Chapter Text
Sora listened.
Silence.
No footsteps, no rustle of fabric, nothing. Only his slightly labored breathing.
Perfect.
Raising his hands, Sora reached for the thick collar tightened around his neck, his fingers fumbling with the small lock sitting at his throat. With the toothpick he had found, he began poking around inside the little hole where the key would normally unlock the latch.
Today was the first day where Sora had woken up and Xehanort wasn't here.
Wherever 'here' was. It seemed something akin to a small studio apartment with it's one bedroom, tiny kitchen, and sitting room. Though, maybe 'apartment' wasn't the right word, as that would mean there were neighbors who definitely would've come knocking by now in concern at the noises that went on inside. He hasn't been here very long, but Sora had been particularly loud on occasion when Xehanort was in the mood to put his hands on him.
Which had, so far, been everyday. Sometimes more than just casual touching. Sometimes leaving painful marks behind and even worse memories. There was a heavy, wide-set chair tucked away in the corner of the main room; pretty ordinary looking- if you didn't count the added restraints on the arms and legs. Sora had only been sat in it once, and was determined to not get sat there again.
On the floor of the kitchen with his back against the stove, Sora continued to fiddle. The first thing Xehanort had done after... acquiring him, was lock this awful collar around his neck with explicit instructions to keep his hands off of it. Not only was it extremely degrading, the way Xehanort used it to lead him around the living space, it was fixed with a device that emitted a debilitating shock when anywhere near the only door leading out. Definitely something originally meant for a dog, he had come to realize.
Worse than that, Xehanort had done something to Sora beforehand, rendering his abilities useless and his Keyblade void to his call. In light of this, Xehanort overpowered him when it came solely to physical strength. He had been at his mercy enough times to prove that. Sora had not wanted to take the risk of getting caught messing around with this thing while laying by Xehanort's side.
But now, Xehanort wasn't here. And Sora was getting out.
No more unwanted touches, no more dehumanizing 'games', no more awful punishments.
Slipping on his pants and not even bothering to look for his shoes or jacket, Sora decided today was the day he would be going home.
A click sounded and Sora gasped when the collar suddenly gave way in his hands. Not that it had been too tight for him to breathe properly, he was simply shocked that it actually came off, with a toothpick nonetheless.
I can't believe that worked.
No time to be surprised. Throwing the leather to the ground, Sora rushed around the corner to the front door. Of course, that was locked too. That didn't stop him from twisting the knob and yanking with all his might.
It proved futile. A heavy iron lock sat fixed in place on the door frame, keeping it from budging without the input of a specific number code on the pad beside it. A toothpick definitely wouldn't work on that. Back to searching the kitchen.
Sora seriously doubted the code was written down somewhere, and it would take forever to try and guess the right combination. He didn't have that much time. Maybe with the right tool, he could hack it off? That could cause the lock to deactivate. There were a variety of sturdy looking knives that might do the job.
He didn't get the chance to try that idea out. The opening of the door sounded from around the corner and Sora's heart leapt into his throat.
He was quick to drop to the floor and snatch up the discarded collar as footsteps entered and the door sealed once more, frantically trying to fix the leather back in place. Fear made his hands clumsy and he couldn't feel where the latch was in his panic- which only grew in the next second when Sora was met with the view of Xehanort's legs when he came into the kitchen, halting at the sight he was greeted with.
Their eyes met, blue to golden. Sora desperately wished he would've thought to hold on to one of those knives at least.
Now he could only watch in defeat from where he kneeled as Xehanort's face turned from slight shock, to a quick furrow of anger, then feigned dismissiveness. Yes, he very much wished it was possible for a knife to magically replace the collar he still tightly gripped in his frozen position.
"Oh, Sora." Xehanort slowly crossed the threshold with a shake of his head. "I decide to go out of my way to shop for you," he tsked, setting the bulk of dark, cloth bags he carried onto the small kitchen island. "And here you are, steady being disobedient."
Sora hated how that word already caused a shiver of fear within him, knowing what typically followed. He didn't care about anything Xehanort may have bought for him; it definitely wasn't going to be something he wanted. What he did want though, was to avoid making things worse than they already were.
Letting the collar fall from his hands, Sora slowly stood, wary of Xehanort's unmoving stare on the other side of the island. He wasn't going to deny anything- he was already caught red-handed. Sora didn't like the idea of his mind becoming compliant, and he had to remind himself that that wasn't what this was; he was playing it safe - as safe as he could - until the odds were more in his favor. The only thing Sora could think to do at the moment, was try to ease whatever repercussion Xehanort was surely already thinking about.
"...I'm sorry." He lowered his eyes, the appearance of shame.
Xehanort smirked, disbelieving. "Are you?"
Sora swallowed, but fervently nodded his head. He was sorry. Sorry he got caught on his one chance to escape, and then stupidly leaving himself defenseless. Sorry for wasting this opportunity and would now have to wait- pray for another.
"I'm really, really sorry, a-and I promise I won't do it again." The words were dry in his mouth and Sora knew that Xehanort was not buying that statement either.
"I've warned you plenty of times," he rushed to remind him. Sora found his feet backing toward the counter behind him from the tone Xehanort used; not quite angry, and exhibiting the barest hint of excitement. He was scolding, but not in the way Sora had expected. "If you were actually sorry, you wouldn't have done it in the first place. You made the conscious decision to get creative and break the first rule that I laid down. Now it is just something you're going to have to learn from."
That opened a deep sense of dread within Sora's core, along with the flicker of something lower that he refused to recognize. Xehanort was shedding himself of his coat and the action had Sora's brain short circuiting, mouth growing even drier. He had half the thought to try and run, but run where?
A hand beckoned him forward. "Come."
Sora backed further away, the edge of the counter pressing into the small of his back.
The hand fell. "Are you really going to make me come get you?"
The bedroom was to the side, behind Sora. He could run into there to get away, but then what? It's not like that door had a lock. And considering what was likely coming, that was probably the last place Sora wanted to let himself get caught in.
"So be it, Sora."
Xehanort moved around the island and Sora, not even thinking, was quick to keep the distance between them, moving to the other end. Stilling, Xehanort quirked an eyebrow before a smile began to play on his lips.
Sora didn't like that look at all. A look that said he couldn't wait to get his hands on him. And despite his earlier incentive to not make things worse, Sora wanted to delay that conclusion for as long as he was able, changing directions when Xehanort came around the other side. They were again opposite of each other.
Any other time, Sora would've recognized how childish this was, something he would probably do to mess with his friends, but now it was a shameless act of self defense. He couldn't harm him if he couldn't catch him.
After dodging once more out of reach, Xehanort gave pause with an unnerving chuckle, seemingly abandoning the chase. "Alright. Since you're so feisty this morning, I'll allow you this little game."
Sora stared, both confused and concerned. "W-what?" he managed.
"I'll give you thirty seconds."
All breathing ceased. It felt as if any air he had taken in became instantly trapped in his chest as a fresh bout of anxiety bloomed.
"Twenty-nine,"
Sora bolted.
Xehanort didn't specify what he had thirty seconds to do, but Sora's first thought was to run for the front door. It was locked once again.
Without a strategy in mind, he began pressing buttons like his life depended on it. For all Sora knew, it probably did. Xehanort wasn't counting out loud anymore either, and it only served to heighten his urgency, fingers shaking while they moved from number to number.
He had to get lucky. He had to.
One wrong input after another mocked Sora with a shrill beep. It got harder to control his breathing with each rejection that sounded, his chest painstakingly tight. The numbers soon began blurring into one unrecognizable mass through the tears crowding Sora's eyes, and he felt himself dipping down to his knees as he continued pressing.
He already knew he had lost. There was practically a nonexistent chance of his success, but Sora had foolishly hoped anyway. Under that tiny wish, he knew this was just a play to help build Xehanort up for the inevitable. There would be no escape as long as he didn't want there to be.
The distress becoming too much, Sora dropped his hands and his knees met the ground, bowing his head against the door as he allowed the tears to fall past his cheeks. Xehanort's voice came from around the corner at the sound of his small cry.
"Zero."
Sora was sure thirty seconds had run out a while ago, Xehanort choosing to just stand back and enjoy the sounds of his suffering. Now he came up behind Sora who refused to look at him - to see his satisfied smirk and boasting gleam in his eye.
"I win."
Hands connected with the skin of his upper arms, lingering in place for just a moment before gripping and pulling him up from the ground with ease. Drained from the ebbing rush of adrenaline, Sora didn't resist much, knowing he was fully and well captured. He wouldn't be able to avoid what Xehanort had in store without making it harder on himself. Begrudgingly, Sora let Xehanort's hands guide him away from the door and inwardly accepted that he had lost once again, preparing for something more intimate than the press of fingertips on his skin.
That was, until he saw where they were headed - rather than the bedroom, Xehanort was leading him to the main sitting room.
The chair.
"No!" Sora began the fight again with renewed energy in the form of terror. Xehanort just held tighter, even when he dug his bare feet into the carpet to push back against him. "No! I'll take anything else, please!" he begged, twisting to grab at Xehanort in an attempt to pry him away - to keep from having to endure the insufferable torment that came with being sat in that chair.
"This is beginning to get irritating now..." Xehanort warned, then released a huff when Sora's resistance didn't cease, moving his arms around his waist to lift and carry him the rest of the way. Desperate, Sora threw his head back into Xehanort's, an exclamation of pain meeting his ears at the impact. But instead of letting go of him like Sora had expected, he was only lifted higher, and then was abruptly dropped from his arms. Sora's back met the floor with a thud, the breath forcefully knocked from his lungs.
He went rigid and loudly gasped, followed by heaving coughs, but Xehanort did not allow a reprieve. Using the stun to his advantage, he grabbed him once more and easily sat him in the chair, successfully strapping down each wrist and ankle which left his legs slightly spread.
Despite his dizzying head, Sora shook it back and forth, knowing he couldn't muster up the strength to pull out of these bindings. He had tried before. Now, he tried one last sob.
"Please! Please?"
It fell on deaf ears. Xehanort placed his hands on either side of Sora's face and slid his thumbs across his cheeks, a useless attempt to wipe away the tears as he leaned over him with a gentle smile.
"You will learn eventually," he hummed. "We'll make an obedient pet out of you yet." Xehanort planted a soft kiss to his forehead, an eerie form of affection after the assault that just took place, and considering the one that was about to.
He turned his back to Sora, heading for the kitchen. "This looks like the perfect opportunity to introduce you to the things I've bought."
Chapter Text
Breathe, breathe-
Each inhale became a physical struggle against the terror seizing Sora's chest. The trembling throughout his body wouldn't let up an ounce as he desperately fought to control his tears in an effort to actually breathe.
This awful chair again. Although he didn't know exactly what Xehanort planned to do to him, Sora knew it wouldn't be something tame, nor over with quickly; something he had learned in this week of being captive was that Xehanort liked to play the long game, dragging things out. And, clearly stuck for the time being, Sora wanted to have enough energy to be able to withstand what was left of the morning.
Hopefully only for the rest of this morning. He didn't think Xehanort would keep him bound for more than an hour - he hadn't last time, no matter how much it had felt that way - but there was no telling how angry Sora had actually made him with the stunt he pulled. The distress of the unknown that would soon befall him was feeding quite the headache. Sora could only just sit and watch Xehanort stop at the kitchen counter through a watery gaze as he reached for the dark bags sitting there.
He was afraid to focus on what was being pulled out. But the dreaded anticipation was also too much to bear. Sniffing through his slowing tears, Sora's eyes betrayed him, unable to help but trail over the contents.
A folded pile of multicolored, silky fabrics currently filled Xehanort's hands as it was removed from one of the bags to be set down neatly. There was clearly something else in there, given the remaining bulk that sat in the cloth, Xehanort apparently not feeling the need to reveal it yet. Either way, Sora's attention was next drawn to the item already laid out on the counter as Xehanort rounded the island- a thin, short rod wrapped in black leather, with strips of that same leather coming off of one end in a braided strand.
A whip. Fairly small in size and length, but enticing a whimper from Sora all the same at the realization.
The whimper grew into a full blown gasp of horror when Xehanort moving again caught his attention, seeing what was being held up when he turned back for the living room; a pair of large scissors.
"Uh, w-what are you gonna do with those?" Sora quickly stuttered. He didn't want to know, he was scared to find out.
The answer he received was Xehanort silently coming up to him, Sora pressing back into the chair in an useless attempt to shy away as he took a hold to the front of his shirt. It was pulled taut, and Sora held his breath just as a painless snip hit his ears. He looked down, surprised - yet very grateful - to see that the tool had nipped his narrow sleeve rather than skin. Xehanort continued snipping along the seam of his torso, and then his opposite sleeve, allowing the shirt to expose his chest beneath.
"You won't be needing these clothes anymore," Xehanort informed. "I've picked new things out for you, kitten."
Sora cringed, a chill growing at the graze of Xehanort's fingers across his skin as he pulled the fabric away. That dreaded nickname again. Cute and humiliating, and wrong in Xehanort's mouth. Something that Xehanort loved to fit in the majority of his sentences addressing Sora, and something that Sora was being taught to respond to in the 'proper' way; a lifting hum to acknowledge that he understood what had been spoken.
Sora didn't even attempt to give it this time and neither did Xehanort seem to be waiting for it. It could slide for now with him already being bound for the earlier, greater transgression.
Sora couldn't stop the squirm that came from Xehanort undoing his pants next, the scissors positioning along his hip to cut those as well. There was a little piece of him that mourned the thought of never wearing these again, one of the last reminders of his life back home with his friends before he had to disappear. Just something else Xehanort was taking away, reducing it to a pile of scraps.
The last to come off was his underwear, tossed aside with the rest of the ruined clothes. Xehanort lingered a moment to give a satisfied look over Sora's naked form, Sora wishing he could bring forward his trapped limbs to curl in on himself. He settled with ducking his head, a warm heat coming to his face under the stare. Being fully naked in front of anyone was still a new sensation of embarrassment and uncomfortableness, especially with Xehanort. Something he hoped he would have the privilege of never having to get used to.
There was clearly something about his demeanor that Xehanort liked, quick to quirk a smile before turning back for the kitchen. The scissors were set back onto the island. The whip, unfortunately, took it's place. That smile had not wavered when Xehanort faced Sora once more.
"You understand what you've done wrong, yes?"
"...Y-Yes," Sora forced himself to vocalize.
A small tilt of Xehanort's head was given. "Tell me."
"I-I..." Distraction came over Sora, hesitating to spell out his fault with that whip being toyed around in Xehanort's hands. That panic was rising again, making his words wispy in his attempt to not let them tremble. "I was told not to touch the collar. But I did. And took it off. I was... disobedient."
"That's right."
"And I'm sorry!"
Sora couldn't help but blurt it out in yet another futile attempt to apologize, to gain some sort of mercy from what was obviously coming. Maybe a restraint in strength, or less blows, anything. "I won't do it again, just- please!"
"You will learn," Xehanort said in a way that he thought was supposed to be reassurance, but delivered none of the sort. "All in due time. That is why I'm helping you." Relaxed steps carried him back into the living room, back to Sora's bound form where he held up the whip in a way that allowed the short braid to dangle down in view. It's slight sway took Sora's gaze side to side, a metronome ticking away the last seconds of any tranquility his body would surely be granted for the remainder of the day.
"A reminder." The length was reared back in Xehanort adjusting to a more practical hold, coiled like a cobra eager to strike. "To keep your hands from where they don't belong."
The whip launched forward-
-and in the same second it took for it's whistle to ring through the air, a fire split across the clenched knuckles of one of Sora's trapped hands, ripping out an immediate reaction.
Sora's body nearly bucked from the chair at the cutting pain, giving a sharp cry that he more so felt rather than heard in the sudden encasing of white, the latter not helped by the sting reverberating into bone and further up his arm soon after. Fresh tears sprung to his eyes, forcing them open where they had squeezed shut for a morbid peek at the aftermath as he struggled for a decent breath.
A thin line of red stretched over the back of his trembling hand, contrasting blood welling over broken tan skin. And again, Xehanort gave a swift pull back of the whip.
One after another, strikes came down, the pain intensifying with each succession. No blow was consistent, some softer than the initial first, landing against the smooth of his hand, near his wrist peeking from it's binding, and every impact bringing additional sharp cries from Sora's lips. He flinched and writhed underneath the onslaught, yet Xehanort didn't elect to give more than a second of pause before his controlled assault returned.
Again. Another. Another. A particular high blow against bone spilling water past his cheeks. A hitching shout, this one louder than the last.
Sora managed to recognize a count of ten before the striking of skin started up on his unexpecting opposite hand, a new string of lashes that pulled more pained noises to pair with them. An eighth, a ninth, and a once again tenth.
Where Sora's body tensed in automatic anticipation of another, nothing more came. Braving his eyes open after a few more tense seconds gave him the blurry view of Xehanort, gaze trained down, letting the whip fall from his grasp. That finally allowed Sora's lungs room to breathe. Well, more like gasp as he tried to catch up on what he'd lost. The fire dancing across his hands didn't make it any easier, chest aching in the strain and shoulders feeling as if unable to cease their shaking, doing his best not to outright sob. Sora didn't even attempt to gaze down at the surely bloody mess that had taken Xehanort's interest, focus staying glued to him alone, fearful of the next move.
Although the whip had been dropped, he still flinched back at Xehanort's decision to lean in close with a hand reaching out. All too softly, his fingertips touched to the underside of Sora's own fingers that had taken to trembling through painful throbs, Xehanort's sliding underneath to place the warmed hand within his chilled one.
It could hardly be considered comforting, yet Sora found himself trying to soften his tearful heaving that felt intrusive to the somewhat tender moment of Xehanort looking over the marks he had mercilessly created - a look he couldn't quite distinguish. Curious? Proud? Whatever it could be, it lasted for merely that moment, the smile returning as he let Sora's hand be.
A lingering thumb traced against a particularly long welt in it's retreat that caused Sora to jolt with a hiss of air sucking between his teeth. He barely caught Xehanort's hushed comment, droning like a purr. "Your skin marks so prettily."
Apparently yes, as he's said so before; while sporting the bruises he had gained upon arrival, and with the correcting pinches he's received here and there- some unfairly repeated simply because the way he squirmed was 'too cute'. Sora couldn't say he fondly agreed the same as Xehanort did. And thankfully, he wasn't asked to.
"... C-can you let me out, now?" Sora tried, voice coming out as a stuttering hiccup. That had to be it, right? This would definitely be taking a place among the horrific memories of the few previous punishments Xehanort had deemed him worthy of thus far.
The pause that filled the air did not bode a good sign. "Hm. Not quite yet, I can't."
Any deflation that came over Sora was quickly retracted under a tingling chill when Xehanort caressed a finger down his face, wetting it along a tear stained cheek as it traveled to the underside of his chin. "I think we need something to temper that bold energy for the rest of the morning."
Sora's head gave a minimal shake on top it's balancing hold. "No we don't, this is enough, I got the message," he quietly rushed out while fighting the renewing panic. "I promise I've learned my lesson."
"Sora," Xehanort sighed, sounding amused of all things when dropping his touch. "You can talk all you want. Eventually you'll come to realize how ineffective that is once I've made up my mind. Save your breath."
No more arguments could be made in Xehanort leaving his space to again approach the same bag he had rifled through earlier; the remaining item that hadn't been touched. And it was clear why, Xehanort apparently saving it for last.
"No... " Sora couldn't stop the whine that naturally mixed with his protest, stomach twisting at what had been pulled out. "No, no, no-"
It was obviously a toy, it's long, bulbous shape giving the impression that it was intended to be inserted somewhere- as if the shiny smear of lube that Xehanort coated along it's red silicone wasn't impression enough. The notion registering to Sora's mind while observing it's thick width, stirred a deep set anxiety that had him clenching his fists from his thundering heart rate- only to loosen them just as quick with the irritation of his wounds.
Xehanort had experimented with a handful of different toys on his body, inside and out and delivering all sorts of new sensations that Sora thought he was supposed to find enjoyable. Xehanort was convinced so, at least. But here, in this binding chair, the experiment would be Sora's tolerance in a set duration of physical strain. An intimate test of endurance.
Sora couldn't do it again. He had hoped with all his heart that Xehanort wouldn't put him through this again.
"I don't want it," he pleaded. "I can't, I-"
The pitiful words bounced right off of Xehanort, stepping to Sora's side with toy in hand. "Lift up."
Sora stayed firmly seated. "I don't want it-"
"This is a punishment, kitten," Xehanort reminded, "not a reward." The hum that came from Sora was more of a whine than a hum of acknowledgement. "The more you resist, the more it'll hurt," he advised, giving the glistening toy a curious look over himself. "Learn to relax, and you might get some enjoyment out of this one."
From the size alone, Sora doubted relaxing would help much once filling him inside. Not as big as Xehanort's own cock had been - that was a memory that was pushed away immediately - but still daunting in his eye. This one was indeed different than the last toy that had come with the chair, not only in it's width, but in the addition of an extended, curving base as well. Did that indicate it giving more intense pleasure? Or was the purposeful shape meant to tease it's participants past the zone of comfort? The suggestion of Xehanort's didn't entice him in any way, doing completely the opposite. Sora wanted to scream at him that that wasn't what mattered, that he hated the vigorous stimulation, he hated being forced past his limits, he didn't want it.
But Sora knew the argument he'd receive with that; this was a punishment that he'd rightfully earned. Xehanort held all of the control. And because of that, dread of the unavoidable made Sora's throat close on himself, and fear of somehow earning something worse at an outburst kept his tongue still.
His hesitation couldn't be swayed so easily, silently swallowing in a selfish attempt to continue the stall. And regretting it the moment Xehanort bent to retrieve the whip from the floor.
Sora could barely flinch before the braid struck high on his thigh, a shrill cry tearing from him with the new line of scarlet received. If the impacts on his hands had hurt, this one was plain agonizing, purposefully heavy-handed when cutting into him and hardly leaving room for praise that the much more sensitive things sitting between his legs hadn't been included. The tender area gained a throbbing pulse in time with the previous lacerations, toes curling into the plush carpet in their stuck place, and while gritting through the lingering pain, Xehanort spoke again. "I won't be asking a second time."
