands in front of him he understands.
It is not exactly a good understanding. Is this what revulsion must feel like? he wonders distantly, lip curling slightly as he eyes Lexaeus's arousal. And Lexaeus yet having so much pride as he stands in front of Zexion, as though he is the one being put out by this entire affair.
Another hand, grabbing there and holding too-tight. He sees Lexaeus's adam apple bob as he swallows. Zexion whispers, "You have no right."
"I desire no right," Lexaeus agrees, but his voice is harder now, rougher, lower. Things are spiralling out of control at the sound of it; it's strangely appealing. Disgusting. Inappropriate; things would never have gone this way were they human.
"You would rather be imposing, then?" Zexion asks, and he pulls at Lexaeus's clothing; tens of hands pulling his zipper down, tugging the coat this way and that as they rip it off him, as they tighten around Lexaeus's arms to provide visible resistance to Lexaeus's tension. He is strong, muscled beyond what would be necessary to have the same strength as a Nobody; he has kept his old body, after all. Zexion says, "You would rather have this reaction without earning the right to it?"
Lexaeus's lips curl; Zexion drags fifteen hands down his chest, stomach, up his thighs, touching the insides, the hard muscled curve of his ass. Lexaeus says, "I mislike your assumptions. It isn't like you."
Assumptions? The evidence is in front of him. Breathing hard, he folds his own hands behind his back and ducks his head forward as he strokes Lexaeus's cock, as he grabs and fondles, as he forces hands across flesh, digs nails in, marks up Lexaeus's body, Lexaeus's imposing body. "What would you prefer I assume?"
Lexaeus is losing it fast; no wonder. Zexion wants him to. Zexion sucks the air away from the illusion to make him feel more light-headed even as he doesn't need to breathe; Zexion pinches and pulls and strokes, Zexion lets teeth graze over Lexaeus's neck. He stands back and watches; several strands of hair have come out of Lexaeus's upswept hair and stick sweatily to his craggy cheekbones. Lexaeus's head drops forward and hangs; he can hear Lexaeus gulping. Can practically taste his sweat in the air.
Struggling to answer, Lexaeus says, "I prefer--"
Zexion covers his mouth, works harder. This is too much. Really, it's too much to be believed. There's something wrong with them these days. It's irritating. It's really irritating. He can hardly breathe, his stomach's tight. Really, it's so irritating.
Lexaeus moans, muffled against the hand that he believes to be covering his mouth. Zexion slides fingers in, presses them down against Lexaeus's tongue, feels the sudden hard press of it as Lexaeus jerks in his grasp, comes over the hand stroking him.
His stomach clenches. He's laughing a little under his breath, can't help himself; he doesn't feel good. He really doesn't feel good.
He withdraws most of the hands, leaves just enough to support Lexaeus. His own are clenched behind his back to keep them still. Lexaeus draws a slow, shaky breath, and says, "I prefer you assume I expect no right."
Zexion turns and goes; he draws the illusion into the darkness after his passage, finds his way home and leaves Lexaeus in the hallway.
He makes tea to calm the shaking in his hands. It works; by the time he's finished the task of measuring everything out, pouring water, by the time the pot is warmed his hands are steady and he has fallen into something resembling a centre again.
Lexaeus returns a little while later; he picked up more comics on his way back, it seems, because he puts a new small stack on the little table. Zexion watches him, catches himself, puts down Lexaeus's cup of tea before he puts down his own.
"Thank you," Lexaeus says, and curls his hands around it.
"Mm, well," Zexion says. He takes a seat with his own cup, and sips.
Lexaeus cracks open a comic.
"I dislike desire," Zexion says, less an apology and more a warning. "It's messy."
Lexaeus nods. "A mockery of composure," he agrees, eyes slowly trailing down the page. He smiles at something he sees there.
Zexion's fingers clench. "Pay attention to me while you're talking to me!" he shouts.
The sound hangs in the air. Lexaeus raises his eyes.
Zexion slowly lifts a hand to his own mouth, touches his lips, curls his fingers. "Ah," he says.
"Mm," Lexaeus agrees.
"Well," Zexion says. He searches for something to say. "...how unpleasant."
Lexaeus sighs quietly and puts his comic down. He ponders his tea, sips it, then puts that down as well and holds out a hand.