Kingdom Hearts Fan Fiction ❯ Electric Pain ❯ Electric Pain ( One-Shot )

Electric Pain

Morgana Maeve

8/12/08 - Axel/Larxene. I think I'm going to throw up.

Warnings: Non-explicit sex. (Yeah, right.) Intended for mature audience only. (Edited on FF; go to profile for link.)

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters used here. They all belong to Square and Disney.

xXx

She can make the hairs on his arms rise, can make the air tingle with just her presence, and it's not because of her looks. She can light up a room, can brighten the day, and it's not because of her smile.

She feels nothing and hordes all the pain, transforming it into barbed daggers that she throws with ease and caustic carelessness.

It is impossible to hurt her; words cause nothing, and when he tries fire, she only sparks and laughs.

She instigates the relationship, undressing him slowly in the bright, electric light, and he finds he cannot stop. Her hands find his, brings them up to light weight, small mounds of supple flesh covered in tight leather. Their hips come together, slow grind of bones, and he lowers his head to her chest, tasting dying flesh, sliding lower and lower, nuzzling the underside of her breast.

Hands brush him away, and he is not allowed to venture further. She pushes him down, pressing him onto the cold hard floor, reflections of their bodies on the white marble, and she straddles him, cloak billowing up around her.

She is wearing nothing underneath.

She moves from his waist to his chest, sharp bones on his lungs, and it becomes hard to breathe.

Dark cloud surrounding his vision as her cloak falls about his head, thick moisture at his mouth and coating his tongue, and he drinks from her groaning body while she writhes and sighs above him.

She never reciprocates the things she makes him do, but her hands are skilled and sharp, and she can make him believe he feels emotion with the things she does to his body.

He doesn't take her, but she takes him, riding him hard and heavy, hips bruised and cut, finger marks on his legs as she forces him deeper into her body, slick sounds in the silence. His hands find her center, rubbing soaked nerves, and she clenches harshly, explosive jolt that shakes limbs.

She demeans him at every chance, and there is nothing he can do for revenge. She is the nymph, sleek and streamlined, and she dances just outside the reach of his flame. But she is always there to fan it.

They don't like each other, but their bodies do, and at every chance, with a sideways look, they find time to smother the ghostly need that rocks their bellies, knotted heat beneath their navels.

Castle Oblivion brings new opportunities and new techniques. There are books there, books lost to darkness and brought to this oasis of gray, and she finds the Marquis de Sade, bringing him back to life through her, adding her own unique twist to his intense sadism.

She doesn't slap - he backhanded her the first time she tried that, but she does use her teeth, biting and chomping, leaving sets of ridges and valleys on his arm, shoulders, wrists, and hips. There are some marks in other places, but he grudgingly forgives he for that. No one can see them, and they only hurt during thunder storms, tender ache like forgotten memories.

And that's when the lightning comes in.

The shocks come hard and fast, little trickle of electricity connecting the tip of her finger to erect nipple, ripple of tingles passing through his body, sliding around under skin. Lower and lower her fingers brush, ten zigzag hairs of static arousing nerves and turning skin red.

And when she finds his hardness and wraps a deceptively dainty hand around it, he nearly passes out from the painful pleasure, release instantaneous and swift, spurt of sticky white on a gloved hand.

She tastes it and finds it to her liking.

In return, when fingers slide into wet heat, he warms her from the inside out, tiny burst of flame lining lean fingers, and she gasps and arches, opening wider for him to probe further.

Sometimes, he does the same with his tongue.

Their true disposition is revealed during the times when they are one, clawing at each other for dominance, fire dancing with lightning rain, scorched and battered afterwards. But it so very satisfying for people who are not people, for things who cannot feel.

On the surface, they look like a couple, constantly bickering and arguing and always doing what the other says not to, but beneath all that, they are nothing. What happens between them happens only in the light, never a tender moment in the dark. They are brazen and lusty; love will die in their arms. Sweet embrace is perverted into intertwined legs, two hips joined, and whispered nothings are insistent commands to go faster and harder, to hurt.

There is no motivation for her love of pain, no secret reasoning behind her sadism. It is simply the way she is, the way she is made. It is not because of something wrong, some sort of mistake, a horrible experience not quite yet forgotten; this is the way she likes it.

She is, as he eloquently put once, electric pain.

To a lesser extent, she treats the Keyblade master the same way as she treats him: condescending, mean, and provocative. He has no doubts that she would have taken the Keybearer to her floor had he been older and wiser and had Marluxia not realized the threat she presented.

She is slated to die young, as all her kind is, hedonistic all the way to Oblivion, but for the time they have left, they enjoy it in twisted snakes across the floor, her in his lap, his hands clenched on her bottom, hers digging into his shoulders, face buried in supple, heaving flesh, mouth finding something hard and puckered and closing around it, red hair damp and heavy.

And she glories in all of it, blonde hair alive with electric ecstasy.

xXx

I feel dirty.

Read and review, please.