Sora believed it. And he believed his new mark would gain a matching pair if he didn't simply do what was being asked of him. The longer he was sat here, the more Xehanort may be tempted to do.
That had Sora forcing himself to lean forward and push against the floor, slowly straightening on shaky legs to give Xehanort the access he desired. Much too soon did he have to put his injured hands to use, holding steady on the arms of the chair for the hope to better relax his lower half where he stayed bent over, head hanging. At least that kept Xehanort's smug face from view.
"Good boy."
Sora hummed his expected acknowledgement. The praise meant nothing every time.
Water blinked from his lashes, dutifully waiting for the uncomfortable intrusion to come. What Sora hadn't expected was the lubed up finger that pushed against him first; still a hair uncomfortable, but earning an air of relief. Easing him open. Of course.
Perhaps Xehanort had learned his lesson from last time. What Sora wouldn't have given to have the work of fingers preparing him then, one eventually becoming two with a slow thrusting motion that brought a waver to his breath. It was still alien. It still had his cheeks burning from the violation. But Sora had no choice but to allow it as well as he could. It was Sora's own struggling that had Xehanort being much more forceful in a much more compromising position. This was a blessing. One he didn't want to chase away.
Relax, he internally scolded. Relax, relax-
The instinct to clench, to pull away, to show the resistance he still harbored, roared loud within Sora, but he did his best to not listen. He needed to clear his mind, he needed to force himself to focus on this very moment, to hang onto every lasting second of softness that could almost be described as pleasurable before it no longer would.
And to speak too soon, Sora's unwillingly body betrayed him all the same with instinctive tensing when those fingers slipped away, the pressure of something much thicker replacing them. It was something he quickly corrected, beating the threat of a pinch from Xehanort doing it for him. That earned an approving noise from behind that didn't help the flushed warmth in his face.
At least the aid had this insertion coming somewhat gently. Xehanort kept with the sounding encouragement where he thumbed aside one of Sora's cheeks in guiding the slickened nub past his entrance, a continuous slow press with the instructions to trust him in his handling. An unfathomable request that Sora listened to for his own sake of making this easier. He had begun to realize that with penetration relaxation was where it all lied, along with the ease of taking deep breaths where he could. His mind knew that. His body didn't seem to care. If only the two would work together and save him the extra embarrassment from small whines breaking as the toy stretched it's way inside.
Only a couple of pauses came at the reflexive clenches until Xehanort had him hilted, the initial slick coolness warming within Sora in no time. Fully seated, the curving base pressed right to the underside of his balls, staying so when Xehanort's hands then found his shoulders in directing him to sit.
"Look at you," Xehanort marveled, surely at the flush that had taken Sora's face that had him breathing through parted lips. He blinked away when his bangs were neated from his eyes, Xehanort even taking it upon himself to smooth the locks beyond and pushing some strands behind his ears until he was satisfied. Hands also briefly settled on his spread knees, light touches as if ensuring they were placed just as he'd like.
Sora didn't know why, they wouldn't stay that way for long. Yet he couldn't make himself question the display, mainly just trying not to wriggle should that have Xehanort making more comments. Not to mention how oddly stuffed he felt, pressure nestled right against a particular spot that already teased at stimulation.
Refusing to actively fight had definitely made all the difference. And better yet, no gag came to his mouth much like previously. At least he'd have a better time breathing through everything. Maybe Xehanort wouldn't even leave him for very long at all since half of his punishment had already been dealt out. Yes, this would be easier. It would.
Backing up, Xehanort's hand slid into his pocket to pull out the last thing Sora had expected to see- his gummiphone. This was new.
Sora knew that he'd had it, but he hadn't actually laid eyes on the thing since the day Xehanort intercepted him. It wouldn't have been useful for Sora to hold on to anyway other than sentimental value; it hadn't had signal since arriving in Quadratum and he doubted here would be any different. Now, Xehanort propped the device on the island, camera aimed straight ahead and Sora piecing together just why his mouth had been left free; to better catch the assortment of noises that would undoubtedly fall. Every whine, every moan, every scream, free to be captured.
An involuntary performance, Sora the center attraction that Xehanort intended to savor.
"Day 6," he recited, a leer already trained on Sora rather than the camera he spoke to. It was a look that seemed to entrap him more than the binding straps, caught in each other's eyes even when a tiny, two-button device was fondled into Xehanort's grasp, eager, but pacing his short briefing while enjoying the unease before him. "Sora has removed the collar I gifted despite my instructions to keep from touching it at all. Perhaps after today, he will gain a better knowledge about what is and what is not acceptable from him regarding my expectations."
Save for the device stilling in hand, the end of Xehanort's words was the only warning given.
A button was pressed, and this time Sora did buck off of the seat of the chair.
Hips thrusted forward as his head snapped back, spine arching at the vibrations that instantly surged from within and underneath. Instinctively did his legs attempt to jerk as well, but those staying effectively down as an initial wail of surprise rung throughout the room. Whatever Xehanort's reaction had been, Sora didn't have the opportunity to witness, eyes too busy squeezing against a kindled pleasure quickly announcing itself, all at once and all too much. But this was the bearable stuff, barely passing in the sense only due to Sora having the privilege of knowing what would develop after.
An open mouth allowed embarrassing noises to pair with the following build up of his gasps, obscene, loud, and no doubt music to Xehanort's ears. Sora knew he couldn't go anywhere, but there was no stopping his body twisting however it pleased, unable to budge his heavy imprisonment keeping him bound and spread no matter his squirming, and still doing so as if the sensation was something to be escaped. If only it could be, or even described as such, constant and all encompassing with an unrelenting purpose to chain those uncontrollable twitches for as long as they'd last.
The violent simulation had his cock jumping to life, a heated strain that was hard to ignore. So easily did arousal greet him, tingling in a growing warmth that Sora had known of, but now regarded with a great deal of shame and disgust at the inclusion of Xehanort. That didn't stop his moans from turning more heated than disgruntled in turn.
Inner walls squeezing around the toy, limbs flexing against the chair, Sora's body relished in the given attention. Enough to allow his mind to drink it in as well, to take it as it was in this little time he was able.
Trapped, and serving as a decent distraction from the earlier assault endured, he might as well. Stars danced behind his eyes when they weren't momentarily blinking at the blank ceiling under pinched brows; because that was all where he could look, blamed fully on the intensity plaguing him rather than the conscious thought of keeping them aimed there should the sight of Xehanort ruin it all.
For the sake of convincing himself the pleasure wasn't of such a heinous situation. For the sake of coping, and keeping intact what Xehanort hadn't been able to lay prints on yet.
Climax crept up, quickly, steadily, and maddening in a way it had only been once before. Sora's groin tightened with met gratification, his gut coiling together in a messy, familiar feeling that he both wanted to chase away and beg for to send him over the edge. And he was so very close to that edge, heat spreading like crawling vines down his thighs and that realization forming a high keening at how soon it had happened, at how much longer he wouldn't be able to hold out.
With a further clenching that felt to be every muscle from Sora's pounding head to curling toes, a full-body orgasm was forced to the surface in a near painful, surging wave.
Hot tension enveloped his cradled balls and throbbed throughout every inch of his length, Sora's inevitable act of coming undone accompanied by his broken wail brought on from the bursting sensation. A blessed point of elation, not caring in the moment for who currently must've been watching on, or the mess being made that would've had Sora reduced to the color of a tomato. The release was too good to deny in the shaking spasm it left his body in, and too caught up in the bliss he was, almost forgot that this may not be where things would end.
From there came the much less bearable.
The pleasure dwindled almost as quickly as it had come, the toy succeeding in delivering Sora through the whole of his ecstasy and the unwanted beyond. He tried to hold on to every last tingly drop that had greeted him. When that had far too swiftly vanished, he then tried his best to hold out, tried to control his lungs, tried not to panic. Sora half expected the vibrations to halt, held on to that earlier optimism of Xehanort showing mercy. As the seconds ticked by, still with the continuing stimulation, that optimism plummeted fast into deep darkness.
Tight whines swapped for raw screams.
Sora's jerking about increased two-fold, a struggle against unforgiving bindings to get out, to get away. What throbbing and flexing that had been described as near painful evolved into just that, overwhelming Sora's breathless body in the toy's harsh ceaselessness. In what couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes, that squeezing pressure digging fire into his nerves returned and Sora begged his lungs to cooperate in the full blown overstimulation. As his cock strained in it's climb to re-harden, another blinding climax unfortunately struck at his abused prostate, just as intense as the last. Sora no longer wished for that euphoria in any capacity, the pleasure overly painful in a way that hardly warranted the word. It dealt out regardless, dry throat wailing out all the same and continuing to force along the effort of stiffening his length to another series of stinging throbs.
Verbal begging had begun, no guilt felt at how easy it emerged in his broken voice. Sora wasn't even sure if he was forming actual words, but the intent stayed imprinted there in his mind, crying for Xehanort to put a stop to the torment.
It didn't come.
The only response was granted in the form of intensifying turmoil- cramps rising within his core, his poor abdomen, and lower back, and what became burning along his over sensitive insides and thoroughly spent cock. In the dizzy, desperate state, Sora took it upon himself to find ease in whatever way he could, attempting to distract his mind with anything other than the happenings below and never-ending buzzing thrum, even bracing on the arms of the chair to lessen the pressure of the powerful thing pressed into that wrung out spot, the lifting merely bringing minimal relief. It was a position he could barely hold in this weak shaking that seemed to have no end, sinking back onto the stimulating onslaught and beginning the pleas anew.
Xehanort was still in the kitchen, Sora could see him there busying himself with something else - as unfocused as he was - in the minimum seconds he could manage to search through disoriented tears. But no reprieve came. Sora may as well have been alone for the begging that went ignored.
This was a punishment, after all. Xehanort has already proven his capacity to coexist with suffering of the sort, as if skillfully practiced in absorbing all negative and spiraling emotions of another and dispelling it away, remaining unaffected. He harbored the whole of that eccentric composure, a rooted tree that could not be swayed.
Sora could do nothing but let his head loll in his sweated body overworking itself to weakness as he waited it out. Embarrassment, nor much of any other reaction, could be mustered up for the drool he knew was spilling, at one point even swearing he had reached the point of no return for vomit, yet not caring at the additional mess that it'd add- because at least the sensation would bring something different than this pain-turned numbness.
It didn't take long for that numbness to overtake completely. And from eye-rolling numbness, came the shift to limp exhaustion.
Neither did the nerves making up his lower regions seem to be responding anymore, either. What were the odds of them burning out all together, a forever loss of feeling? Was that possible? A wayward thought that should have been worrying, but not quite finding that place in relation to where Sora currently hung; a brief period of where nothing could be felt.
Only an inkling of floating above himself, away from it all. An encroaching emptiness.
Sora hardly registered the long awaited stop when it came.
All at once did everything cease. His body was finally allowed to still, and where his neck craned forward with closed eyes, his lungs gave way to even, shuddering sighs that didn't quite fully register to him as well. It was almost difficult to tell if he was breathing at all, the consistent, low hum still lingering in his ears like it had imprinted into his very brain and kept it from working properly. But the mercy had indeed finally come, Sora unable to ignore - even in this state - the approach of Xehanort across the rug.
"Kitten?"
Much effort was needed to force sound from his parched throat. "...Mm..."
"There you are." A clear smile entered Xehanort's voice then, letting himself fully into Sora's space. "Fifty-two minutes," he announced. "And you managed to remain conscious this time."
Did he? Sora felt not too far off from that observation. How he wished he was unconscious right now, where he didn't have Xehanort to face, where he didn't have to slowly come back to his trembling body reintroducing pain and aches from the inside out.
"You very well may have lasted even longer," Xehanort continued, sympathy actually slipping into his tone- as real or as fake as it was with that underlying chuckle. "But your pitiful face was nearly too much to bear."
The last thing Sora wanted to do was move, and so he stayed with his chin ducked to his chest while letting Xehanort speak. If given the option to take a moment and sleep right here in his own sticky mess, he just might accept it. A grazing touch at Sora's chin unfortunately succeeded in bringing out a flinch- Xehanort's guiding hands taking to tilting his head back against the chair. Next was thick leather snaking around the back of his neck, followed by a click sounding near the base of his throat.
The collar.
Sora would never be touching it again.
Even with future escape in mind. He'd find a different, more concrete strategy that wouldn't see him repeating this awfulness yet again. Or something worse.
Lids finally lifting, Sora met Xehanort's admiring gaze for the wired accessory put back in place, attention rising to his own eyes a second later.
"Shall we get you cleaned up?"
Another wispy shudder moving through his chest was all Sora could respond with.
With Xehanort's hands traveling downward, creeping shame from acknowledging the fluids dirting him kept Sora's gaze from following, blinking to nothing in particular past his shoulder. In the kitchen ahead, the gummiphone appeared to have been removed - exactly when, a mystery - now replaced with a dining setup for two, Sora not caring to distinguish the breakfast assortment that lined the plates. Food was definitely the last thing on his mind.
Both chafed wrists and both chafed ankles were released from their own leather and Sora limply let Xehanort maneuver him out of the chair, just the shifting of the toy against his overworked insides enough to revive the very real threat of vomit. Weightless he stayed as his knees lowered onto the plush carpet and his body was directed forward against the other's kneeling with him.
Xehanort relieved him of the toy, sliding out in a wet pop at the end that sent Sora a jolt further into him. A sharp inhale gained him a nose full of the sandalwood vanilla-scented soap and the more flowery hint of shampoo Xehanort tended to always smell of, fresh in a way that told him that he had showered at some point during the torment.
He didn't know whether that made him feel worse or not.
The thought stayed mulling throughout Sora's head even when leaned back to the heels of his feet as Xehanort took to dressing his torn hands.
No potions or cures were used, just the supplies Xehanort had on hand to clean and cover the wounds in wrapping bandages, strangely intimate in their close space and careful, tender touches. The extensive attention that went into the healing- the healing at all, was already confusing to Sora, but the eerie kindness of the gesture revamped the ache in his head.
At least Xehanort did so in a way that allowed his fingers to still be usable rather than rendering them immobile. That had been nice. And to top off the kind gesture, the tending hands warmly held his own afterwards, bringing soft kisses over the covered cuts with just as tender lips.
Sora stared as the number increased, and when Xehanort lifted his eyes, his were quickly averted.
Xehanort's elbows lowered to his crossed legs, embrace having yet to let go. "Do you still need a minute?" he questioned rather amusedly.
To accept such affection? To regain feeling throughout his body? Sora's answer was silence, waiting for those normally cold eyes that now stared in just the opposite to leave him.
"Very well." Xehanort released his hold, thankfully not sounding in any way displeased when he rose to his feet. "Join me in the bathroom once you're ready. Don't be too long; we don't want your bath to run cold."
Pulling his hands close, Sora gave a single nod.
He listened rather than watched as Xehanort moved from over the carpet, across tile, to carpet once more in the bedroom beyond. At the click of the bathroom door closing within, Sora felt just a fraction of his uneasiness leave with the sigh from his nose. The confusion stayed just as it was.
That couldn't have been just an act, right? The admiration he'd seen there? It's something he thought he's seen before, but came through all the more prominent today. With the exploration of his body, Xehanort always had the decency to attempt to sooth the damage inflicted afterwards, mentally and physically, whether it be a glass of water, words that Sora couldn't take quite seriously, or caresses he hadn't asked for. A show of caring that usually fell hollow. Things that Sora thought were supposed to make him feel better. And yet...
The muted sound of running water bled from the bathroom, and only then did Sora uncurl to make his move. Not far, just enough to gingerly reach for his destroyed pants and the item that sat in it's pocket.
His silver crown pendant.
Sora gathered it into his sore hands just as gingerly, looking over the broken link of the chain. The reminder forced his eyes to screw shut at the horrid memory it briefly brought.
That first day. It had been grabbed at some point during the struggle Sora had put up when first arriving to this prison, and Xehanort didn't hesitate to rip it clean from his neck. Weak as he was from the magical hold Xehanort had snuck onto him, Sora's efforts hadn't ceased in the slightest, yet proved no match for the stronger. Increasing frustrations led to Xehanort forcing a breathless Sora onto his stomach, and like a man possessed, continued to force himself onto him, inside him, an impromptu taking of more than just his freedom. As much as Sora had fought and screamed, it hadn't dissuaded him at all.
That had been the first and only time Xehanort's personally fucked him. The way the rest of this week had gone with the prepping and testing, Sora didn't believe it'd be the last.
He had apologized afterwards. Had tucked him into bed afterwards. And during his bout of cleaning himself up, Sora managed to pluck the necklace from the floor and hide it away beneath his tear stained pillow.
He woke the next morning with the collar taking it's place. As if pre-made and waiting, Xehanort fully expecting the arrival of it's occupant.
Sora wanted to remember that Xehanort. The Xehanort who spoke threats, who had strapped him down, who had ruthlessly wielded that whip and had left him to suffer. Not allowing himself to forget that was for his own good. But was it possible to draw out that more gentle nature?
For just long enough to be let go?
In his moment of thought, Sora's thumb slid across the pendant, far more special than just any accessory. A visual promise. Just the sight was enough to rekindle any hope.
Surely someone was looking for him. And should this precious gift be anything like Kairi's talisman, it should lead those hearts to his. Eventually.
Sora didn't want to lose his last tie to his friends and the world he had vanished from. He needed to keep it close. Somewhere Xehanort couldn't see it.
Not kidding himself on moving stealthily from his spot on the floor, Sora looked to the brown leather of the plump couch close by. With limited time and options, it was the best place he had right now. An outreached arm slid the necklace through the thick carpet until it sat underneath the shadows being cast over it's threads.
The low set thing hid the silver nicely.
Notes:
CW: Whipping, Slight blood, Forced stimulation, Excessive overstimulation, Mentioned vomit
And of course, if I missed something that you feel should be tagged somewhere please let me know!
More of a plot will be introduced next chapter, so stay tuned!
Chapter Text
The bathroom was nothing fancy; pretty small overall when it came to size, and the same minimalistic design as the rest of the apartment– beige walls, pristine tile, marble countertop, and dark wood accenting everything. Heavy steam crowded the atmosphere by the time Sora forced his way over, rushing out to greet him past the open door that revealed a hot bath, drawn and waiting. Waiting beside it, Xehanort with towels and soap in hand.
On wobbly legs, Sora trudged forward, biting down on the fuss he'd normally make at the intention. No need to draw this out.
As much as he would've preferred a shower, something that would be over with quick and see him promptly hiding away under a blanket, a steaming soak would definitely do his body some good. The fact that Xehanort would be present as an active participant, not so much.
Why he didn't hold off on wrapping up Sora's wounds until after the fact, was glaringly obvious. Bandaged hands stayed clear of the water, leaving Xehanort's own to dip underneath the surface in Sora's stead. He sat as comfortably as he could, elbows resting on the porcelain edge as he allowed his back to be scrubbed, for his hair to be rinsed, for every trace of the last hour or so to be washed away by the same hands that created them. But not quite undone. None of Xehanort's touches had really had the privilege of going away completely.
Sora was at least allowed to towel himself off once finished, serving as a privilege of its own in a way. Xehanort led the way back into the bedroom where he supplied Sora with a new pair of briefs, Sora nearly tripping in his haste to replace the towel without being exposed longer than needed. As he took to sponging off his hair, yet another privilege was given.
"Pick whichever set you like."
Xehanort's hand waved over the queen bed they shared, presenting the same fabrics that he had pulled from those bags earlier now laid out neatly across the surface. Sora had noticed them on his way through to the bathroom, but didn't have much care to examine them. Now that he was getting a closer look, an important observation had been made.
"All... pajamas?"
"Yes," Xehanort confirmed. "Something you can remain comfortable in throughout the day."
Dropping the towel and nearing the bed, Sora eyed the matching sets before him, a silky, round collared shirt lined with buttons and just as silky shorts making up each. There were indeed a number of options to choose from – blue, yellow, black, among other colors, and each garment lined in white trim to pull it together.
They looked comfortable enough, and although fairly simple, something Sora considered a bit lavish for the sleepwear it was intended to be, his hands automatically drawn toward the deep red pair to experimentally glide across the smooth texture. Nothing like Sora's usual choice of throwing on whichever stained, hand-me-down t-shirt he'd pluck at random from the floor back on the islands. Three, four… he counted a total of seven taking up the bed, all for him. These must've been expensive.
"Need some help getting into them?"
Xehanort's voice snapped Sora back to where he still stood half dressed. The offer had him quickly shaking his head, little droplets flying in the midst. "I can dress myself."
Sticking with the red pajamas already in hand, Sora gathered them up– only to find them snatched from his grasp either way.
"I'd gladly be of help," Xehanort insisted, grinning that grin that never failed to fill Sora's gut with unease, unfortunately becoming accustomed to the two coming as a joint delivery. Xehanort had 'helped' enough this morning already, and although he didn't dare reiterate himself as firmly as he would've liked, Sora stood his ground.
"I'm pretty sure I can do it myself," he tried to play off with a weak smile. "Give them here–"
Sora's attempt to retrieve his clothes ended with them being obscured behind Xehanort's back. Diving for them a second time had them going straight into the air, held high over his head. Teasing him.
Fully prepared to jump, Sora's bending knees stopped short at Xehanort speaking again. A saving grace, seeing how that reawakened that deep-seated ache in his ass and Xehanort was seemingly dropping the little game of keep away before he could foolishly escalate it.
"Alright." No, not dropping it; proposing a compromise. "But first, do one thing for me."
Warily watching that grin grow, Sora was almost too afraid to ask. "And that'll be…?"
"Ask nicely in that sweet voice of yours. Addressing me as Master."
"Uh..."
"You can do that, yes?"
Well, Sora didn't want to. But neither did he want to continue standing here practically naked, nor have Xehanort maneuver the clothes onto his body like he wished, much too soon for his brain to comprehend more touching. Master was something of a sacred word, wasn't it? Reserved for those who had earned it when it came to a Keyblade wielder and their important duties? Xehanort may have rightfully earned the title later on in his life, but here, now, he was nonchalantly pulling it out like the playing of a card, requesting the title in a way that Sora didn't think had anything to do with Keyblade hierarchy.
"Say it," he urged, pajamas still out of reach and a large step taken closer to Sora retreating from the breach of personal space– as well as he could, at least, with the mattress already meeting the back of his bare thighs.
That overwhelming smell again… It came forward with him, the same flowery scent of soap as before that now masked Sora, almost too much when flooding his senses in another what he considered too soon. Sweet, but sickening, the same way Xehanort's presence currently came across while smiling down on him. Sora's hand bracing between them could only do so much in remedying that discomfort.
"Say it."
The taller repeated himself, and then a third time for good measure, this one stretched into a drawl that would have almost been considered cute if Sora's pulse hadn't spiked at his wrist being seized along with it, moved to continue allowing Xehanort as close as he wished. Bending further into the space Sora could no longer lengthen. Waiting with rooted patience.
Defeated, a sigh fell from Sora, along with the quiet request.
"...Please can you give them back? I can dress myself… Master."
"Hmm." Xehanort's lips pursed, as if savoring the sound like a sip of wine, palate deciding if the taste was worth indulging. "I suppose that's something we can play by ear for now."
The pajama set was surrendered along with his wrist, Sora wasting no time in snatching them up before Xehanort could get any more embarrassing ideas in his head. Luckily he seemed to have had his fill. He took to storing away the remaining sets below the mirrored vanity opposite of the bed and Sora turned his back while unfolding his chosen color, ignoring the wrong feeling left staining his mouth.
Fabric smooth like water, they practically slid themselves on, Sora stepping into shorts that nearly matched the length of his briefs before buttoning up the collared top that lay cool and weightless against his already chilled skin. And, to his horror, a tad bit see-through. Looking down, it was far too easy to make out the darkened area of his nipples poking through; just as it was far too easy to imagine these slipping off just as smoothly. It didn't feel too far-fetched that something as simple as an unfortunate shift in his sleep might see him nude by morning.
Sora had to wonder if that had a hand in influencing Xehanort's decision when picking these out, suddenly not feeling any less naked as before fully clothed. Of course, Xehanort weighing in didn't help that matter.
Nothing had to be said. The satisfied gleam in those golden eyes looking him up and down, hungry and greedily quenching that hunger with what was given, told Sora enough.
"Come," Xehanort instructed with a wave while moving to the bedroom's doorway. "Breakfast is waiting on the table. Any longer and it'll end up being lunch."
Stomach already twisting at the mere thought of trying to share another meal, Sora's feet stayed rooted where they were. "I want to lay down for a bit. I-if that's alright."
Disappointment wasn't quite what he expected to be met with. It weighed strangely on Xehanort's features, lasting for no more than a second before dissolving into something more neutral, but seen nonetheless. Better that than anger, Sora supposed. And, despite it all, he still managed to feel a glimmer of pity in his heart.
Not that it'd be enough to change my mind, he silently mused, the roles having switched with him now the one waiting to hear either refusal or acceptance for his own request.
Xehanort didn't voice either. Just closed the door without another word, leaving Sora alone.
That answer sufficed just fine.
The bedspread was pulled back and Sora crawled in-between the sheets he had left a mess in his haste to redress this morning. Where escape had dangled so promising and tantalizing before him until he'd let it slip from his grasp.
Still tender underneath, Sora's fingers grazed over the bandages hiding the consequence markings of his failure.
He would be more careful next time. Careful enough for a 'next time' to arise. Although scary to consider, Sora had an inkling that failing a second time was not an option for him. That fear was enough to bring a phantom choking feeling constricting along his throat, Sora's hand rising to fiddle with the collar surrounding it before thinking better. That lesson had thoroughly been learned.
He could be smart when he wanted to be. That was something Riku had told him once before. That no matter how much smarter other people around him seemed, that he was just as capable when it really came down to it. If Sora could believe that, then… surely he'd be out of here in no time. Outsmarting the strategic master mind, Xehanort… he had just as good a chance as anyone else. Yeah, of course he did.
Knees curling to his chest, Sora swallowed the hopeless lump in his throat.
Each day that passed had his positivity fraying inch by inch. But he wouldn't let it escape him completely, couldn't.
Sora held on tight to what he'd managed to conjure up and let his eyes slip close, hoping he would at least dream of the life he so wished to return to. The next time they opened, he unfortunately remained in this too big bed and too fancy pajamas with no recollection of being visited by memories that had been left behind.
There were no windows to allow sunlight in, no indicator of how much time Sora spent in fruitless slumber. He was in no rush to seek out Xehanort and find out. These precious minutes to himself could last just a while longer.
Not long enough. Much too soon did Sora hear a creak at his back that signaled the opening of the door; a tiny noise that was not followed by the expected footsteps of Xehanort approaching in the growing seconds.
Has he been peeking in on me this entire time? Waiting for me to wake up?
Sora held his breath, laying as still as he could. The effort came uselessly.
"I see you tensing."
Busted. Still heavy from sleep, Sora forced the covers away and himself upwards to meet Xehanort's perceptive gaze in the doorway.
"It's about time you awoke," he commented. "And just in time for dinner."
He'd been out that long? Actually, that wasn't very hard to believe. A shame that his body didn't feel any more rested like he'd expect. Maybe food wasn't such a bad idea, something to help along that lacking energy.
By the tone that greeted him and the fixed stare that stayed waiting, there didn't seem to be a choice when it came to participating this time, anyway.
Slow and sluggish, Sora followed Xehanort into the kitchen, an extra effort made to keep his gaze from trailing to the living room and certain chair occupying it. Xehanort had surely cleaned up his mess already, but still his eyes steered clear, as if a reminder alone would transport him back into its confines. The thought was enough to turn his stomach anew, that was for sure, not helped by the flavorful aroma that greeted him at the kitchen island while taking a seat on one end, Xehanort rounding it to approach the other.
Both plates were already set, along with a glass of water each, something Sora downed immediately– and regretting it when it produced a mini choking fit. Xehanort merely chuckled at his spluttering, filling the cup once more before sitting and beginning his meal. Sora couldn't make himself copy. It didn't take long for that to be noticed and called to attention.
"You're not eating."
Sora half shrugged. "Not very hungry." The same excuse as every other meal he had attempted to share across from Xehanort.
"You slept through breakfast and you slept through lunch," the other sighed. "You haven't been eating consistently at all since arriving. If I must resort to alternative ways of feeding you, I will."
It was said with a quirking smile while he took up another fork full; either from the humorous implication of what was not an entirely serious suggestion, or from imagining what scenarios those alternate ways entailed. Sora could only uneasily smile along with him.
"You're joking, right?"
Xehanort's fork lowered, smile gone. "Eat."
He hadn't yelled. And Sora hated how he flinched despite that. He's been doing it a lot lately.
Misgivings pushed aside, Sora took up his fork and brought it to the dish. It was a meal he recognized. Pan seared fish, mackerel maybe? A traditional Destiny Island dish with the steamed rice and vegetable fixings. It tasted like sand in his mouth.
That smile came back, smug and satisfied. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
Sora's answer stayed limited to a hidden gag as he forcefully swallowed.
Xehanort went back to his plate and he attempted to do the same. As per usual, Sora thought about the hundreds of things he could ask, topics he could casually bring up, some kind of effort at making conversation in the hopes of letting the event pass less awkwardly. Not exactly the easiest to do with someone after sharing unsolicited intimacy in varying awful degrees, however.
So the minutes trekked silently, accented occasionally by the living room's crackling fireplace and the tiny clank of silverware. Heavy and uncomfortable, it made it that much harder for Sora to gain the courage to look up from the grains of rice being pushed absently along his plate and fill it with the question that had been eating at his brain the longest.
"...Why are you doing this to me?"
"Doing what?" Xehanort's eyes didn't rise, speaking behind the glass at his lips. "Clothing you? Providing a free home, free meals?"
The warmth of embarrassment could be felt in the red creeping to Sora's cheeks at just the thought of having to say what he meant out loud. "The other stuff."
Xehanort chuckled, a breathy sound more so to himself. "Can you truly blame me?" When his attention finally rose to Sora it was accompanied with mock sympathy. "Was this morning too harsh on you? I'm sorry, my pet. But that is how you learn. And you'll get used to it in no time."
Used to it…
Sora believed that very hard to be possible, let alone for him to remain in this hell long enough for it to be probable. In years, perhaps. He didn't plan on squandering his time to such lengths. And he knew for a fact that Riku and the others wouldn't settle for that either.
"And you're…" Sora began, staring into his glass of water like the missing courage he sought might be found there, "...not trying to turn me into a vessel again?" The Keyblade War may have come and gone, but Sora rather make sure and all. It's not like this was the first time Xehanort's taken him against his will.
"That you would think I'd put in all of this effort to provide for you, just to simply render you a vessel in the end," Xehanort remarked, words coming slowly like he couldn't be bothered to even consider that outcome, "I have to say, it is a little insulting."
Well, that could be considered a plus, right? One less unknown fear to weigh on the mind.
"I will admit," he continued, elbows coming to the table and hands joining under his chin. "You've always had that little something about you. Something different... Not to mention a certain beauty that you possess." A slipping show of pink briefly parted Xehanort's lips to wet them as he leered on, Sora ignoring the feeling that, if possible, he'd be serving as tonight's dessert. "And now, here we are, together. I have as much time as I need to wrinkle out any flaws. Everything is finally perfect."
How much time, exactly? And what did he mean by 'flaws'? Sora needed more than just the simplified crumbs that were Xehanort's answer. He needed something to connect to other than this sort of obsession being displayed. It had to run deeper than that, surely.
"How long do you think it'll be before I can go home? I really miss my friends." Sora made the effort to keep his eyes on Xehanort, to frown and pull forth that puppy dog face that more often than not worked to his advantage when wanting something back home. Gauging his reaction. Looking for that softness and admiration he'd seen earlier.
"You forget so easily, don't you?" Amusement was the only thing that coated Xehanort's words unfortunately. "As I've told you before, this place is not like the world we come from. The universe put the both of us here rather than ending our existences. This is how things will stay."
There is no saving you.
"This is home."
Xehanort stood from his seat with his empty plate. "Be grateful I've decided to provide for you at all," he added when reaching for Sora's plate as well, Sora not missing the displeasure wrinkling his face at the food left behind.
He was grateful in a way, truly. Finding himself weakened and alone in a world he knew nothing about, Sora couldn't be more grateful for the food and shelter. But thinking that way at all felt almost as wrong as Xehanort's requested title, enough to leave a sour taste on his tongue. He had been 'saved', but at the same time, he hadn't. He didn't enjoy that time of wandering on the streets, but neither did he want to be here... playing with Xehanort.
Because that's what this was. One big game Xehanort has dragged him into, a curious cat who'd caught the prey and longed to savor its squirming until the resignation of its fate. Playing with his body and toying with his mind, attempting to reshape and mold him like a piece of clay. Sora had become a challenge that Xehanort intended to conquer. He could not end up the loser.
Once he escaped, it was back to the empty city. There, the search for the way home would resume. Maybe there actually would be the Yozora problem to deal with, but it sure seemed like he'd be better off taking his chances out there.
"Life can be very cruel."
As if reading his mind, Xehanort spoke again, back turned while depositing the dishes under running water into the sink. "Simply because we've met one end of another lifetime, that does not mean the same can't happen here. What am I to do if I lost you too? I'd have… nothing."
Sora leaned forward, heart beating just a bit faster. "Sounds lonely."
Xehanort didn't confirm nor deny it.
"What if," Sora slowly began, "we found a way back together? Me home, you back to your own time?"
The faucet shut off. Xehanort stayed facing away. "I don't enjoy repeating myself."
"Don't you have friends you miss?"
"No."
"Come on–"
"Sora."
A spark had begun to make itself known in the air, and now it flamed alive, Sora freezing at the harshness holding his name. And in an effort to extinguish it, Xehanort turned to him with soft eyes accompanied by a matching tone.
"Sora." It didn't do much other than falsely disguise what had already been shown, impossibly freezing Sora further as he approached his seat to place a hand on either shoulder.
"You are mine now," he purred, a reminder as simple as stating that the sky was blue and not a declaration of ownership for another person. "You are to listen to what I tell you."
Sora blinked away, fighting a flood of dejection that came crashing down over that moment of hope. A hand found his chin, chilled from the dish water and vise in its grip, bringing his eyes back up.
"Okay, kitten?"
Very stiffly was Sora able to nod. "...Mm."
The hand retreated, instead going for the collar below. Xehanort's finger dipped behind the leather and Sora flinched at the slight tug given. "Come, join me by the fire."
Not that he had a say in the matter with Xehanort keeping them connected, Sora following the pull onto his feet. Xehanort led them into the living room where he made himself comfortable in the corner of the couch. When Sora lowered to perch on the edge of the cushion beside him, Xehanort again pulled until he got what he wanted, eliminating the distance between them to tuck Sora into his side. Sora let him, any fight left not prominent enough after being drained from the ordeals of this morning. He hugged his knees close, once again allowing Xehanort to touch him where he pleased.
Not because it's easier, Sora had the need to implore silently as one arm wrapped around him and fingers began massaging through his hair, petting at the head against his chest with soft scratches that produced light shutters. The itch to smack them away stayed as just that, Sora's bandages practically creaking over the sore fists he made with the effort of keeping them down.
I might as well try to play the part– to a certain degree. Be good and build trust. Eventually, I can appeal to his better nature.
Right?
That angry red mark still marred his thigh. The price paid for arguing during punishment. For a second, Sora had feared he'd earn something similar there in the kitchen. Was it maybe too much to hope that progress was already being made?
"Please do try to behave yourself tomorrow," Xehanort murmured, sounding thoroughly relaxed over the soft pops of the fire, as if being lulled to sleep by the glowing flames they watched. Either that, or whatever contentment he gained from the body he embraced slightly closer to him. "Coming home to a naughty pet is not a habit I'd like to keep."
Again Sora's heart sped up, a breath catching in his lungs as he dared to acknowledge that glimmer of hope resurfacing. "You're... leaving again?"
"Yes," Xehanort confirmed, hand falling still against his scalp. "How else am I to sustain the two of us without a paying income?"
It sounded almost too good for Sora to want to believe. He had earlier prayed that he'd get another chance like today, to have Xehanort away, to give him escape time. Working a job, something to routinely keep him away for hours at a time, was the perfect excuse.
"But I wouldn't get cute again if I were you." Xehanort shifted, Sora's internal, giddy celebration interrupted by the illuminated face coming into view. The half-lidded, tight-lipped expression did not match the spoken warning. "You know what consequences await."
Automatically Sora's eyes trailed to the empty chair almost ominously looming to the side. He swallowed. "Hear you loud and clear."
"If you truly become that bored, play with some of your toys," Xehanort suggested as he settled back, arm hoisting Sora closer once more. "Explore, learn how to best prepare yourself. Pick out which are your favorites for me, hm?"
None of that particularly sounded like a good time. Especially not when Sora already had a plan in mind. Of course he wouldn't be telling that to Xehanort. He stayed silent as his gaze turned back to the dancing flames, reds and yellows flickering carelessly however they pleased– the illusion of free, yet confined, trapped in a single space; just the same as Sora.
One week gone. How many more?
The hand in his hair continued, soft but weighing so heavily. Gentle, but firm in its translation, Xehanort's set convictions that this was a game he'd already won. Sora was never one to give up easily. Not until something came along to douse what still burned bright at his core.
Game on.
Notes:
A more tame chapter after all of that excitement
I've completed my other long worked on fic so hopefully this will be seeing more frequent updates!
Chapter Text
The most efficient way of playing any game was to be familiar with the rules.
Even more importantly, your opponent.
Sora began to study Xehanort. Really study him. How his breath evened, deep and easy as they continued to sit in front of the fire. The way he softly caressed any bare skin he could reach when they'd laid in bed together. His teasing words when Sora had tried to squeeze his legs together at an unwelcome hand dipping into his shorts, briefly pawing at the front of his underwear. Teasing, yet yielding for the rest of the night at Sora's request.
He stayed pretty gentle when in a good mood, it seemed. Something to remember.
The morning started with Xehanort in the shower like all the others. And instead of playing invisible under the bedspread until he'd inevitably be herded into the bathroom next, Sora sat up from the mattress the moment he heard the door shut, eyes glued to the clock high on the wall. Counting the miniscule shifts of each hand.
Fifty-eight… fifty-nine… sixty-
Xehanort emerged from the bathroom clad in only a towel, his skin still sheening from moisture. Near exactly ten minutes later. Sora wet his dry mouth.
"Good morning."
Xehanort paused where he approached the vanity and Sora did his best not to stiffen at the attention he had purposefully gabbed. It earned him a pleased smile, Xehanort changing directions for him still half under the covers instead. "Good morning, my pet." Soft hands took either side of Sora's face, tilting for a peck against his forehead– Xehanort's favored form of affection, apparently.
Although quick like all the others, Sora never failed to inwardly shrivel in on himself from something that was supposed to be seen as tender and sweet coming from someone who he knew was very much not. He fought the urge to shake himself like a dog as if that would remove the lingering feeling of Xehanort's lips, continuously counting himself lucky that he's yet to plant one straight on the mouth in spite of everything else.
"Sprucing up your behavior already?" Xehanort observed.
"Well… isn't that what you asked for?"
Xehanort stepped back, humming through a chuckle that merely furthered Sora's uncomfortableness. "Time will tell if this," A finger gestured outwards to his overly perked posture and half wilted smile, "is what I genuinely asked for."
Anything Sora could've said to assure that it was indeed genuine stayed silent in his tightening throat, maybe for the better. Xehanort was too clever. He'd probably see right through it. From where Xehanort returned to the vanity, a snap aimed back in his direction.
"Make the bed."
Sora rose and obeyed without complaint, already having picked up on Xehanort's pickiness when it came to the place staying tidy. No better excuse, Sora thought as he smoothed the black silks, for keeping his eyes averted while the other changed. He dressed into a gray button-up, the sleeves cuffed short above his wrists, and complemented by black, pressed slacks, fitted with a belt just above his hips. Neatly groomed and pristine from the collar down. Sora didn't even know clothes could look so stiff.
The bath at least went by uneventfully, Sora again letting Xehanort scrub him and then changing from one pair of pajamas to another. Thankfully with none of the extra embarrassment of yesterday.
Although, neither did Sora enjoy this almost tension that had risen up instead, something that surrounded the air around them as they moved from the bedroom to the kitchen. Perhaps the result of the act he was putting on, and Xehanort who surely saw it for exactly what it was. If so, he didn't say anything further, letting the atmosphere stew as he filled a pot with water and began simmering it on the stove.
Waiting at the island, Sora absently scratched at his healing hands while letting his eyes wander around the rest of the tiny living space. Searching. Just a few more minutes.
"Let me see."
Sora jumped at Xehanort's sudden closeness, the taller putting a stop to his hands by taking them into his own. Sora's nose wrinkled as he unraveled the bandages, revealing the healing wounds underneath, red and sweaty. A moment was spent examining them without a word, that same, almost curious look as before taking over. Sora had decided he did not like that look at all. An unnecessary poke pressing down onto the tender skin only solidified his mind's statement, making him snatch away with a wince. The reaction earned a knowing hum from Xehanort.
"Let's let them breathe for a while."
Sora saw no need to protest– even if the lasting sting made him want to scowl, "what the heck is your deal," at the other; anything to get them healing faster.
Xehanort stepped away to the cabinets and retrieved something Sora was reminded of using to mix batter in, filling that too with water before returning. Sora's head tilted, only understanding what the bowl was for when Xehanort directed that his hands be dipped inside.
"Soaking them should relieve that itchy discomfort," he informed, absently adjusting chestnut bangs from Sora's face as he spoke. "I'll tend to them again when I return."
Fingers no longer available to him, Sora's leg started an endless rhythm of bouncing up and down, the anticipation of waiting gnawing at him with every passing second. "Oh uh, okay."
A couple of minutes later the stove clicked off, Xehanort transferring the steaming contents into shimmery ceramic and placing it under Sora's nose. Oatmeal. By the smell of it, the all too sweet kind. From there, Xehanort threw on the same knee-length coat he had worn yesterday left folded on the back of the couch, buttoning the wool about halfway down. Sora tried to dial back the fidgeting as he stared on.
"So um," he began, eyeing the lack of anything else in Xehanort's hands. "How long will you be gone?"
"Depends."
His coat pockets didn't look to be holding anything either. "...On…?"
"How long I'm out."
That wasn't very helpful.
But Sora didn't press, no matter how much he wanted to. Better to not raise the suspicion he was pretty sure was already there. That tension had yet to subside, even with Xehanort finally stepping into his shoes against the extended wall obscuring the door leading out. He rounded the corner where he stopped, giving a glinting look back at his captive.
"Behave."
The reminder came through half a smirk before Xehanort disappeared where Sora could no longer see. The grating familiarity of the door's lock sounded a series of beeps, opening, and then closing just as quick. A second later, the door locked back.
Sora waited, heartbeat echoing through to his ears in the new silence, hearing nothing else beyond it. He spent a good few minutes more just sitting, listening to be absolutely sure. And still, nothing.
The chair he occupied nearly toppled over in his haste to stand, snatching his hands from the water and dashing for the bedroom.
The gummiphone had to be around here somewhere. And it had to work.
Maybe this place was different from the empty city that offered no reception. Maybe, just maybe, he had a chance at contacting someone. Even if they didn't know exactly how to reach him, it'd be something.
Sora's first idea had been to sneak a peek at the lock's code with Xehanort's departure, but shortly realized that wouldn't do any good– not when he couldn't physically reach the door thanks to this dumb collar. Surely Xehanort would be careful to block it from view despite that, if not outright instruct Sora to look away. Taking back the gummiphone had jumped up to plan B.
Plan A still relied on Sora playing along. He'd reach through to Xehanort with time– and then freedom thereafter. And if drastic times called for drastic measures… he needed to have an escape route already identified and secured. In an ironic sense of the thought, it didn't hurt to have back-up plans.
There was no sign of the device on Xehanort as he prepared to leave. That meant it'd been left in here.
Sora first scoured the vanity, giving a quick scan of its surface and prowling through the drawers full of neatly folded clothes. When that didn't turn anything up, he made a beeline to the mini dressers that bordered either side of the bed.
Xehanort kept him on the farthest side, Sora, whether or not it was intended, declaring the sleeping body next to him as a physical barrier between him and the door out. He hadn't yet had the courage to get up in the middle of night for whatever reason anyway; not even if he really had to pee.
It's not like Xehanort would deny as much, Sora thought. But when held in those arms tight around him, feeling much like a mouse wrapped in a snake's coils, the apprehension of simply adjusting unfairly compared to that of designating himself to be swallowed whole. Him being still and Xehanort staying asleep meant nothing more could be said or done between them. At least until morning.
The top of Sora's dresser lay bare minus the glass of water Xehanort made sure to keep filled there– the only indicator that the given space was his. That, and the handcuffs that stayed attached to the headboard.
Black leather cuffs lined with just as dark, fur-like plush, left hanging from their last use of Xehanort exploring his body with some vibrating rod-something-or-other. Or perhaps, left for quick and easy access.
Sora cringed at the memory of his hands trapped above his head, Xehanort wielding that thing to map out every sensitive point between his head and toes that had Sora either offering involuntary giggles or whining from prickles of arousal. At one point, Xehanort had leaned down, commenting on the dampened flush taking Sora's face. Sora had spit back up at him. Xehanort had retaliated by holding the rod over his very ticklish sides until tears endlessly spilled, Sora seriously fearing he might suffocate on his own wheezing breaths that couldn't seem to stop.
Xehanort hadn't let him of course, but it felt far too close. Sora had barely registered the thumb swiping the sweat and tear mixed coating from his cheek, Xehanort declaring them 'even'.
It was something that he tried not to look at, trying his best not to recall that breathless terror – trying his best not to imagine how many more times he'd eventually find himself in similar situations.
Ugh, like he was doing now.
Dispelling the tiny twist in his gut, Sora crouched and opened the two-doored compartment he had never cared to explore before. Empty.
While he was down here, he may as well check under the bed. Shoes were also on his short list of items he was looking to recover. I'd be a bonus if he managed to locate those, too. To know where they were if he really needed them.
But the space underneath the bed offered nothing but plush carpet, Sora rising empty handed again.
The dresser on Xehanort's side of the bed housed only a few belongings; a second, smaller clock, a lamp, and a wristwatch– which Xehanort had taken this morning. And in the compartment beneath, Sora cheered at the sight of his sought after treasure.
Of course. He really should have looked here first.
Perhaps the choice of saving this spot for last had been a subconscious one; this also happened to be where Xehanort stored his collection of toys, lube, and other crude looking accessories. A subtle heat rose to his cheeks just from looking at the array presented. Only a handful he recognized, most of them unfamiliar and Sora housing a desperate wish that they'd stay that way. He'd gotten what he came for, snatching the gummiphone and hurriedly shutting the sight back away behind the doors.
"The moment of truth…" Sora spoke out loud, not even allowing his eyes to adjust the screen's brightness when muscle memory took him straight to Riku's number. He pressed the dial button.
Nothing.
He swiped to Kairi's and did the same. Again, nothing.
To be beyond certain, Sora dialed Donald, then Goofy, and then the King too, for good measure.
No such luck.
Slumping where he sat on the carpet, Sora blew out a defeated sigh. It had been worth the shot, but that didn't dispel the frustration Sora felt, tempted to chuck the useless phone across the room. Not that that would help in any way, either. Just land him a confrontation of awkwardly explaining any damage to Xehanort.
"Okay," Sora attempted to encourage himself. "Get a hold of yourself. This doesn't mean it's hopeless." He stood, tracing his steps back to the rest of the dwelling. "Time for a little recon."
There had to be something he could use to his advantage to find a way out. The time between waking and Xehanort leaving the shower wouldn't be enough to do any significant searching. It had to be now.
But…
Exactly how much of 'now' did he have left?
A wary look was thrown to the exit and its taunting lock. Sora really did not want to get caught again.
What if Xehanort's work didn't require him to be out for long at all? What if he was on his way back this very minute?
What if he was standing outside of the door right now, about to throw it open at any second–
Sora held his breath, stiff and staring. But nothing in front of him changed. The air burst from his chest all at once along with a groan.
He was being stu- silly. He was being silly, as Riku liked to correct.
Sora was a Keyblade wielder for crying out loud. An accidental one, but still. He was supposed to be brave. If this were Riku in his position, he would've fought his way out by now, Sora had no doubts about it– a Keyblade not even needed, for that matter.
But him? Performing underwhelmingly like always. Sora could barely even give the perimeter of his cage a hasty glance around before the anxiety of Xehanort catching him red-handed once more had him retiring to the kitchen island. Not very brave-like at all.
The oatmeal was cold and lumpy now, but he would at least get it down easier without Xehanort's intense eyes watching every bite. And by the time he had shoveled away an amount he thought Xehanort would be happy with and there was still no sign of him returning, Sora moved to the couch, the appearance of sitting patiently and obedient.
There was a strong urge to scratch his healing skin raw.
Everything in Sora itched to move, to keep searching. Yet that anchor of what was becoming an annoyingly familiar terror weighed him to the cushion.
Maybe this was why Xehanort hadn't given him a definite time frame. To discourage any 'misbehaving'.
Well, it worked.
The guy wasn't even here, but was yet still winning at his own game.
That thought didn't help Sora's restlessness in the slightest.
He attempted to find a cure through busying his fingers, taking great effort to reach for the gummiphone again rather than barely formed scabs. On autopilot, Sora navigated to his messages that felt to be a lifetime ago, re-reading old conversations and staring at old photos shared – both cruelly feeding the ache that squeezed at his heart.
And when he could no longer take anymore of that, Sora turned to the few games the device held to distract his mind until his captor's inevitable return.
Chapter 5
Notes:
Thank you all for the comments so far, your love is very much appreciated! <33
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
As much fun as it would've been to again stare at the clock and measure the time until Xehanort's return, Sora almost desperately stayed glued to his game. Stopping meant thinking about Xehanort, anticipating him. And that was something his brain seriously needed a break from dwelling on.
So when Xehanort finally did return, the flashing lights of the screen is where Sora's attention stayed, slouching into the couch in the hopes that he'd just be overlooked.
"I don't remember giving you permission to touch that."
That successfully got Sora to glance up.
Still at the door, Xehanort stood with an unreadable face pointedly eyeing the object filling his hands; unreadable, yet peaking that familiarity of a feigned ignorance he'd been met with before. The gummiphone emitted that silly little jingle that marked the death of his digital character, a cadence filling in for Sora's failure to answer. He could only dumbly blink before Xehanort was speaking again.
"It can no longer make calls, you know."
"I-I know," Sora stuttered.
Xehanort raised an eyebrow. "Because you were trying?"
"Oh, no!" Sora assured the accusation while wildly shaking his head, waving hands joining in as if that hadn't made the answer entirely clear. It wasn't a complete lie. He technically hadn't been trying at that moment. "I was just playing games. Y'know, passing time."
Xehanort took the explanation with a hum; amused sounding, yet something that sent shivers down Sora's spine. "I don't know what makes you think that you can play me for a fool, but I advise you to drop the act."
"What? No, I-"
Damn, why did he have to be so insightful? No matter how Sora thought to deny it, Xehanort already knew he didn't want to be here. Of course he'd automatically assume as much from him.
Sora dropped the offending thing from his hands in his blabbering, as if holding on to it any longer than he already had would somehow qualify for him being in trouble. He didn't think he was in trouble with Xehanort. It wasn't like he looked angry or anything, standing with his weight slightly shifted and loosely grasping the strap of a dark satchel hanging across his body that he had not left with. Everything about him screamed mellow, as usual.
But something about this Xehanort, even when cool and collected, struck weirdly uncomfortable – something that had Sora feeling on the cusp of unbearably queasy. Like that time he had accidentally swallowed sea water after a reckless stunt of launching himself from the obstacle course back home into the rocky tide of the cove below. Making his stomach want to turn inside out, and his throat becoming tight and hoarse, leaving him incredibly thirsty.
"What happened to playing with your toys to cure that boredom?" Xehanort questioned, stepping out of his shoes to leave by the door and removing the satchel to hang above them. "The faster you get accustomed to your training, the better. And I'd prefer sooner rather than later."
It took a moment for Sora to realize he meant the sex toys, like what he had referred to yesterday. It was a sickening thought, to say the least. Not only that Sora was expected to spear himself on whatever doodad from Xehanort's collection per his request, but that he all but confirmed his purpose for the hell he's been put through so far; to better prepare his body for when he next took him. Like he'd unfortunately suspected.
Sora would rather chug sea water than willingly cater to whatever fantasies littered Xehanort's deviant mind.
But catering is what was called for. And right now, Sora had a part to play.
"I know, but I got distracted when I saw my gummiphone. I had to play at least one game, y'know? Which is all that I was doing, by the way."
Xehanort's arms crossed over his chest. "Exactly how am I to believe you?"
"You can try trusting me. That's what…" Sora cursed the stall to his next word, like the label itself disagreed with his convictions. "That's what friends do."
"And you are my friend?"
"I would like to be."
That was at least mostly true. A friend who he could convince to help him out was better than an enemy. He knew Xehanort couldn't truly be satisfied alone. He saw it so plainly in those rare times it was allowed to show. Why else would he keep him trapped here like this? Why else would he be doing what he was doing?
"You said you didn't have any friends back home, right? I could be your friend." Sora offered his best play at a convincing smile with his sentiment. "If you'd like."
A strange look crossed into Xehanort's eyes. Maybe considering it? Or perhaps thinking on something else entirely, calculating – enough to briefly contort that even face. Measured steps brought him into the living room, to the front of the couch where he could look down on his captive. "You know friends usually don't lie to each other, right?"
"I'm not! I'm telling you, I really wasn't doing anything like that."
"I'm being generous, all things considered." Xehanort sighed something wearisome, like he could no longer be bothered to engage in this back and forth. "I'll give you five more seconds to come clean to me."
Ugh, him and this counting again. A bit ridiculous, Sora thought, but never failing to induce an immediate panic.
"Five. Four."
"Come on, cut it out." Sora stood at the other deliberately looking anywhere but his face, lightly shaking him by the elbow like it could snap him out of it. At most, that bought maybe an extra second or two in Xehanort slowing his numbers, a faint smirk slipping through that said he'd already won.
"Three. Two…"
"R-really!"
"...Oo-ne."
"Okay!"
Panic won out in the end. It always did.
Caving, Sora bowed his head, voice refusing to come louder than a nervous mumble. "I did try to call my friends. To see if any calls would actually go through."
Xehanort's smirk thinned. He bent, eyes leveling with Sora's.
"Don't lie to me."
A stutter flickered through Sora's chest. "O-ok. I'm sorr-"
The attempted apology was silenced by Xehanort's index pressing against his lips.
"I've had enough 'I'm sorry's yesterday." He rose from Sora's personal space, finger going with him. "We both know you don't mean it."
To automatically argue against that came naturally. Yet, a certain somber, distracted look on Xehanort's face stopped Sora from even beginning to try.
It didn't stay long, however, Xehanort squashing it almost as quick as it had come. "No matter. We'll have that rectified soon enough."
He didn't have to spell it out for Sora to know what came next. When he made a mistake, Xehanort, in his strangely strict regimen, sought to remedy it with a consequence– apparently, no matter how small. That calculating gleam behind his eyes was a familiar one and Sora resisted the urge to turn heel and flee. Xehanort would just chase him down and that had never ended well either. Imagining himself sinking into the carpet beneath his toes, far out of reach, would have to do as his mind raced to think of any way to possibly deflect an oncoming, undoubtedly inappropriate, verdict.
"I know what you're thinking," Sora tried before Xehanort could have the chance to get any final words in, "but don't you think this is all a little unfair? You didn't say anything to me, so it's not like I knew!"
"Oh, and I should just let the lying slide, too?"
Sora opened his mouth, but could only groan an indecipherable noise, not really having an excuse for that one. It reluctantly closed.
"Ah, don't give me that pout; it's not going to work right now," Xehanort practically purred at the face Sora had given. He noticed that hand twitching at his side, as if restraining from outright squeezing his cheeks in amusement. "You're the one in the wrong here."
As much as Sora wanted to argue until blue in the face, he knew there was only so much Xehanort would actually allow. An idea butted its way into his head, a 'get out of jail free' card of sorts, and Sora already hated that he was even considering it. Should his next counter fall short, it'd be leagues better than the alternative.
"Hear me out. Sure, what I did was wrong, but it was you who didn't say anything. So, it only makes sense that you should let it slide," he tied in a last ditch effort. "Right? Just this once?"
Xehanort simply smiled. The kind of smile that had Sora feeling like the butt of some sort of joke. A part of him was sure Xehanort enjoyed his babbling attempts to worm his way out of these dumb punishments. Which only meant there was no real chance at dissuading him; as Sora'd been told before, he begrudgingly recalled.
He deflated with a huff. "Fine. If I really have to, then maybe… I can choose? The punishment?"
Xehanort pondered it for a second, tilting his head in thought.
"Alright. I'll humor you."
That had Sora lighting up, almost disbelieving. That had worked way easier than he expected. But now a devious leer raked over him, the air about Xehanort shifting to something short of smug while crossing his arms. "What kind of punishment do you seek, my pet?"
Now in the spotlight, Sora's mind drew an immediate blank.
He truthfully didn't think he'd get this far. And Xehanort apparently figured that much.
"I have work that needs sorting," he announced, turning away from his dumbfounded gape. "You have until then to make up your mind. Or I guess I will have to make it up for you."
A nonchalant shrug rose one of his shoulders before fetching his satchel to disappear into the bedroom, Sora staying where he was with a cold apprehension setting in.
What have I done?
He sat stiff back to the couch, stumped on what came next. The last time he had touched what he shouldn't have…
'A reminder– to keep your hands from where they don't belong.'
As if on cue, the back of Sora's hands resumed their annoying itch. That stupid chair, empty and foreboding, begged to catch his eye which he stubbornly refused. This flub surely didn't earn him anything that extreme, did it?
Every noise of Xehanort moving about that came from the open door labeled Sora's anxiety that much higher. An audible ticking off of his set time limit, diminishing the window to make a decision. What would Xehanort settle for? He hadn't said that whatever Sora chose had to be up to his standards, but Sora didn't doubt that he'd be shot down if Xehanort didn't deem it 'worthy' enough.
Think, think!
Sora slid from the leather to the floor, fingers blindly feeling for the silver hidden out of sight. With the crown pendant in hand, his brain seemed to sort through his tumbling thoughts just a tad bit easier.
Whether he actually acted on them or not, Xehanort very much liked to toy around through his words, no different than how he had before this whole arrangement. Simply out of a desire to see their effect on him, if Sora had to guess– the same as the physical toying dealt.
A chill arose with a slight shiver, Sora recalling how just a couple of days ago Xehanort threatened to bend him over his lap and spank him like some misbehaving kid. He couldn't even remember what he'd done to warrant such a threat, but it was enough to cautionarily stick with him all the same. As humiliating as that sounded, it also sounded a fair amount more doable compared to other disturbing ideas. No different than being knocked on your butt from a rowdy Heartless. Really, how hard could he possibly strike with his palm?
No matter the answer, Sora would much rather take that than any more strikes of that whip.
By the time Xehanort re-emerged, Sora had long let go of his necklace, mind forcefully set. He rose, mustering up the courage to speak the embarrassing words needed.
"Well?" A warm excitement lined Xehanort's silky voice, gross as it was enticingly rich to Sora's already burning ears. "How am I to enlighten my naughty pet?"
"You… could spank me…?"
"I could," Xehanort remarked, nothing else said along with it and prompting a heavy sigh.
"...I want you to spank me."
Still no agreement came, his executioner waiting in silence.
"...Master?"
The guess proved correct if Xehanort's approving nod was anything to go by. He stepped forward and Sora automatically tensed, half expecting to be bent over right then and there. The only thing that met him was that same eerie, silent stare.
Why? Was that not a good enough punishment?
A thick swallow struggled its way down Sora's throat as his collar was grabbed, Xehanort gentle in coaxing him closer.
"Such beautiful eyes..."
"Oh–" Sora stammered at the unexpected compliment, any other words drying along with his tongue at the illusion of Xehanort getting even closer. No, he was actively leaning closer, leaning in, gaze now fixated somewhere below his eyes. He was–
Sora's head turned a moment too late, a little noise of alarm escaping when Xehanort's lips touched to the corner of his own. That didn't deter Xehanort, if anything invigorating him to press firmer, lips messily parting against Sora's. Any other attempts to turn away failed with a second hand gripping underneath his jaw to be reangled how the other pleased; to be kissed straight on.
Everything within Sora froze. Xehanort was kissing him. Lips connecting, fully slotted and unexpectedly wet – the whole nine yards. And Sora was stuck, breath stolen while left to stare blankly at a single pointed ear.
He had given kisses to his friends on the cheek. He had been kissed by Riku and Kairi a number of times in the form of dry, chaste pecks. But he'd never been kissed like this.
This was intimate, sensual, passionate. And coming from Xehanort? Sora hated it.
What seemed like forever to register, Sora's arms jolted back to life, hands giving a harsh shove against Xehanort's shoulders. It briefly broke the contact, but merely for a second, Sora prying at the steel grip on his jaw next with Xehanort diving right back in. It felt silly to be bothered by something as simple as a kiss – if that's what he could even call this rough crushing of their lips – when Xehanort had already inflicted so much worse. How did this feel to rival that? How did this strike his heart so much more personally? Was it because the intention here was supposed to be affectionate? Loving?
That's how Sora had always imagined it. He thought maybe that's how Xehanort was imagining this sudden advance. But seeping from the other alone, however, was primal hunger, a possessive desire. Something Sora did not, and could not, reciprocate. And he made as much known by doubling his effort to snatch away.
Xehanort put an easy stop to that, a whine breaking from Sora when a rising hand tangled into his hair, tugging taut while anchoring him in place. His parting mouth allowed Xehanort to keep him painfully pinched open and a slimy tongue to slip inside, any gnashing Sora would've done staying a cruel fantasy; one that slipped further and further away as he was explored with a heated urgency. His own strength to resist seemed to be sapped in turn, dizzed by Xehanort dipping around each crevice of his mouth like Sora's breath served as a long awaited delicacy he couldn't do without, determined to swallow every ounce involuntarily being offered up.
The single moment stretched into several, an ill feeling increasing with each relocking of those lips, heart falling heavier with every prod of that tongue. Was this the punishment? Encroaching on this last untouched place of his body, mockingly tender in delivering devastation? Maliciously hearing out Sora's request only to ignore it, taking his time in taking what he wanted instead?
How Sora prayed that was the case, loathing the flutter in his stomach and the gasp inviting Xehanort's tongue impossibly further when the grip at his scalp felt down the side of his neck, his chest, his abdomen, before wandering up his pajama shirt. The trails he left were eagerly retraced along skin, traveling over his waist, his quivering ribs, and roughly pawing higher.
A jolt and shudder sent Sora backing into the side table behind, catching the sound of a dangerous wobble. It was enough to snap Xehanort from his trance, hand removing itself to stabilize anything that might've tipped over and mouth finally pulling away with a last wet slip.
Allowed to breathe properly once more, Sora spent the next few moments huffing, Xehanort doing much of the same. His hands shook where they still uselessly clung to those digging fingers that had yet to let go.
"Your lips are delicious." Xehanort managed the words while licking his own, glossy with slick, his thumb then reaching out to smooth across Sora's which were now pressed tight simply because he could again.
And maybe because he was fighting the urge to cry. To not feel even more humiliated in front of Xehanort than he already did – because he knew he'd only call it out, further it.
"This isn't how I wanted to do it."
The grip released his aching jaw. Despite himself, despite the blatant violation that just took place, Sora had to give a questioning look at whatever the heck Xehanort could be talking about.
"You know I was a little… hasty on your first day," he continued. "I want to make sure our next time together is something we can both really let sink in. To make it up to you. I'd hoped to save our first kiss for then."
Believe it or not, Sora could sense the truth there. Although the brought up memory was very unwelcome, it conjured just the barest cracks of guilt from Xehanort. Confusing, to say the least. The concept messed with Sora's head, muddling his already complicated thoughts about what was going on here, in a brain that felt to be reeling too much for thinking right now. Because it wasn't like that changed anything. He'd still hurt him so insidiously– repeatedly. While Sora had cried and choked on begs, that had done nothing to stop him.
Sora… didn't think that was something you should get to apologize for. Not when those moments had him acting so clearly. Yeah, maybe hasty and messily at first, as if unsure of exactly what he wanted to do, but still so fervently wanting to do it. That didn't sound fair.
Yet here he was, apologizing. Again.
"My pet, so intoxicating that you are, my patience could not hold out any longer." Xehanort enclosed one of Sora's hands into his own, giving an almost embarrassed huff. "Despite what you may have gleaned of my older self, I've never been quite as good on that front."
I don't care, I don't care.
Sora didn't want to hear an explanation, an excuse. He wanted to run to the bedroom and cry the tears still threatening to slip; away from this creep who talked about taking him in such intimate ways like some sort of do-over event he could correct.
The grip around his hands squeezed. "Don't be upset; next time will still be just as amazing."
Sora lacked the constitution to respond, not if he didn't want the floodgates to open here and now.
Please let that have been the punishment.
No, Sora's luck sadly seemed to have avoided being captured here along with him. While he reveled in Xehanort releasing him and moving back, that was soured in the instant it took for him to lower onto the couch. Legs slightly spread, he patted his thigh. "Here."
That annoying lump in Sora's throat made it difficult to catch the breath he still lacked. "You want me on your lap?"
Xehanort smiled up at him. "Yes, kitten."
Sora took a few seconds longer than needed to rub at his eyes, willing those stinging tears back. "Laying down, or…?"
That expression threatened to dip into the beginnings of annoyance. "Need I repeat myself about patience?"
He was stalling and Xehanort knew it. Buying whatever time he could for his violated emotions before coming into contact with Xehanort again. But like every other time, it was only inevitable.
When Sora shuffled closer in tiny steps, Xehanort took it upon himself to hook an arm around his waist and maneuver him into place over his lap. Already tense, Sora couldn't help the jump at a tug on his waistband bringing his shorts and underwear down together, Xehanort not wasting any time in exposing his ass. They stopped at his ankles, Xehanort's touch coming back up to ease Sora's knees apart and then rest softly against one bare cheek.
Bracing his elbows onto the cushion below, Sora forced in a deep breath. To be spread and viewed so vulnerably was certainly not a new occurrence, but it definitely didn't feel to be getting any easier. Hopefully this next part wouldn't prove as too much harder.
"Count for me. A spoken number for each strike."
"How many?" Sora hesitated to question.
A soft laugh came from above. "Well, how about we start at fifteen and go from there?"
Negotiations had worked before; why not again? "That's a bit much, don't you think? For a rule I didn't even know about."
The light tap against his ass made Sora flinch way harder than he should have.
"Do you really want to get sassy with me while I have you bent over?" That definitely sounded like a threat if he'd ever heard one. "We'll start with thirty."
Sora silently cursed himself. Play along, remember?
Reinforcing his strategy to mind, Sora dropped the resistance. "Ok."
The hand on his ass responded more tenderly this time, soft in fondling the cheek it rested on before disappearing altogether. It came back down hard with a resounding smack, Sora crying out more so in surprise than outright pain. That didn't mean it hadn't hurt, a sting lingering in a frankly wide radius he had not expected. It lessened within the next second, allowing him to remember his given instructions before he could be rudely reminded.
"One."
Blow two came just as solid onto the opposite cheek, Sora managing to contain any noise as a groan kept in his throat. Those earlier beliefs of this being a breeze began to spiral into doubt territory. At least his question had been answered, although not to any way in his benefit. Sora's attention tracked that burning sensation that throbbed throughout his backside, deepening underneath his skin along with that humiliation he'd tried so hard to swallow to no avail. His resolve not to cry in front of Xehanort was already slipping, and much too easily.
"Keep up."
"T-two."
Their back and forth steadily dragged on, Xehanort firm in calling forth and Sora trying his best to dutifully answer each one, playing at a strange echo of a lecherous duet. Fingers kneaded into his shoulder from above, coaxing out Sora's numbers threading with those groans that broke much more easily as he counted higher and higher. And the higher the count, the more a horrifying, unwelcome tagalong made itself known. As if matters couldn't get any worse.
"...twenty-eight." Another smack induced another buck into Xehanort's lap. "Mmph– twenty-nine…"
The final strike had Sora breathing out his final number in relief, trying his best to ignore the tingling wave sent further to places he was ashamed to acknowledge. Fortunately, or rather the opposite, his position saw that he didn't have to be the one to do the acknowledging. A surprised squeak broke at the much gentler sensation of Xehanort trailing a finger down the underside of his responding cock, twitching to attention.
"Enjoying yourself down there?" Xehanort chuckled, delivering another teasing stroke. Sora's answer was to bury his face into the cushion between his fists.
Definitely not. But how was he supposed to say that with his body exhibiting differently? It wouldn't exactly be a lie, but he rather not give Xehanort the chance to take it as one, seeing how well that worked before. He didn't want to think about the shameful betrayal of his body deviating from his mind. He didn't want to think about what may or may not be dripping out onto Xehanort's fancy pants and fancy couch. He wanted to stay ignoring everything to do with this, and so that's what he did.
An extra smack snatched Sora's head from its hiding place, a yelp escaping. Xehanort smoothed his palm over the tender skin, Sora sure it must be as red as his face now felt.
"Good job, kitten."
"Thank you."
Mumbled from his ducking chin, it slipped out before Sora could even consider how backwards it sounded. Whatever. It was over now and he was desperately ready to rise and cover up from his tormentor.
Instead of removing himself however, the weight laid across Sora's shoulders stayed, and began an unagreed upon round two. Xehanort again alternated between each cheek, starting up a uniform rhythm of consistent blows.
Sora gritted his teeth at this new pace, barely managing a whining gasp of Xehanort's name let alone any attempt to label them. These impacts no longer granted that miniature opportunity of reprise in-between before another was stacked on top, relentless under Xehanort's heavy hand and effectively killing any half arousal he'd managed. Not that Sora could quite gain any relief over that, too busy trying to find a deep enough breath between this climbing intensity of discomfort and his own boiling anger at himself for not guessing that Xehanort would again take things too far.
He tried to toughen up and ride it out, he really did. Groans grew louder, shifting more into grunting shouts strung out more frequently, and before Sora knew it, a desperate hand shot back seeking to cease the assault. It only earned him a pause in Xehanort's faster interception.
"You squirmy thing," he chided, amusement evident when twisting that arm to hold pinned at Sora's back. His spanking hand heaved him fully back onto his lap where Sora had managed to wiggle sideways in his bucking, and to remedy that, Xehanort freed an ankle from his shorts and weaved that leg between his own, crossing to hold tight. "You asked this of me. So allow me to ensure you receive your deserving worth."
Xehanort resumed and Sora no longer cared about cries escaping, those tears finally falling behind them. A part of him had him almost believing Xehanort's words. That yes, he deserved this stupid, unfair torment for breaking a stupid rule he didn't know existed. For stupidly thinking he could lie again and somehow get away with it, and stupidly trusting Xehanort for one fair interaction. The tears only came thicker at that.
Restricted or not, Sora still squirmed, still whined, his free hand yanking at what he could reach of Xehanort's coat like that would dislodge him in any way. At the very least it served as a tether until Xehanort garnered whatever satisfaction he sought, blessedly, after far too long, sparing Sora's raw ass.
When nothing more came down, coiled muscles relaxed all at once, Sora letting shaky breaths fall through his open mouth. His wrist was released, and then his leg, and although gentle this time around, a touch fondling at one of his numb cheeks nearly sent him flying off of the lap that he was no longer fixed to. The violent flinch had the contact snatching away again.
"Aw, come here."
Sniffles and miniscule cringes to get away were decidedly ignored. Sora was pulled back, pulled up to sit facing Xehanort who observed his leaking tears. Pity softened his face, and not the kind that made Sora think he was in any way regretful for what he'd induced; the kind that richly colored his eyes with that of admiration, of a satiated pleasure for what he saw. Sora's own gaze dropped away, not wanting to see that for any longer than he had to.
"You've done such a good job for me."
He hadn't exactly had any say in it. Sora hunched underneath that look still searing into him, arms crossing over his still exposed crotch just to feel a little less vulnerable. But, it was over now-- for real, this time. Xehanort was happy and that was good because that meant no more hurting. So, why didn't he feel that relief he'd been waiting for?
Why was that rewarded respite he suffered for becoming harder and harder to find?
Maybe it had something to do with that kiss. Something that was Xehanort's fault, not his. Not his.
The couch dipped at Xehanort standing, walking away. A couple of rustling sounds later, warm fabric fell across Sora's back. The strong scent of sandalwood vanilla and Xehanort's neatly cuffed wrists leaning onto the back of the couch told him that it was his coat, and for the moment, Sora didn't care who it belonged to, finding the weight comforting. He pulled it snug over his shoulders.
"If you'd like, you can rest here until you've gathered your bearings," Xehanort offered, soft in that way Sora hated– in the way he had no right to be.
He flinched at a sudden light flashing harsh into his eyes. Blinking through its after effects caught him a glimpse of the gummiphone now in Xehanort's grasp, not even sure when he had retrieved it. He wordlessly examined whatever picture he'd gotten before pocketing it.
"How about I make you some tea and then we get those hands rebandaged, hm?"
Xehanort didn't wait for an answer, moving into the kitchen to presumably do just that. Sora's gaze followed, tracking the back of that silver head of hair. He truly had nothing better to do.
That's when he spotted it. Further above, there in the ceiling. He hadn't seen that in his earlier searching.
An air vent.
A large one, too.
…Large enough for someone to fit through?
Sora blinked. The thought of those vents from that one world he had visited flashed into mind, his little toy form traversing them like a giant metal corridor. Like those, this one must run through the rest of the ceiling, and eventually, somewhere else.
Eventually outside.
The squeeze might be tight, but if he could get it open, shimmy his way through…
Excitement threatened to constrict Sora's lungs and he drew a long breath to steady it, gripping Xehanort's coat tighter. If he inhaled deep enough he could almost detect the lingering scent of fresh grass, of moist dirt on its threads; a teasing taste of what waited out there.
He really missed the sun.
"Will…"
Xehanort's head cocked back towards him.
"...Will I ever get to go outside again?"
Xehanort let the question hang in the air for a second too long before turning around completely. "Tell me. Do you think your behavior as of late rewards something such as going outside?"
Sora sunk further into the coat. "Oh."
"In due time, sure." Xehanort returned to the back of the couch with his reassurance, drawing Sora's gaze to his when his hand curved soft onto his cheek. "You'd have to prove to me you can be trusted, of course. As of now, you have a long way to go. Do you understand, kitten?"
That could easily be a lie. Sora's first instinct was to dismiss it as such, to save himself the disappointment. But his heart so wanted to believe it, to take Xehanort's word for it.
It'd probably be the smarter option not to.
Sora again eyed the vent, only for a second before focusing back on the face much too close than he'd like. For the first time, he forced a smile with his relayed understanding, snuggling down into the touch and noting the elated matching turn of the mouth it immediately earned him.
Notes:
CW: non-con kissing, spanking
Chapter 6
Notes:
Some major health stuff has really been kicking my butt these last months so forgive me for the delays (´∀｀; ) But here it is!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Four screws held the vent's metal grate in place.
Sora's neck craned to observe them better, careful not to slip from the narrow countertop he balanced on. His fingertips grazed over each one, cool to the touch and screwed much too tight to grasp.
No way I can do this without some kind of tool.
Xehanort didn't seem like someone who'd happen to have any, let alone leave them lying around. Sora certainly hadn't come across any before tossing his lot with the toothpick.
In an odd sense of déja vu, he considered the handiness of a good, strong knife. That could do the trick of a screwdriver. As long as he stayed very, very careful.
However, the block holding the knife collection was coincidentally missing from where he'd previously spotted it. Another coincidence were the kitchen drawers now locked with little mechanisms. Sora, with much difficulty, suppressed the urge to try busting them open with brute force here and now– to at least get a peek at what he'd be working with. Patience had always been a struggle for him to endure. But patience would save his skin from a very irritated Xehanort wondering why his 'kitten' would do such a thing.
Sora hated to admit how sore yesterday's endeavors left him. To be on the receiving end of that kind of displeasure again? No thank you.
The front door clicked from around the corner.
Sora launched himself down to the floor, diving onto the living room carpet where his open book lay waiting. Just in time for Xehanort to come through.
"Hey," Sora tried not to puff out the greeting, ignoring the furious rug burn wracking his chest and fighting to temper his racing heart. "You're back early."
To Sora's slight annoyance. He could at least do him the favor of being consistent with his returns.
"My work provides me with a flexible schedule," Xehanort explained once the door had been securely locked again. "As long as I meet deadlines, I can come and go as I please." Sora watched as he removed his bag and shoes to sit neatly in their proper places, spying that mouth curving into a poorly concealed smile. "How fortunate for us, hm?"
Yeah. Lucky me.
Xehanort made to turn for the living room, yet something stopped his approach short, wiping that smile away. Following his eyes told Sora his attention had fallen to the book splayed open, a second spent staring. He nodded to it with his chin.
"Volume three again?"
Strangely feeling as if he were being bareted, Sora hesitated with his nod.
Xehanort continued forward. A boot reached out to toe the cover closed, a tap scooting it away before he reached down with an open hand. Preparing for the inevitable, Sora took it, letting it pull him to his feet. The cringe still couldn't be helped when Xehanort's lips, chilled from the outside air, parted against his own for an open-mouthed kiss. There's been more of those lately since that first awful one. Sora hated these just as much.
"No need for that old thing," Xehanort crooned, lips still lingering close. "Now you can have my company."
Sora didn't question the reaction, as odd as it was. Just nodded and smiled. Complying, like he was supposed to.
As was becoming routine, Xehanort tended to his tender hands before instructing Sora to heat some tea. From that satchel he'd been carting around, he produced a curious little device to occupy himself with in the meantime; something akin to a computer, Sora realized, once he was on the couch and had it propped open on top of his lap. The clacking of keys filled the silent distance between them, near deafening until a whistle steaming into the air signaled a ready pot.
With two piping mugs served, the computer was set aside for Sora's attention instead. The unspoken demand came in a hand motioning him closer, tucking Sora close and cozying up against him without a word.
Sora hated the silence. It felt to have turned the air around them thick and stale, every breath coming through too aware and loud in his ears– foreboding while they sat stagnant in this chasm of nothing.
At least when Xehanort was speaking Sora could gain some idea of what was on his mind, as ambiguous as it might be. Like this, his heart was allowed to run away with so many distressing possibilities. Fishing for anything to speak about, anything to use as a distraction, was becoming harder and harder with these varying degrees of success. Another day had boringly come and gone, with hardly an ounce of progress made.
Frustration rose in turn of his quiet unease, something Sora forcefully expelled between their alternating sips.
Well, every little tidbit is one step closer to making it out of here.
When dinner came around, it still proved a hassle for Sora's uncooperative stomach. His fork poked and prodded, uninterested. Even with the growing glower intensifying through Xehanort's stares, pushing him to take a few bites, swallowing still proved just as difficult. To prevent any nauseated accidents, Sora resorted to busying his mouth with conversation, again seeking that distraction.
The more he fished, the more likely he'd catch something worthwhile.
"So, this work place of yours; would you say it's pretty close to here? Or is it more like an annoying trip you dread making every morning? How do you even make the trip?"
Xehanort's eyes lifted to his, slow in finishing what sat in his own mouth. "...Awfully interested in my affairs today, aren't we?"
Sora's shoulders rose to his ears, a smile that felt just as stiff following. "Aren't we friends? Friends, y'know, talk about that kind of stuff."
That expression appeared again, temporarily coloring Xehanort's gaze. Same as before. Him insisting on being a friend was apparently an unwitting trigger. Sora made a mental note of that.
"You do remind me of someone," Xehanort admitted after a lengthy moment. "A friend. But you could never be him."
For the words spared, he spoke of that rather lightly – the opposite of what Sora would expect when reminiscing on an old friend. Like that was a good thing. Whatever and whoever had come to mind was dismissed in a blink, elbows leaning Xehanort forward onto the table top with a placid grin.
"I'm going to turn you into something better."
While wanting to discern just what that meant, Sora found that he couldn't, his mind occupied by something else. Like why Xehanort appeared to strangely waver in front of him, reminiscent of one of those fun house mirror tricks. Huh.
His image righted itself almost immediately, leaving Sora dumbfounded in a creeping bout of confusion.
What's going on?
Something felt odd. Off. Bones felt to have been replaced with lead, gravity weighing heavier than it had a second ago and refusing to let his arms move how he wanted. Glancing down didn't fare any better, his half eaten plate of food blurring along with the fork his fingers trembled around. Sora's skin chilled, hit with realization.
No way… Had Xehanort snuck another spell on him?
This familiar fuzzy sensation screamed that was the case. And he was losing the battle fast. This couldn't happen again, he had to do something–!
Sora forced his numbing legs into action, kicking up from his chair and stumbling away from the island. Unblinking, Xehanort's gaze followed.
"Going somewhere?"
"Um… I think I need to…"
The world jolted sideways.
Sora's hand planted on the edge of the counter behind him where it slipped under his suddenly all too heavy weight, landing him hard on the tile. There he stayed, unable to roll off of his bruised side let alone up from the ground. The only action that Sora's brain seemed to register was alarmed blinking, watching as Xehanort stood with zero urgency.
He wanted to panic. He wanted to thrash, to lash out at the other bending beside him, to wretch free when cradled close, his limp body being lifted into steady arms. Neither happened, muscles refusing to obey.
What are you doing?
Only a pathetic groan came out in place of Sora's question. They were headed for the bedroom. He was being lowered onto the mattress. And laid flat on his back, Sora's increasing terror produced tears in the corner of his drooping eyes.
"No…" He managed a slurred plea, as tiny as it was, sluggishly bringing a hand up, not even sure what he intended to do with it. Xehanort caught it with ease, directing it to his curved lips for a gentle kiss.
"Don't worry," he soothed, words blending and melting into nothing as Sora felt himself slip away. "I'm here to take care of you."
~~~~~~
A dull pounding encased Sora's head, measured and steady like his matching heartbeat. His body ached from head to toe, feeling as if weighed down by mountains of sand and still fuzzy from the trenches of sleep.
In what came much more difficult than it should've been, Sora cracked open his heavy eyelids. The first thing he blurrily spotted were the familiar black silks that made up the bed. So, still where Xehanort had left him.
Xehanort–!
Sora forced his eyes open the rest of the way, cutting to the other side of the mattress.
Empty.
"Good morning."
Sora didn't bother concealing his flinch, head snapping around the opposite way.
There he was. Sitting on the edge of the bed by his side, delightfully smiling down on him. Like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
"Well, more so afternoon. How do you feel?"
"Um."
Confused, uncomfortable, terrified–
"T-tired." Sora sluggishly blinked. "Really tired."
"You were asleep longer than I'd expected. You'll probably still not quite feel like yourself for the next few hours or so. I'll be sure to lower the dosage next time."
Dizziness ignored, Sora pushed up from the mattress, looking Xehanort head on.
Dose? Like, medicine? Or drugs?
"Did you…" Sora questioned, afraid he already knew the answer, "...drug me?
"Yes." No kind of shame was offered with Xehanort's confirmation. "This instance was merely a test to see what your body could handle."
Really? He was completely ok with drugging him now?
Where had he put it? Sora thought back to their dinner. He didn't remember anything about his food or drink tasting funny. Just the world spinning and his mind, all too startlingly fast, turning to mush.
What if his body couldn't have handled that? What if he'd had some sort of crazy reaction and hadn't woken up at all?
That wasn't the case though, he supposed. He was awake now and… somewhat okay. As okay as he could be. At least he caught up on some sleep. It's not like he's gotten much of it since being here, periodically stuttering awake with any and every shift from Xehanort at his side.
Now that that initial distress was out of the way, Sora could voice the next important question. "Why? You didn't…" His mind couldn't even supply the rest, feeling thoroughly nauseous at the prospect.
"Take advantage of you in your state?" Xehanort completed for him. "No. I told you I would make our next time something enjoyable for the both of us. What fun is there to be had if you were unconscious, hm?" The way Xehanort settled his fear hardly had Sora feeling any better. "This is merely to ensure you don't have too much free time on your hands for those naughty habits you've developed."
Of course. All in the name of improving his behavior.
Better than nothing, Sora let that minimum relief relax him back into his pillows. Once there he froze, feeling something new that he hadn't noticed when waking. Again he shifted, twisting his hips underneath the silks.
Something was wrong. Something was there.
Propping himself to one elbow, Sora reached behind him and dipped his hand into his shorts. Tentatively feeling around the curve of his ass, something solid and smooth met his touch, sitting snug between his cheeks.
"What–"
Xehanort watched his confusion that quickly jumped to tense concern. "You refuse to play with the toys I've given, so I took matters into my own hands." Standing from the bed, he crossed his arms. "We have to get you better accommodated somehow, and regularly wearing plugs will help you get there."
He spoke so matter of factly, Sora struggled to find the disgusted words he wanted to hurl forward. Not helped by a surge of embarrassment, feeling outright violated. And he was just going to leave it in there?
Xehanort bent forward in his stammering silence. "Do you have a problem with that?"
More than he could name. I don't like you touching me, I don't want this thing in me, everything about this is wrong.
He could practically hear the response he was sure to get. 'You'll get used to it.' 'You'll come to enjoy it.' 'You'll soon see.'
"...No." Sora hoped to all of the gods that this one didn't also come with a remote.
"Very good." Xehanort nodded as if he had just answered a correct question to a test. Passing had never felt so debilitating.
Xehanort restraightened and Sora noticed for the first time the attire he wore; a tight fitted muscle tank over drawstring sweatpants sitting low on his hips. Much more casual than the last couple of days.
"You're," he carefully prodded, "not going to work?"
"I called off today." A hand landed in his hair, lightly patting it into whatever neatness Xehanort sought. "I had to make sure my kitten was taken care of."
Great. Unfortunate guess confirmed, Sora slunk back into the pillows, and subsequently, out of fingers reach.
Xehanort merely closed the gap once more, reconnecting to lay his hand heavy against his scalp. Him leaning into the wall behind said it wouldn't be lifting anytime soon.
Caving further into himself, Sora's eyes squeezed shut, very much wishing he could be alone right now. Maybe sleep would have mercy on him, whisking him away again where he could somewhat act like that was the case. Then again, with the weighted feeling of that thing sucked into him serving as a prime example, it'd probably be best not to pass out in Xehanort's presence so soon.
It was a struggle not to fixate on this frightening turn of events. The disregard for his boundaries was nothing new, but to even do so when asleep introduced a whole new thread of terror. There was no telling what else Xehanort may have done.
He had said he hadn't and Sora wanted to trust him, he really did. But he was clearly impatient to… satisfy certain desires.
If Xehanort had any comment on the stress Sora knew was currently contouring his face, it thankfully wasn't shared. Probably too busy imagining the awaited moment he'd have the privilege to fill him in place of the plug.
A compromising image he hadn't wanted manifested behind Sora's eyelids, bringing heat to his cheeks. It rang all too familiar to the memory of horrified, useless struggling, the reminder prickling the beginnings of a sweat beneath his collar.
He had to delay that – for as long as possible.
…Now, if only he knew just how to do that.
~~~~~~
One very disorienting day later, Xehanort departed for work again. And even with the lasting effects of drowsiness, that didn't stop him from administering more of that drug before so.
While Sora could appreciate the lack of secrecy this time around, he hadn't exactly been thrilled at being shaken awake to take the pill directly. Xehanort ordered his mouth open, popping the tiny thing in there himself with a salty finger jutting in right behind it to ensure it'd be swallowed. By the time Sora had reawoke, Xehanort was long gone.
This certainly threw a wrench into things.
A lazy glance at the clock revealed that precious hours had come and gone, lost to his unwitting slumber. And while not as sluggish as the day before, any motivation to further examine that vent and any objects that might open it up, had been utterly sapped.
Annoyingly enough, Xehanort's new tactic was already proving beneficial to his strategy being played. Sora may have to tweak his own in turn.
The vent was a backup plan anyway. The goal had been to find an escape route and that’d been done. It shouldn't matter if he had a sinking feeling it wouldn't be opening anytime soon. Playing along into Xehanort's little game should keep that worst case scenario of needing it an unwarranted fear. Hopefully.
When Sora finally managed to move his heavy body from the covers, another solid ten minutes was spent on the mattress’ edge fighting dizzy spell after dizzy spell. The notable lack of feeling oddly stuffed told him the plug had been removed. Again, while he happened to be unconscious with no say in the matter. He thought he could feel the remnants of tenderness beyond his drug laden body, a twinge of soreness from where muscles had been stretched to accommodate the size of the object he held for who knows how long. And from whatever else Xehanort might've been tempted to do.
He wouldn't have done anything more, Sora attempted to comfort himself. That was somehow supposed to be for my own benefit. That's what he said, so I guess I'll believe it… Believe in him to keep his word.
Sora ignored how sour that thought sat with him.
He almost didn't know what he considered better– the loss of the plug in general, or the fact that he didn't have to suffer the embarrassment of being awake while Xehanort spread him for its purpose. How awful was that? Knowing that he’d been intimately toyed with while unaware twice now fed a desire to scrub his skin to numbness either way. A perfect enticer to eventually force him up and into the shower.
As clean as he'd manage to feel, Sora lounged lazily in the vanity's chair, dressed in fresh pajamas and brushing slow strokes through his hair. The shiny locks were already long-dried and well combed, yet he continued the motion with no intention of stopping. He truly had nothing else to do. The plague of restless boredom was hardly ever curved in this prison.
Reading those books – a find he had discovered early on in his capture – had been given a try first, their inviting words of make-believe that he nearly had memorized the next closest thing to escape he'd get. Occupying the same space as Xehanort, that sparse collection is what he had always turned to, desperate to distract his mind. Since the gummiphone was again out of the picture, Sora supposed it was back to that.
There weren't many books to choose from– only three in fact, the last one being his easy favorite out of the bunch. The conclusion of the grand trilogy, where the prince prevails and finally rescues his long lost love awaiting him…
Sora could only reread those so many times. The heartache that spurred him to keep opening that first page also begged him to just leave the worn covers to continue collecting dust where he'd found them. So staring at his bored reflection would have to do.
The repetitive movement along his scalp was almost enough to soothe his weeping heart. Besides, it was something to keep busy. Xehanort liked his hair to be neat, after all. If it was in any way untidy, he seemed to prefer it that way by his hand.
The brush paused. Sora straightened, blinking at his reflection.
Xehanort preferred everything neat. Especially Sora. Put together and, above all, clean.
So… if he happened to not be quite up to those standards–
The familiar clicks of Xehanort returning came muffled through the bedroom door. A moment later it was opening, his captor coming through with eyes immediately for Sora. The idea turning in his mind was swiftly pushed down should Xehanort somehow be able to recognize he was up to something. Hopefully that thread of excitement would rather be disguised for his return, like what he so wanted.
“Look at you sitting pretty.” That golden gaze raked him up and down. “I really like that color on you.”
Sora found his fingers curling into the hem of his shirt, also looking at the dark blue silks he had adorned. He himself had thought the color was kinda nice when choosing them. Now he couldn't quite agree.
Still, Sora tried for an appreciative smile. It fell short, razed by an uneasy sense of déja vu when spying what took Xehanort's hands. One of those dark cloth bags dangled from his grip.
The immediate anxiety that made itself known doubled with Xehanort's hand sticking inside. A long… something was pulled out, thin and rod-like with an end that widened into a flat piece of what could've been leather. The shape almost reminded Sora of an oar, just miniature in size. That dreadful whip was the next to come to mind, this new thing looking scarily similar.
Not in any way wishing to know its purpose, Sora intended to watch Xehanort unveil it in silence. His impulsive mouth betrayed him. "What's that?"
Xehanort slapped the flat end onto the vanity, a sudden movement and burst of noise that had Sora flinching.
"A riding crop.” The object was laid across the wooden surface much more softly. “I thought it more handy than the whip in certain instances. It's a gift for the two of us– something to commemorate our first week together,” Xehanort further explained, oddly excited like a special holiday had been declared. And although he tried, Sora must not have concealed his unease at that very well.
“Don't give me that look,” his dampened tone added. “I'll be gentle; unless your behavior invokes otherwise, of course."
“O-oh. Sure.” Like that was supposed to make him feel better.
Xehanort released the bag next, letting it drop to the floor. His fingers snapped before pointing across the room. “On the bed.”
Instant dread gripped Sora's throat. “Right now?” Wide eyes darted to the ‘gift’ and back. “Why?”
“I want to stretch you open some more.”
Now a tad of confusion crept through. “...Open?”
“The plug?” Xehanort enlightened, turning to his bedside dresser of assorted playthings. Assumedly retrieving said item and whatever else from below.
Oh. Not the greatest relief, but relief all the same. Time to make my move, then.
“Xehanort.” Sora pressed his lips onto a frown, slouching to hunch his shoulders in onto himself. “I'm not feeling too well right now.”
Mid-crouch, Xehanort paused before restanding, empty-handed. Soft footsteps brought him back to Sora's side, a warm hand pressing onto his forehead a second later.
“It must be that medicine,” Sora insisted as it flipped to press its knuckles next. “I think it's been messing with my stomach.”
“It shouldn't induce nausea.” Xehanort dropped the hand, suspicious eyes narrowing downward. “Not any that lasts this long, at least.”
“Are you sure? Cause I really think I might–”
Sora cut his sentence short to barrel over his knees, further selling his ploy with an egregious groan. Successfully, Xehanort took a large step back. Sora might've chuckled if not for his dedication.
“This is because of how little food you've been taking in,” Xehanort chided, crossing his arms. He added a shake of his head when mumbling under his breath, “Just our luck when we finally get some progress going.” That displeasure was swiftly covered up, showing Sora a sympathetic turn of his brows. What was perhaps supposed to be a comforting hand landed on his shoulder with a light squeeze.
“Get back in that bed. I'll make you some soup for that upset stomach of yours,” Xehanort offered. “What would you prefer?”
“Actually–”
“Don't refuse.”
The demand erupted with such sudden sternness, it tore a gasp from Sora.
“Um,” he retried. “Chicken noodle?”
Sympathy returned to Xehanort's gaze. “I'll get right on it.”
That squeeze lifted from where it had clenched just a hair tighter. And with that, he turned to leave Sora alone. A bout of lightheadedness rose in his absence, something Sora tried to imagine was an actual side effect of that medicine, even with the unsteady breath wavering from his lungs.
The excuse had actually worked. For now.
Sora knew he couldn't stall forever. But he would make a point to every chance he got.
Any instance of physical interaction over the course of the next few days was timely interrupted with an infliction that had Xehanort backing off. A threat of vomit here. A well aimed, much more wet than necessary cough there. No, he couldn't bathe, what if the steam proved too much for his dizzy spells? No other choice but to wait the symptoms out.
The medicine kept coming regardless, but anything and everything that could've had Xehanort further in his space was repelled in such a way– to Xehanort's clear growing annoyance.
Of course, playing sick could only be effective for so long.
Try as he might to hide it, Sora noted that waning compliance with his actions. Xehanort kept himself from work to dote on him – was eager to, in fact – and being continuously turned away, being excluded from whatever expectations he'd conjured up for looking after his ‘sickly’ pet, was not being swallowed so easily.
He was bordering on frustrated, Sora could tell. It was only a matter of time before that conformity stopped entirely. Something had to change if he wanted to keep saving his skin.
Sora silently toed out of the bedroom. Xehanort was sitting on the couch, that little computer clicking away as he caught up on whatever important work stuff he had. With that handy device, that was apparently something he could just do without leaving the apartment.
But not if Sora had a say in it.
“You're out of bed,” Xehanort observed, eyes not leaving the screen. Sora pretended not to notice the tersest with which he spoke, continuing on his way to the fridge.
“I wanted something to drink.”
“I could have fixed you something. If you had asked.”
“Thought I shouldn't bother you.” Head ducked into the fridge, Sora waved back at the set up occupying him. “Since you're working and stuff.”
Xehanort didn't respond and Sora was sure his jaw was sliding in that subtle show of irritation he'd been seeing much more of these past days. A carton of juice was selected, something fruity and rich in color. Pouring himself a hefty helping, Sora entered the living room, leaning in front of the couch to get a glimpse of the dull screen.
"What're you doing?"
Xehanort, still not bothering to look up nor pause his typing, provided a short answer, curt and making Sora's fingertips squeeze firmer into his cup. "Financial analytics."
Oh. Sciency stuff. Or maybe that was math. Charts and graphs and a slew of other things that immediately made his head spin. That made his next move just a little bit easier.
Sora threw himself down beside the other, liquid sloshing from his cup to the couch below, himself, and Xehanort's little computer. Not much, but enough to get the job done.
That is, if Xehanort didn't have the reflexes of a wildcat.
He saved the device just in time, quickly lifting it from his lap which ended up soiled in turn. Sora muttered a silent curse.
"Oops. Sorry 'bout that."
However, not concerned with his own clothes, it was Sora's outfit Xehanort turned to frown at. His tongue clicked. "Your nice blue set."
Sora shrugged. "A little mess never bothered me. They were already dirty anyway." He leaned back, ignoring the dampness staining him and leisurely taking a sip from the dripping cup.
A click signaled the computer shutting.
Sora couldn't quite ignore how his breath turned into an echoing stutter within the ceramic when it was then abandoned to the side table. Xehanort rose to his feet.
"Get up."
"...I just got comf–"
"Up."
Sora tentatively rose as well.
Xehanort's hands immediately went for his shorts.
"H-hey!" Sora jolted back with his protest, attempting to pull back up what had been yanked down. Being swatted at by the other halted his efforts.
"I paid a hefty sum for these," Xehanort explained, a tone away from griping when knocking a fist against Sora's shin, prompting him to step out of the clothes. "I won't have them getting ruined by such carelessness."
Sora reluctantly obliged, letting the shorts be taken. The confiscation of his drink followed, set next to the unfortunately still functioning computer. “I'll be sure to have these dry cleaned the next time I'm out,” Xehanort said, looking from his own damp sweatpants to the shirt remaining on Sora's half dressed body. Teeth painfully bit into his cheek at the notion. He clearly hadn't thought this through.
Xehanort came forward, reaching for the buttons lining his torso next, and Sora acted immediately. Mouth open, he hacked a cough clear into Xehanort's crowding face.
Any triumph from the resulting cringe was interrupted by the sudden seizure of his jaw.
Sora's eyes blew wide, the index and thumb entrapping him digging frighteningly familiar into his cheeks. Wiping at whatever precipitation that had hit their mark, Xehanort slowly reopened his eyes. When his mouth did the same, it was to deliver his name dipped in that way that Sora had begun to recognize as a warning.
"Sora. What is it that you think you're doing?"
"Whaddya mean?" Sora squeezed out between pursed lips.
“I've warned you against playing me for a fool before.” Xehanort's head tilted. “Haven't I?”
Throat thoroughly drying at the reminder, Sora attempted a rigid nod.
“Then explain yourself.” Xehanort released him, giving the freedom to do as he was asked. “Explain these little antics – the sudden bouts of sickness, the uncleanliness–” he recounted, only for the purpose of plainly showing his exasperation through his dragging sentences. “–The rebuttal of my graciously given accommodations.”
“Oh.” Sora blinked in false oblivion. “Does that stuff bother you?”
A grin stretched onto Xehanort's face. “Infuriates me.”
“Y-you're not acting like it.” A nervous noise barely passing as a chuckle escaped Sora as he felt his act falter, furthered by Xehanort's cocking brow.
“So this was your plan all along, hm? To be a conniving, irritating little nuisance?”
"Well yeah, but–” Dumbstruck, Sora stiffened at the slip, rushing to correct himself. “I mean, no, I didn't mean like–"
"Yes, No?” Xehanort teased amidst his spluttering, the exasperation he'd displayed all but melted at the uncovered guise. “Care to give that another try?"
He really didn't want to. Sora suddenly wanted nothing to do with this interaction at all, alarm bells setting off in a way that turned his palms clammy. They pet uselessly against his bare thighs, mouth again uselessly trying to save him. "I mean, there's not really an explanation I can–”
"I'm sure that pretty head of yours is capable enough to elaborate."
Xehanort stood firm, waiting. Sora wanted so much to break away from those staring, amused eyes that seemed to incrementally shrink him where he stood with each blabbering word. Why was Xehanort taking this so well? The cat was out of the bag and here he was, enthralled with the deception. Sora had lied. He thought Xehanort didn't like lying. Instead of the demand to come clean like before he was toying with him, pushing for an explanation Sora knew he wouldn't like.
Had Xehanort known he'd been duping him from the start? Had he just been waiting for this moment of confrontation before taking back the reins? His demeanor definitely said he found some sort of satisfaction from the situation in contrast to the cold, uncomfortable sweat taking Sora.
"Actually, I think I'll just get in the shower really quick,” he redirected. “Cause, y'know–" He gestured to his exposed bottom half. "Spill."
Most of the liquid had been soaked by the fabric, but it was the most reasonable thing Sora could think of to quickly excuse himself. He stiffly started for the bedroom. His shuffling footsteps were soon tailed by Xehanort's much calmer ones.
Sora stopped, struggling to speak past the heart that leapt into his throat.
"Please don't follow me."
Xehanort said nothing, that insufferable grin filling his silence.
Sora risked turning around, to continue a few steps more. The other echoed him behind.
"Xehanort." Forgetting himself in the moment, Sora lowly groaned the name. A playful exclamation burst from the addressed– followed by the same false oblivion he had utilized earlier.
“Oh. Does this bother you?”
This smarmy–
Sora allowed himself a frown when boldly facing the other. “More like outright annoying.”
“Is that so?”
Large steps carried Xehanort forward. That spurred Sora to move too, backpedaling in surprise to keep the distance he tried to close. It didn't quite work, panicked feet stumbling into the bedroom and Xehanort's longer legs catching up much too fast. Once across the threshold himself, he stopped.
"You really know how to get me in the mood to play."
Not another game…
Sora warily watched Xehanort's arm reach behind him, pulling the door shut. Crap.
"...You wouldn't happen to have any board games, would you?"
Notes:
CW: non-consensual drugging, non-consensual touching
I'm very excited for the next chapter :)
Happy Holidays everyone! <3
Chapter 7
Notes:
Sora had his fun; now it's time for Xehanort to have his
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sora's half serious joke fell flat, swept away along with that guise of control that spiraled all too quickly. He may as well have not uttered a single word. Xehanort certainly hadn't reacted aside from the lifting twitch at the corner of his mouth. Clear amusement.
He showed forward an open palm, fingers motioning back towards him. Harmless as it was, Sora flinched away all the same. He didn't want to play, he didn't want to know whatever it was that Xehanort undoubtedly already had in mind.
“Um, is a game really necessary?”
Xehanort did not budge. “My rules have to stick somehow.”
And that ‘how’ was an excuse to torment Sora in whatever manner he pleased. “I…” He tried for an excuse of his own, any other he could think up in his rapidly closing window of escape. “I-I–”
The inviting hand dropped to rest against Xehanort's hip. “You would deny me?” he questioned. “Even after selfishly denying me this entire time with your little ploy?” Xehanort tsked, every bit patronizing. “For a naughty thing like you, that wouldn't be fair, now would it?”
Naughty. Sora was starting to hate that word as much as ‘disobedient’, feeling far more gross – derogatory – in the way it bounced from Xehanort's tongue. But he had been pretty… naughty, hadn't he? He knew what he was doing, and still he did it, banking on the idea of sparing his own skin, savoring this precious time Xehanort had attempted to set aside.
Sora had screwed up. Again. What was fairness if not him accepting that mistake?
“...I guess not…” Sora said, defeated. He should've known better, he had to learn to know better. Here, right now, he supposed he'd find out if it had been worth it. “W-what kind of game were you thinking of?”
Xehanort toed forward, and Sora fought everything in him that wanted to step away. He managed not to flinch this time at the rising hands that placed themselves on either side of his arms. That was something. The same couldn't be said for Xehanort's head taking a sudden dip below his own.
Lips captured the space between Sora's chin and collar, slightly moistened and incredibly hot.
“Ngh…!” Instantly Sora's knees went weak, threatening to give under his weight as Xehanort moved soft lips along his throat. His tongue soon joined, tickling across his skin where it sought his thrumming pulse beneath. A stuttered gasp was pressed from Sora, Xehanort resting the fleshy heat there long enough to give a satisfied huff of his own before puckering again to suck another dizzying kiss.
That lit something to life deep in Sora's gut, heady and dangerous– enough to snap him to his waning senses. He broke off from the other, squirming away until his back hit the nearest wall and squeaked out his protest. "Maybe something else?"
"Kitten..."
Xehanort sweetly drawled the pet name, drawn out like the chill tickling up Sora's rigid spine. His palms met the wall next, fingertips griping into the drywall like if he pressed hard enough he could claw it open and escape to the other side.
Escape, escape, he had to escape this–
"I have an idea!"
Sora blurted the statement in a volume much louder than needed. It was enough to slightly widen Xehanort's eyes, giving him pause. Sora needed to fill it fast.
"N-new game; you… go over there–” A vague gesture was thrown to the far corner of the bedroom, “–while I stay here a-and… we see who can stay quiet the longest?” Sora lamely finished.
Xehanort blinked back, unimpressed. "New new game,” he countered after the baffling silence, “Since you’ve felt so assertive as of late, why don't you indulge me in a little show?” An arm crossed Xehanort's body, hugging it into a stretch before doing the same with the other. “How about a standard wrestling match? Give it your best effort and I'll decide if it's worth letting you off with a warning. Deal?”
What kind of compromise was that? There were a million other things Sora could think of rather doing than to surrender himself to any kind of contact from Xehanort.
“S-Sick, remember?” Although weak, Sora played the only viable card left in his deck. It's proven its effectiveness, after all. He forced a pathetic cough to back him up and everything. Xehanort remained undeterred.
“You know, some believe working up a sweat is beneficial to relieving cold symptoms.” A practically devious leer highlighted his expression. “Yet another favor I'd be doing you.”
Even with Xehanort playing along, Sora found himself again defeated. Figures.
Was… wrestling really all he wanted to do? Weird, but he supposed this was one of the easier things he could oblige to. Him and Riku had rough-housed more times than he could count. He rarely won those play fights – and even when he did, he was sure Riku had let him – but if this would truly satisfy Xehanort, it'd serve leagues better than the alternative.
I might as well get this over with.
“Fine.”
There was no ignoring the sheer triumph that lit up Xehanort's face. “First one on their back loses.”
Sora suddenly became aware of how he was still very much pants-less. No time to marinate on that, however, with Xehanort making a quick move for him, arms outreached. Sora's own arms came up, shielding, cowering as he was rushed with familiar icy fear. Xehanort encircled his wrists and that fear doubled, nearly stealing the breath from his lungs. Blinded, Sora suddenly had it in his mind to again beg at the other, beg for something else.
"Don't let me win!” Xehanort had the nerve to bellyache at the reaction, tugging at the resistance Sora gave. “I know you're stronger than this."
Funny how those words were just the ticket for firing up that competitiveness within, long overdue in making a show. Sora forbade himself from thinking about why that was. What mattered was that it was enough for him to rediscover that determination; his preset determination to not let Xehanort win. At least not easily.
Xehanort's generous grip allowed Sora to wrest his wrists free and retaliate with a tackle to his waist. He was actually surprised when it worked, both of them falling to the ground. But Xehanort was quick and nimble. He twisted them to crash onto their sides, and came scarily close to flipping Sora a second later. He braced against it, two pairs of tangling legs fighting for the upper hand and scrabbling grips searching for purchase wherever they could, both refusing to be the loser so soon.
Xehanort was heavier than him, bigger, stronger. Only so much resisting could be done before it proved meaningless. Sora had been in this situation before. And much like last time, Xehanort wielded those advantages excellently.
Elbows jamming into the rug were Sora's last line of defense, and that desperation-fueled panic had him putting fingernails to work down Xehanort's bare arms. Hardly a flinch was gained for the effort, Xehanort peeling one clawing hand away, forcing it to the carpet, and then the other. Still Sora struggled, fought through the pain of remaining upright until he no longer could. His shoulders fell back onto the ground with a defeated thump. Panting the extent of his efforts, Xehanort settled over his limp body, the declared victor.
"I win."
Sora's breath wasn't faring any better beneath him. “Best two out of three?”
“I don't think so,” Xehanort laughed, silver strands swaying with his shaking head. “I win.”
He did. Fair and square. Sora had half the mind to cheat– to take advantage of Xehanort's basking victory to throw him off and reverse their positions, a move that always amused Riku. He had a hunch that Xehanort wouldn't receive his cheating in quite the same vein. Sora doubted he possessed the strength for it anyway, fading adrenaline leaving his limbs weak under the other's pinning hold. It left him acutely aware of the way Xehanort's legs hooked underneath his own, hips hovering over his still pants-less crotch. Something other than adrenaline warmed Sora's face and he forced his voice past his closing throat.
“That was all that you wanted, right?” he panted, wrists twitching with the itch to be freed. “You wanted me to try my best, and I did. Satisfied?”
Xehanort's parted lips curved into a smile. “You truly do satisfy me.” The pressure surrounding Sora’s wrists squeezed a touch tighter. “Tremendously.”
Apparently not enough to reward him that warning that he’d promised– that ‘letting him off the hook’ that he had so tantalizingly dangled in front of him. That was evident enough in Xehanort bringing their faces closer, a familiar lust lighting his hooded eyes.
“But I'm not done yet. You've neglected to give me my prize.”
He leaned further, closer. Going in for a kiss. If Sora allowed that, he'd be done for, he knew it. There'd be no stopping him.
Sora was trapped, pinned with nowhere to go but into Xehanort's seeking mouth. And like an animal threatened into a corner, he gnashed his teeth.
They met their mark on something soft and fleshy. When Xehanort snatched away, loud in his pained exclamation, Sora desperately tried to make the best of that chance. Arms now free, he squirmed from under the weight pinning him, but – a step ahead as always – Xehanort cut the escape attempt short. A hand locked into Sora's hair, eliciting a pained cry of his own and successfully keeping him put on the floor. Trapped, again. And left drowning in regret as Xehanort pawed at his mouth, surveying any damage.
A smear of blood tinted his upper lip red when pulling his fingers back. The sight pooled straight to the pit of Sora's stomach. Slanting eyes locking back onto his own, horrified ones, practically bottomed it out.
"We can always incorporate the chair–"
"No!"
Xehanort's head dipped at the horrified gasp. "Then behave."
A whimper was the only response Sora could offer. Caught in Xehanort's stare, he willed himself to unwind the little bit he could. The hand in his hair softened in turn, rewarding and anchoring in its massaging that attempted to coax any further relaxation. When Xehanort again leaned down, Sora didn't fight it.
Lips slotted into his that slightly trembled, gentle and tainting his taste buds with iron. Xehanort didn't waste any time deepening the kiss, tongue plunging inside and Sora slackening his jaw in submission, reluctantly letting it tangle with his own. He knew the strategy he needed to play, no matter how his heart implored him to fight. Moments like that would spell his death. The death of his spirit, of his mind as Xehanort strived to greater lengths to break him in as a result. If Sora didn't want him to go that far, he had to let him go as far as he liked with his body. No impulsive acts. No direct defiance. That's what would pay off in the end.
These thoughts kept Sora from turning away when his lungs ached for much needed breath, instead breathing in turn with Xehanort in the minuscule opportunities he allowed. They kept his squirms at bay when Xehanort's chest lowered heavily on to his, impossibly trying to get closer in the slow, soul-crushing slip of their mouths. Sora fisted his hands into the back of his tank, needing something to help ground him as he let his captor's want devour him yet again. As powerful as thoughts were, they were distressingly not enough.
An excruciating amount of time passed before Xehanort pulled back, a crude string of spit connecting their swollen lips. Lightheaded, Sora's vision swam with spotting stars, leaving him breathlessly floating as if on a sea of clouds– ones that hung dark and thick, reminiscent of an oncoming storm. In the eye stood Xehanort, steadily, frighteningly, pulling him in. More laid in wait on the horizon.
It took a moment for Sora to recognize he was actually being pulled, up from the floor and briefly over Xehanort's shoulder. He was turned to the bed and then tossed with a startled, “Oof!”
Xehanort crawled onto the silks right behind him. Curled up against the headboard, Sora uselessly tried to maintain the comfortable distance that he knew wouldn't last. If Xehanort was the storm rolling in, Sora was the hapless foliage standing bare and open to its elements; there was no resistance he could give that wouldn't eventually end with him being sucked in. A swift snatch of an ankle tugged him flat onto the mattress and Xehanort again settled over his hips.
"I want you to touch me."
"Um…" Of all of the playing they had done up until now, Sora had never actually touched Xehanort himself. If his hands hadn't been restrained in any way, they had been clinging to sheets or stationary on any part of the other, attempting to push away rather than intending to explore. Frankly, Sora never wanted to touch Xehanort in any way that could be considered intimate. But those inhibitions would have to be swallowed. Sora needed to be a good pet in the hopes that Xehanort would reward him with kindness.
Tentatively, Sora raised a hand. The most innocent place he could think to touch was the arm caging him above, softly outlining the curve of a bicep. He was soft. Like, really soft, softer than expected– minus the glaring, fingernail-width scratches. Along clearly toned muscles, Xehanort had skin like glass, smooth and warmed by his earlier exertion. Sora moved inward, watching the way Xehanort's chest rose with the light traces he lined just under his collarbone. His eyes hadn’t strayed from Sora's once, intense as his lips parted for a hitching breath and Sora swearing he felt his skin grow even warmer in that very second, like the turning of a dial on a stove.
He had seen enough.
Sora retreated his hand, just short of landing it back onto his own chest when Xehanort caught it, grasp eager. He guided it back to him – to his heart – pressing it into the fabric of his shirt. Sora let loose an uneasy chuckle spurred by the steady smile Xehanort bore down on him. His heart was absolutely hammering beneath his palm.
"Do you feel it?” he breathed out. “Do you feel how excited I am for you?”
Sora tried to wet his drying mouth. “I… I'm not ready to do this.”
“Don't try to deny what's there.” Xehanort gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. "I feel it. That anticipation."
“That's not– I'm scared." Sora didn't know how much more clearly he could put it. That not only was he scared to do this, but that he didn't want to do this at all!
"I know," Xehanort chuckled. "I'm a little nervous, too. But I'm going to make it right this time. I promised you."
“No, if you could please listen to me–”
"You'll get there," Xehanort assured, sliding their hands down the length of his torso and nudging them under the hem of his shirt. The feel of his toned stomach had Sora holding his breath as Xehanort guided them, intimate and slow. Together they traveled up his sternum, grazing the curve of his chest, and brushing Sora's fingertips across the nub of a hardened nipple. The contact produced a stuttered inhale from the above, Sora immediately swamped with a rush of heat that made him avert his eyes. They squeezed closed altogether when Xehanort allowed the other a tender feel too, lingering his fingers in place to circle once, twice, three times before going back down again. Further down they went, and when Xehanort lifted a touch, pelvis hovering slightly above Sora’s own, he again tried to retreat from his grip. To no avail.
“X-Xehanort–”
Xehanort didn't falter, slipping their hands together past the waistband of his sweatpants and into his underwear. Sora had no time to ready his mind as coarse pubes tickled across his knuckles, full on gasping at Xehanort maneuvering his fingers along his length. Xehanort too sucked in a sharp breath and Sora knew better than to look at whatever his face had twisted into. He settled for the bed's canopy above, staring holes into the dark fabric as he impossibly tried to ignore the fact that he was essentially being made to jerk Xehanort off, cock velvety smooth and already very much hard.
Sora had been subjected to Xehanort feeling himself in his presence before. More than once. He never imagined he'd be doing the job for him– especially in a situation such as this, teetering such a fine line between intimate and impersonal. It produced a constricting lump in his throat that refused to be easily swallowed.
Sora cringed at the sticky feel of wetness adorning the crown of Xehanort's cock after an agonizing passing of time. Whether that had been minutes, or mere seconds, it felt like an eternity when Sora's hand was reintroduced to cool air, out of Xehanort’s pants and presented in front of his face.
"Want a taste?"
Sora shook his head in tiny movements. His fingers were directed to his mouth anyway. Xehanort patiently waited at his firmly shut jaw, Sora sure he'd pry it open if he really wanted to. He accepted simply smearing the pearly droplets along his bottom lip, and really, what choice did Sora have then? None, just like every other expressed desire of his ‘Master.’
He could smell him. The scent of Xehanort on his swollen lips, distinctive in his memory and damn near suffocating so close. And Xehanort waited. Pressure, instinct, and curiosity all mixed together, Sora’s lips eventually parting. Darting his tongue out to lick away the pearly fluid proved salty in a way he hadn't expected; not that he was really sure what he had expected. The beaming pride Xehanort radiated at the act had not been it, paired with an approving, throaty hum.
Was that for the obeyed command, or the mere sight of Sora tasting him in this new way? Whichever had done it, the reaction fueled something in Sora that he didn't want to acknowledge, the same as Xehanort's other praises had started to work.
He'd have to be an idiot to not notice the effect it had begun producing; in a way unlike any it had before. The praises shouldn't work, but they did. They slithered their way into the widening cracks Xehanort's prior cruelty had created, plastered over by the very same offender in an attempt to be made better. More like temporarily numbing, offering the briefest moment of solace in what felt to be outright forbidden.
It was a terrifying observation. Just as it was easier to simply not think about. Xehanort too aided in that, his touch targeting Sora's shirt buttons next, and any complicated emotions faded along with his unwelcome taste.
“Xehanort, please. I'm not ready yet, i-it's too soon.”
The feeble protest went ignored, button after button coming undone to expose the sweaty skin beneath. Sora quivered at the long fingers Xehanort splayed along his torso, marveling at the sight he'd seen numerous times by now. The sole thing keeping them from being ripped away was the iron grip Sora directed to the pillow supporting his head, shivering as Xehanort dragged his touch down his body with the leisure of someone savoring every second. While gentle, Sora loathed the whine it pulled from him, even through his closed lips that did nothing but muffle the revealing sound. He let them part the moment he deemed it safe from the possibility of them betraying him.
“Please,” Sora tried again, this one joined by the warning pinprick of tears.
Xehanort had said that he knew what he was truly feeling. Did he feel his heart breaking? Hear the way it weeped? Sense the anguish that Sora knew was there, no matter what he tried to tell him?
He must sense what lay beneath it, too. The fluttering in his stomach, the welcoming spread of warmth from his gut trickling between his legs. Arousal. Xehanort was successfully arousing him and Sora hated it.
Xehanort knew what made him jump, what made him moan, what made him whine, all thoroughly studied in those grueling sessions of exploration, like he'd been nothing but an insect under a glass. He demonstrated as much with traveling caresses over previously mapped out spots, grazing over ticklish ribs and toying with sensitive nipples that had Sora outright trembling with the itch for something more; wanting, needing. Xehanort graciously gave it. His mouth lowered, stoking the fire so expertly built with a flicking tongue and puckering lips retracing his every step.
Firm pressure was given here and there, sending shocks of electricity straight to Sora's groin and left lingering with a familiar buzz as that swirling tongue trailed between each teased spot, connecting like a constellation spelling his growing arousal. Xehanort created wet spot after wet spot, and when he took to cradling Sora's head, rising to mark his throat the same way, Sora's mind was far too dazed to care for his boldness, fingers locking into the other's hair with a shameful moan. No reprimand came, Xehanort hissing his own moan hot into his neck, and that ignited deep to Sora's core, erupting a full body shudder felt all the way to his toes. Pressed into the mattress, he was unbearably warm, this dragging on for far too long and still not enough. Frustration translated into his grip, tugging at sweaty locks and coaxing additional groans from his pleasuring tormentor.
“Unh!”
Too hard. The pleasuring stopped with Xehanort pulling up, hands covering over Sora's to remove them from where they had turned into claws in his scalp.
“Impatient, are we?” His soft gaze darted over every inch of Sora, surely admiring the way his pet shivered beneath him, open mouth dragging in deep breaths and unshed tears moist in his eyes. He sat back, taking him in.
“I've just gotten started and you're already so bothered,” he whispered, sultrily blinking down at the sight he'd created. Sora tried his best to turn his reddened face into the pillow, away from that leering look. Just because he had to let this happen didn't mean he had to give Xehanort the satisfaction of letting him see how well he was affecting him. Although that had probably done the opposite of what he was hoping for if Xehanort's huffing laugh was anything to go by.
"You adorable little thing. You want me that badly? Forgive me, kitten; I can't help but tease you when you give me such cute twitches. Such beautiful sounds."
Sora pushed himself to his elbows, like the tiny extra leverage would do anything about his disheveled state. He wanted to gag at the way Xehanort spoke to him, to insist ‘don't call me that, no cute pet names.’ Not in a moment like this.
He didn't say anything. The sooner Xehanort got on with it, the sooner it'd be over. He just had to wait for this to be over. He could grit through it. Sora told himself that as Xehanort retrieved the bottle of lube from his side dresser. He repeated it as Xehanort slid away his underwear and propped his feet flat on the silks, legs spread for everything to be seen. He drilled it deep down in the strongest voice his mind could muster, over and over while Xehanort slicked up two fingers and thumbed a cheek aside to press his way in.
Immediately Sora tensed against them, that mantra slipping like sand through his fingers. He knew he wasn't supposed to, just like he knew he wasn't supposed to squirm so much, the urge to do so – to not have any part of Xehanort inside of him – too great to ignore.
Be good, grit through it.
One leg was swung over Xehanort's shoulder, preventing Sora from scooting too far, but not doing much for the unbidden twists of shying away. He received a sharp pinch on that suspended leg, jumping at the new shock of pain – a signal to knock it off. The reprimand succeeded in momentarily stilling him, attention falling to where Xehanort had caught the meat of his thigh and then the face wrinkling with the hint of impatience.
“Sorry…” Sora breathed out.
A second-too-long silence passed between them.
"I could break you." Xehanort demonstrated as much by roughly scissoring those fingers inside of him wide, Sora flinching an inch from the bed with a hissing whine. "Would you like that?"
Sora breathlessly shook his head. Those fingers mercifully reclosed. This was not the time to test Xehanort's nerves. Note taken. From the neck down, Sora willed everything to relax in the way he had been taught, breathing deep through his nose just as Xehanort reached what he sought after.
“Haah…!” The pleasuring wave had struck so suddenly, Sora's head snapped back with a surprised gasp. That gasp strung into a few more, twisted into choking sounds with Xehanort working generous strokes into that particular spot that spoke beautifully to the length of his aching cock.
“There we go,” Xehanort crooned at Sora's legs automatically falling open, welcoming. Damn did it feel good. Way too good. Better than any of those unforgiving toys, better than when he had been prepped in that awful chair. Xehanort was gentle here, slow, maddening in his consistent deliverance of pressure, Sora fisting the sheets and arching into each one in tune with heavy pants.
“Ah… Hahh…”
What if he finished right here, just like this? He didn't feel too off from that, a blissful eruption unfurling on the horizon. What would Xehanort say? Some sort of comment depicting how needy he was for him, no doubt. Definitely something grossly embarrassing and equally disparaging. Sora's leaking cock twitched and he drew out a tight groan, not sure if out of anticipation of reaching that mind-numbing peak, or that nibbling fear Xehanort had built into him of said scenario playing out.
Of course he wouldn't let it. Attentive and controlled in reading him, Xehanort ruined the steady surge, Sora just shy on the cusp when those fingers slipped away. Probably for the best; the risk of disappointing the other before he could fully have his fun was not, for his own sake, something Sora wished to experience. He mourned the loss that left him feeling strangely empty and obscenely wet in its wake, begrudgingly craving them to finish the job. In light of what was to come, he couldn't even feel much shame for it.
Pant pulled down, Xehanort slickened his exposed cock with lube next, the view worrying at the heated arousal he'd so meticulously kneaded from his pet. Pain flashed to the forefront of Sora's mind, the memory of torment unlike any he'd felt before, and when Xehanort lifted his hips to line himself between his ass, it triggered a flinch so violent that his free knee was sent flying, nearly socking him in the chin.
"Do I need to tie your legs open for you?" Xehanort huffed after the narrow dodge. Playfulness lilted his voice, but if Sora had been brave enough to focus on that face looming over his, he was sure Xehanort's lack of amusement would be clear as day.
"Kitten."
"No," Sora squeaked out.
"Alright then.” That knee was shoved away more roughly than necessary and Xehanort continued lining himself to Sora's dripping entrance. He'd made the promise to go slow numerous times, and go slow he did. Agonizingly so. Readjusting his grip, Xehanort steadily pushed against him. First came the telltale pressure. Then the dreaded pain that was the struggle of accommodating this new, girthier intrusion, familiar in a way that hurt more than the pulling tissue, even when spread and slickened by Xehanort's handiwork.
Sora had been enthralled by said handiwork seconds ago. Now he gritted his teeth, moment's away from outright writhing in his restraint from screaming at Xehanort to stop. It was too much and it was too soon and it hurt, inside and out. Xehanort's ability to tug him between such drastic opposites surrounding his body pained Sora like nothing else, narrowly rivaling that that was the crown of his cock busy stretching its way past his hole.
"Breathe..." Xehanort coaxed – coached him, as he often did in these positions – but Sora couldn't listen to a single syllable. He didn't understand why; this was different, dare he say, better, right? This time he'd been prepared. This time didn't come without any warning, didn't come with him being smothered face down when it did. But breathe? He couldn't, he was panicking, he was in pain, he didn't want this– !
"Hur- Hurts!"
"Relax."
Xehanort's voice was calm as always if not pinched by his own gunting effort of breaching inside. A final push did the job, the suddenness making Sora cry out into the air. A hand shot downward, maybe in an attempt to push Xehanort away, or at the very least pause his continuing forward, neither of which he got a chance to do with Xehanort trapping it in his own. "Come on..." Inch by inch, Sora felt his insides parting in the near agony of Xehanort striving to fully seat himself, desperately wanting to adjust around him if he only could. He was just as big as he remembered and Sora briefly wondered if he had simply cooperated with those plugs, if he would've saved himself this torment. Again he was paying for his impulsiveness, the next cry that broke filled with sorrowful regret for his stubborn act that caused this whole debacle.
Xehanort managed the whole length, Sora's knee nearly touching his chest by the time he began to move. He fucked into him with the same slow pace, moving in rhythmic rolls of his hips that forced Sora to feel every inch again squeezing it's way out before squeezing back in, just to begin all over again.
"How does it feel?"
Too busy choking on warbled sounds that didn't feel to entirely be coming from him, Sora ignored the question. He tried to think of something, anything to teleport himself away from here. It was oh so hard, impossible with Xehanort drinking in every flinch and whine he offered, a luxury he hadn't had that first time.
“You feel amazing.” Xehanort took it upon himself to voice his own impression in place of Sora's failure to respond. “More than that night…” His words clipped away, swallowed by a sucking gasp before continuing heavy in its release, “...that brought us together. Even more– hnn… than I'd imagined.”
Nothing but a sputtered mix of whimpers and moans formed from Sora, shameful and filthy. His free arm crossed over his face like it could somehow act like a dam for the flow of tears that finally broke. Xehanort had seen him cry so many times now. Why did it have to feel so much worse each time he did? Slipping Sora's bent leg free from his shoulder, that hand was shortly taken by Xehanort too, exposing his twisting face to be viewed full-on.
“No hiding from me," he chided. "Let me see those eyes.” Their fingers intertwined, Xehanort pressing his hand to the mattress and mirroring the same with the other, using the leverage to snap faster, deeper as his whispers fell breathlessly onto Sora's cheek. “I want to see it. The way you react to me inside of you. The moment you come undone around me. Allow me to take it all, as you've so deliciously taken me.”
As if Sora had a say anymore. What Xehanort wanted, he took, as he was doing now; as he did when Sora's teary eyes couldn't seem to disobey, bewitched by the sheer intensity that managed to take over the other's gaze– like a deer caught in the sights of a predator eager to devour. The pleasure came in waves, slow in building, rising just a tiny bit further with each surge, and stopping that much shorter of swelling over the breach. Xehanort had to be experiencing the same, his brows pinching together, his eyes mere slits like they wanted so badly to slip close, but willed them to stay open, to stay on Sora panting just as hard underneath him.
Blue and gold, both equally wet, locked together, and Sora keened at the change of pace it induced, the change of force Xehanort slammed into him. A vulgar sound of slapping flesh joined their clashing tones, Sora's unintelligible and pitching while Xehanort sung pure ecstasy, louder and louder with each plunge into his pet.
“Ahh…!”
All at once he shuddered, stuttering to a stop against Sora's ass in time to feel the hot burst of his climax filling his clenching walls. The sensation was divine and Sora followed in his own blinding eruption, throbbing cock spurting thin, milky ropes between them that painted his belly.
Everything fell white. For a moment, Sora struggled to get his lungs to remember how to breathe. When he came back to his limp body, it was to find Xehanort laid trembling on top of him. He'd pulled out at some point, still between Sora’s legs and heaving breathlessly into the crook of his neck.
…How dare he. How dare he make him feel those things? The exciting touches, the tender pleasuring, the euphoric finish, just to once again wreck him. Again he ignored his pleads. Again he had invaded his body.
Again, he'd been assaulted with no second thought.
And the audacity to make Sora feel so wonderful, to dress it up as a sensual act between lovers as a so-called ‘apology’, had him mourning when the first time Xehanort took him was the only thing he knew; brutish and abrasive and not disguised as anything else. Not this sick, selfish display that left his heart a mangled mess.
Not this.
Something overcame Sora, a new strength that he thought he'd lost.
He jolted upwards – tried to, anyway – shoving at the monster entrapping him. "Get off of me!"
Xehanort doubled down on his embrace, chest pressed flush against his and easily restraining those flailing arms. "Shh,” he soothed. “It's alright."
Again with the soft voice. Wrong, and undeserving of coming from him. Sora couldn't take it.
He screamed. As loud and as visceral as his being allowed.
When breath ran out, he let out another, and then another. As a cry for help? Of simple grief? Sora didn't know.
Could anyone hear him through these walls? Anywhere at all? Sora screamed, cried, begged– all things he had done before. Foolish of him to think that this time would produce anything different.
He didn't realize when he had stopped, the fight bleeding out as minutes passed, leaving his throat as raw as his insides had been left. Only soft sobs came now, uncomfortably wet on his overheated face. He had stopped pushing against Xehanort at some point too, now clinging instead to his damp shirt like a lifeline. He was still shushing him, cooing soft sounds into his ear like a child that needed settling after a bad dream. But this was not a dream that would be ending. This nightmare would go on and on, a loop of his captor taking satisfaction from him day in and day out in whatever way he pleased.
"Do not worry; you'll learn to appreciate this, these sensations.” Even in Sora's surrender, Xehanort’s embrace stayed taut. “We'll get you there, my pet."
The sobs continued.
Those scratches marred Xehanort's arms from Sora's struggle to out muscle him in their wrestling match. He blearily blinked at the raised skin – his attempt to fight that hadn't fazed the other at all. Why he had even bothered trying, he didn't know. Xehanort was proven the winner time and time again. The prospect of Sora emerging victorious in this long game felt to be squashed alongside him, smothered under Xehanort's crushing hold.
He couldn't. He couldn't keep believing.
But he had to.
He couldn't afford not to. To not let hope die, not so soon.
Sora focused on the embrace around him– on Xehanort, as he had before in these similarly low moments. He still trembled, still muttered soft reassurances, and still clung just as tightly as Sora.
To any onlooker, it appeared as if Xehanort was comforting him. Sora had a sinking feeling it was the other way around. Like he served as a personal lifeline of his own.
And that scared Sora more than anything else he’d endured thus far.
Notes:
CW: Non-consensual sex
Chapter 8
Summary:
Playing along isn't quite working out…
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
No matter how much Sora wished, he still woke in this horrible prison.
He woke in the same bed, with the same arms wrapped around him, and the same awful reminders of the awful events from the day prior.
The nightmare hadn't ended.
Cracking his eyes open – identifying that nothing had indeed changed – brought the threat of fresh tears and a mournful groan. With much difficulty, Sora stifled them. The longer he stayed still and silent, the better.
“Kitten?”
Sora's eyes squeezed back shut, again wishing he'd yet to wake up and that when he did it'd be anywhere but here. A hum forced itself along his throat regardless, acknowledging that he'd heard Xehanort.
Those arms rolled him over, Sora meeting Xehanort's sleepy gaze. He smiled.
“Morning.”
“Uh. Morning.”
Last night's whirlwind of emotions came flooding back. The disgust. The hurt. The utter grief. And the newfound terror of just how dire this predicament might be. They each took a turn rearing their heads like blaring alarms, cementing Sora's new reality. Not only was he stuck here, Sora feared, but appealing to Xehanort's compassion – convincing him to be let go – might be tougher than he thought.
“Last night was excellent. It may have been earlier than I had intended for your body's adjustment, but still–” Xehanort sighed, a noise of bliss in his recollection. “You performed wonderfully.”
Heat burned at Sora's ears. He couldn't tell if it was from the surge of embarrassment Xehanort's choice of words brought, or his own anger at how thoroughly he'd screwed himself over. The fiasco of last night had only happened because of how Sora had pushed. He stupidly thought he could pull one over on Xehanort, to stave him off of his body through cheap tricks. Xehanort had tried to take things slow, seemingly having his own wicked schedule dictating their time together. And Sora just had to go and ruin it for himself, make things worse. A nagging thought in the back of his mind told him he deserved it. Everything about last night was his just reward.
Soft lips met Sora's forehead, the displayed affection and the wrongness surrounding it stoking that heat beneath his skin. “You did so well for me,” Xehanort murmured into the top of his head, further mussing his already messy hair. “We'll get those imperfections straightened out in time.”
Well, that was… a good thing, right? If it meant Xehanort was satisfied. Pacified. Even if the compliment came with a punch to his self esteem attached to it; even if it delivered a sense of hopelessness that he did his best to ignore.
Embarrassment successfully triumphed over his blaming ire, Sora hiding his face away in the crook of Xehanort's neck. The other's chest rumbled against him.
“Don't worry–” he added, uselessly reassuring. “We have plenty of that time to spare.”
Speaking of time–
“Shouldn't you be leaving soon?” Sora gave a sideways glance to the clock across the room. “For work and stuff?”
Xehanort took a glance as well. “It won't hurt to be a little late,” he decided. “Or I can stay right here and make up for lost time.” Xehanort doubled back down with his embrace and it took everything in Sora not to shove him away, the neighboring sensation of being forcibly held down hours prior turning his stomach. Sora would prefer anything but. Now that his deception at playing ill had come to light, he was very much looking forward to regaining his alone time – Xehanort out of this apartment and out of his mind for the few precious hours he allowed.
“Regrettably, I can't work from home forever.”
Xehanort pulled up, granting Sora the ability to breathe again along with dizzying relief. He attempted to cloak it with an uneasy chuckle as Xehanort completely rose from the bed. Sora sat up as well, grimacing at the protest of his stiff muscles. It was quickly overshadowed by a different kind of ache deeper within, familiar and tightening Sora's throat again at the unwanted reminder of who – what – had been the culprit. At least he didn't detect any wetness between him and the sheets. There’d been blood the first time.
Xehanort being considerate enough to prep him supposedly did make all the difference. That, or his body really was getting used to being used.
Sora watched Xehanort move around the bedroom, eyes tracking everything he grabbed in preparation for the day – a fresh change of clothes from the closet, a towel, a comb – before closing himself into the bathroom. Sora's eyes stayed fixed to the door, holding his breath. Waiting.
He hadn't been given that emaciating drug. Which gave him exactly ten minutes.
As soon as the muted spray of the shower sounded, Sora was up. He didn't try to sneak a peek at his gummiphone. He didn't climb the countertop to examine that vent. Sora's sore body carried him to the living room, to the couch where he lowered to the floor and reached for his hidden necklace underneath.
He sat on folded knees, gently gathering the broken chain into his palm and bringing it close to his heart.
“Riku… Give me the strength to keep this up.”
~~~~~~
Sora made a timely return to the bed, beating Xehanort's reemergence by mere moments. He wordlessly moved into the bathroom next where he accepted the unneeded assistance of being cleaned up by his captor. That scratching from last night must've left some kind of impression because Xehanort had taken to filing down his neglected nails to a much more harmless state. And, despite the aforementioned shortage of time, even took it upon himself to carefully brush and trim Sora’s lengthening hair on top of that.
It almost felt nice, being gently pampered after the mental turmoil he brought upon himself in the last few days. If it didn't have Sora feeling more like a show dog rather than a partner being cared for. This served Xehanort first and foremost. Sora's receded nails sat uncomfortably past the tender skin beneath. His hair fell too short by his ears, the rest now swooped towards the back in a near curl. Primped and preened to Xehanort's exact liking.
The familiar pill was eventually placed into Sora's mouth and he gladly let sleep take him once more as Xehanort finally departed, taking yesterday's soiled pajama set with him. At his return, he demanded Sora shed what he wore to redress in the now stain-free navy blue. Sora didn't have it in him to question or complain– just did as he was told.
Xehanort getting handsy with the clean silks on his body led from one thing to another.
He slid the shorts from his hips. He delivered breathless, drawn out kisses to his lips. He hauled him to the bed, expressing a desire for Sora to touch his body and guiding him to the most intimate of places in turn.
Almost like he was trying to recreate the night prior.
What else could Sora do but indulge him? At least, the best he could manage.
"You don't want to upset me, do you?" Both bare of their undergarments, Xehanort had him by the upper arms, pinned flat to the mattress and his own hands digging blunt, useless nails into the back of Xehanort's arms. "You want to be good for me?"
It wasn't said quite like a question. Like he dared Sora to say anything but.
“...Of course.”
Could Xehanort tell he was lying?
The thing was, it wasn't a lie. Not really. He didn't want to upset Xehanort.
He did want to be good because being good meant gaining Xehanort's favor, and gaining his favor meant a greater possibility to appeal to that empathy that Sora knew was underneath all of this. That's what he kept telling himself. Kept beating into his brain. This new, scary reality of how deep-seated Xehanort’s attachment had already grown didn't matter. Sora still had a chance.
Right?
“Good.” Even if only at surface level, Xehanort accepted his given answer. “Now, lay back.”
Sora still cried. Still screamed. He couldn't make himself act in the moment.
Again, the aftermath of the night trekked on with him trapped in Xehanort's arms. When morning saw him leaving for work, Sora waited out the day curled up with the worn storybooks when he wasn't swept away by sleep, rereading the final page of the final book until his eyes could no longer recognize the words. Until Xehanort returned and the cycle repeated.
‘Happily Ever After’ was beginning to sound more and more like a far-fetched dream.
~~~~~~
The next few days blended together, hazy and listless, no different from Sora's fatigued body and mind. Each morning brought a dreadful routine: waking in the same embrace he'd passed out in, forcing down a morsel of breakfast and his medication, coming to at Xehanort's return to be inserted with that uncomfortable plug, and Xehanort evaluating it's contribution after dinner. Like clockwork.
Even his clothes remained the same. Gone were the other colors of pajamas Xehanort had originally displayed to Sora those weeks ago. Not all too surprising with the guy's strange obsession of reliving that one night of intimacy. But for the fuss he made about these clothes being expensive, here were a dozen more identical blue sets, Sora's only ounce of influence in his day-to-day erased with everything else.
Did Xehanort really make that much munny from– what did he say he did? Finance something or other? Sora didn't really care to think about it. The only thing Sora cared about was staying in Xehanort's good graces. And so that's what he continued to do – the best of what was expected of him, day in and day out.
So, why did progress feel to have frozen in place? As if Sora firmly sat himself into the grave Xehanort had marked for him rather than gaining the helping hand he relied on pulling him out? Moves had been played, penalties had been dealt to them both alike. And yet, this little game of theirs appeared to have reached a stalemate. An expectant change loomed worrisome on the horizon.
The day Xehanort decided to keep his work at home brought a much welcome break from the drugs. Any relief Sora should've gained for a granted period of lucidity refused to greet him. Xehanort staying in the apartment all day couldn't mean anything good for him.
Sora fought his treasonous imagination as he toweled off from his morning shower. It took a great deal of effort to ignore Xehanort's leering at his half exposed body when exiting the bathroom, eyes firmly down as he made a beeline for his assigned dressers.
“You certainly took your sweet time,” his captor observed.
Of course he'd been waiting. Clearly impatiently. Sora's reply was an unsteady breath through his nose. He couldn't explain that he'd been stalling out of fear of what today might bring.
Xehanort didn't push. Just continued to burn eyes into Sora's rigid back as he needlessly rummaged through the identical sets of pajamas.
The allotted time allowed for an impressive spread at breakfast. Sora waited stiff in his chair as Xehanort whipped together a variety of seared meats, toast with sweet and savory spreads, and an arrangement of chopped fruit that gradually filled the table. The building scents managed to arouse Sora's appetite for once, the chance that he might actually enjoy a meal after so long an exciting prospect. That didn't stop the spiraling anxiety racking his brain, fingernails finding healing skin along his knuckles to mindless pick at any scabs that were still hanging on. A new pain kicked him back to reality, Sora flinching from Xehanort suddenly at his side, a glass of water in one hand and the other pinching harshly into the back of his arm.
“They're never going to properly heal when you keep opening them up like that,” he scolded after releasing him. “I'd hate for you to scar up such beautiful hands.”
That only fed the urge to pick them even more.
“Right,” Sora forced out. “It's just a bad habit of mine.”
Xehanort set down the glass, trading it out for an empty plate. “Perhaps we should focus more on breaking it,” he hummed as he began piling it with food. “Do you think utilizing the whip would be more effective in rectifying that than the pinches?”
The question fell so casually; like he genuinely wanted to hear Sora's opinion. Just the mention of that weapon seemed to ring its terrifying crack onto Sora's ears, fighting to speak through his drying mouth.
“I'll try to do better.”
Xehanort smiled. “Good boy. I know you will.” He slid the loaded plate beside the glass. “Eat up.”
Breakfast served, Sora gladly redirected his attention to the meal in front of him. Xehanort had given him a little bit of everything and a rumble from Sora's empty stomach propelled him to dig in. Xehanort ate more slowly, though the eager, prideful look he was giving between bites didn't go completely unnoticed by Sora. A reminder of less savory things likely lying in wait.
“I've noticed that you’ve been quieter as of late,” Xehanort spoke up after Sora had cleared half of his plate. “More… more detached. I mean, more than you are meant to be given your medicine regimen.”
‘You don't say,’ Sora wanted to bite back. He staved it off with a larger than necessary bite of smoked ham.
“Tell me what's troubling you.”
There was a time when Sora wouldn't have hesitated to speak his mind. Especially to the likes of Xehanort. Just like a lot of things, he feared that was something long lost to the him of the past.
He couldn't bring up his dissatisfaction with their arrangement yet again. Not to those intense, observant eyes, those merciless hands that Sora knew wouldn't hesitate in dealing a worthy reprimand to get him to see things his way. All that he'd said before and wished to say again stayed unspoken and heavy in his heart.
Well, there was one thing truthfully bugging him at the moment.
“I was just wondering,” Sora slowly began, “What were your plans for today?”
Xehanort's hands joined underneath his chin. “You'll just have to wait and see, won't you?”
Of course. Out of all of the games Xehanort liked to play, Sora continued to find the waiting one the worst.
The other leaned forward, a hungry look entering that golden stare. “Did you have anything particular in mind?”
“No, no,” Sora rushed to dismiss. “I was just curious, that's all.”
Thankfully, Xehanort relented. Sora managed to get a couple of more bites in before being interrupted again.
“I want to show you something that I came across the other day.”
Another ‘gift?’
All sorts of invasive, intimidating toys ran through Sora's mind. Like that crop Xehanort had yet to use. Crops like that didn't come with accessories, did they?
Sora stiffened in his seat as Xehanort stood and passed him for his coat hanging in the alcove of the front door. He retrieved something from the front pocket before returning to the island to stand at Sora's side. A small paper bag filled his hands, Xehanort tipping it to slide its contents onto the marble. The first to come out were a couple of shiny, silver coins, followed by something rectangular carefully tied in a just as shiny silk cloth.
“This–” Xehanort presented as he removed the binding string, “–is an ancient protection talisman.”
The cloth fell away, unveiling a flat, glossy tablet of wood. Some kind of indented script was delicately painted up and down its surface, crowned by a star-like symbol carved at the top and an intricate, weaving design bordering the object's rounded edges. It glistened in the light, like the calm ocean surface under the morning sun as Xehanort lifted its attached, roped tether for the full view.
“A precious relic of an era passed.”
Sora strained for a polite smile. “Oh… Wow.”
A pause. Xehanort positioned himself closer.
"This can likely be traced back centuries ago. Exclusively local to Scala ad Caelum. In all of my years there, I've never come across such a rare antique, nor so intact. See here?" Xehanort's fingertip traced the painted indentions of a language Sora didn't recognize. “This is a superstitious inscription, once thought to be believed to ward off darkness. A common practice back then. And so meticulously hand carved at that; this variety of wood is not the easiest to work with.”
Sora's teeth clenched tighter together. "Cool.”
Xehanort pulled back, another pause following Sora's less than enthusiastic response.
“...He would have loved to see something like this.”
He?
Oh. That friend again. The one Xehanort said he could never be. Was supposed to be better than.
With Xehanort so adamant about not having friends, Sora had to wonder how long he and this mystery guy have been apart – how long since he's left his home behind. Sora couldn't imagine being away from the islands for so long. Apart from his friends. He could barely manage one year, and even then, he had Donald and Goofy to guide him through the hardships of getting them back.
Friend or not, this person definitely meant a great deal to Xehanort– at some point or another. Sora had disputed Xehanort's satisfaction with being alone before. Was that same emptiness that Sora had experienced present in his heart, Xehanort expecting him to fill its shadow? Was… that the reason why Sora was being held the way he was?
Did he truly expect him to stay… forever?
Any questions Sora wanted to ask stuck like sand to his throat. His heart feared whatever answer may be given in return.
The shifting glint of light recaught Sora's attention, Xehanort returning the talisman flat to the table. The brief show of reminiscing had disappeared. “It's for you. To hold on to. Think of it as something that'll keep you protected.”
Sora had his own good luck charm, thank you very much.
“Uh. Sure.”
A silence grew between them, neither attempting to move or say anything to break it.
The awkwardness eventually became too much and Sora dared to raise his gaze to Xehanort still standing over him. Still watching him, face devoid of any clear emotion.
No, not quite.
Gauging. Wanting.
"Is it that you are simply incapable of gratitude? Or will I just never be worthy of it despite everything I've done?"
"N-no, I… have gratitude," Sora clumsily retorted. Guilt tumbled forward at the notion he'd been so rude for the one generous thing Xehanort had done without some backwards, ill intent overlaying it. Unsolicited or not, the gift was harmless, a product of pure thoughtfulness. “It's a cool gift, really! I'm happy you showed me.”
"You're lying again.”
Xehanort had an annoying knack for seeing his emotions for what they truly were. It was scary how well he was able to do that.
“Well, I mean–”
“Mind you, this wasn't a cheap item, either,” Xehanort cut in, briefly holding up a shiny piece from the silver assortment of what Sora assumed was munny. “Basic manners would at least elicit a ‘thank you.’”
“T-thank you.”
Xehanort dropped his hand back to the marble surface. He turned away, silent in returning to the other end of the island and silent when lowering back into his seat.
Sora was doing the best he could manage. The best of what was expected of him. He really was. And yet...
"You do realize… that I don't have to go out of my way to buy you gifts in the first place. I don't have to buy you lavish clothes. I don't have to mend any of your ails. To cook nutritious meals for you. Allow you to sleep in such a nice bed. Allow you to freely roam while I'm gone. Allow you to roam free at all."
Each sentence was spoken with the languid ease of stating something as simple as the weather. The forecast unfortunately read like a climbing thunderstorm, striking blow after blow to Sora's twisting stomach. So much for that breakfast he'd managed down.
"...You're scaring me..."
A chuckle – amusement – came from across the table. "Am I now?"
Hesitant, Sora nodded. "Mhm."
"What can I say? I find you respond exceedingly well to threats."
The thing was, Sora couldn't tell if that was a threat or a promise. To enact any and every one of those should he not keep up to expectations. Differentiating between the two might as well have been like trying to sift sugar from salt; a game of trial and error that Sora very much did not want to test.
He squirmed in his seat, uncomfortableness only increasing under the look Xehanort was giving him. Still searching, still gauging, like there was something he was waiting for. It seemed to rake across every available inch of Sora, seeping through his clothes, below his skin and picking apart whatever it could find beyond, leaving him helplessly exposed. The silence didn't help in the slightest, continuing to thicken into something unbearably oppressive.
"I implore you to appreciate what you have,” Xehanort eventually declared. “That's all."
Sora didn't want to talk about this anymore. He opened his mouth, fumbling to say anything that would change the subject.
Gratitude, gratitude–
“This was all really delicious, but I think I'm done for now,” Sora announced through a wavering smile. “A-and I know how to cook too, you know! If you ever wanted help! I…” He swallowed, cursing the strength he felt momentarily slip from his lips. “I would love to show my appreciation for everything you've done for me. For now, let's go ahead and get this cleaned up.”
Sora stood, intending to do just that. Xehanort stood as well.
“Sit.”
Sora obeyed.
“Stay.”
Again, Sora obeyed. As if spellbound, he remained glued to his seat while Xehanort wordlessly collected the talisman from the table and bypassed him for the bedroom. He disappeared inside, the door shutting behind him.
Sora blinked. Maybe he’d laid it on a little thick? He really hoped he hadn't actually upset Xehanort; a fed up Xehanort was the last thing he wanted to deal with on top of this. Faint deja vu set in, the memory of the last time Sora'd been left waiting out here alone triggering his riled nerves– as well as a phantom sting on his ass. This constant waiting for the unknown would end up killing him. But he'd been told to stay, and so stay he would. That's what good pets did.
…Ugh.
Sora refused to dwell on that. Distraction. He needed a distraction.
Tempted by the scabs on his knuckles, Sora reached for the small pieces of silver left on the table, fiddling those between his fingers instead.
The munny in this place was weird. Very flat, and much more metallic feeling in his grasp. Sora thoughtlessly twisted the little object, running a finger along the smooth, curved edge.
He paused. Grip tightening, Sora stared long and hard at the coin glistening back at him.
The thin edge.
It would slot perfectly into the groove of those screws holding the vent.
Sora's heart sped up. It beat faster and faster as he contemplated what he could do in this very moment. No one was watching. If he could just... slip this somewhere…
The door behind creaked back open.
The dangerous urge vanished.
Sora forced his fingers to let go and the coin clinked back to the surface of the table.
“Come,” Xehanort ordered from the mouth of the bedroom.
Sora's eyes lingered on the silver a second longer. And like the obedient pet he was supposed to be, he obeyed.
“Here.” Xehanort's hand found the small of Sora’s back, guiding him inside. His free hand swept out towards the bed. “The second part of your gift.”
Sora cautiously peered at what was displayed before him; some kind of outfit that sat neatly folded on the foot of the mattress, its deep red a stark blotch of color against the dark comforter. Sora's stomach sank, filled with heavy foreboding. Xehanort, of course, sounded just the opposite.
“Present yourself to me once you're ready,” he instructed before stepping out and closing the door.
Alone again, Sora allowed his displeasure to sound freely. He'd guessed that today was going to take an unfavorable turn, but that didn't stop the dread that swamped him. He took a moment, deep breathes moving in and out of his lungs as he mentally tried to soothe those nerves, to bury them as far down as he could manage until whatever happened next warranted their rightful attendance.
A faint glint caught Sora's eye. Like the spark of a flame, it triggered something hot and resentful within as he faced the culprit; Xehanort's talisman.
It now hung on Sora's side of the bed, firmly tied to the post. For an inanimate object, Sora felt strangely mocked at its overhead presence, boring down on him with cruel, weighted irony.
Protection? Ha.
Sora bitterly reached for the folded clothes, willing away the feel of cool silver still on his fingertips.
There was nothing in this prison that could possibly protect him from the monster waiting on the other side of the door.
Notes:
CW: Brief scab picking
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