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Resonate	By : memory Category: Kingdom Hearts > General Views: 8147 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-act 1
- 2-Interlude
- 3-act 2
- 4-act 3
- 3
- 4
Author Notes: It hits you like a ton of bricks. My apologies to Tetsuya Nomura.

Some background information: This idea was conceived around December 3, 2004; writing began on December 17, 2004; writing ended on February 11, 2005; editing began on February 13, 2005; editing ended on May 14, 2005; first act posted on May 15, 2005; final act posted on June 10, 2005.

Dedication: To Myra.

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RESONATE

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[start act 3]

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What felt like ages later, when Axel was able to see again, he discovered only two things amiss: the keyblade was gone and Sora was heartless.

Sora was still on the verge of death, but several immensely powerful healing potions repaired most of the damage that had been dealt. All that lingered, as a testament to the beating, was one long, thin scar that faded into silver insignificance along his left shoulder. He drank ever flask Axel gave him, questioning none of their strange colors and even stranger tastes, although the flicker of some misplaced emotion in Sora’s eyes when he picked up the florescent blue potion had Axel wondering if Sora might remember everything eventually.

Sora never remembered anything.

Sora as a shell was not nearly as enjoyable as he had been with a heart that could be teased and abused, but sometimes all Axel wanted as a warm, passive body. Sacrificing a challenge for a constant, Axel used this warm body however he saw fit, whenever he saw fit, and it would do anything and everything he asked of it.

“Scream for me,” Axel whispered. It was the request that had not yet been honored.

Mechanically, Sora tilted his head back, filled his lungs, and screamed at the darkness until his voice tore his throat.

Their kisses had always tasted like blood, but the flavor promised death now rather than life. Axel enjoyed each one with his eyes shut; Sora stared at him unabashedly unless told not to, his blue eyes clear and undisturbed like a summertime ocean. In his heartless state, Sora had become an automaton—touch me there, lick me here, squeeze this, suck that—and Axel delighted in him. For a while.

He stuffed Sora to capacity and then some with sweets and blood and cum, made the back of Sora’s throat tender from the large number of times he had the boy deep-throat him, had him parrot sappy phrases like “I love you” and “My heart belongs to you.” The latter was cruel, but Axel was cruel too. Axel didn’t know if the heart had left Sora to finally get away from the torture or if Sora had forced it out in order to protect Axel.

They curled up in bed together whenever exhaustion set in, ankles tangled on purpose, and sometimes Sora touched Axel’s hair without being told to. Axel couldn’t feel any pleasant emotions, not even now, but he might have liked the sensation of hope had he known it. (All it would take, though, was one look into Sora’s blank eyes to have him firmly grounded back in reality again.)

They stopped bathing. The smell was indescribable, but there was something liberating about sitting in your own filth and Sora didn’t complain about anything anyway, of course. Axel ejaculated into the boy’s hair once, because he wanted to and he could. The recipient thanked Axel for the privilege when told to and then teased Axel’s throbbing balls as instructed.

“Open,” Axel said.

He popped a chocolate-coated peanut butter crisp into the boy’s mouth. That would have been that, but Sora flicked his tongue over Axel’s sticky fingers and looked up at him, eyes wide and absent and yet somehow adoring. Maybe the heart had left something behind. Footprints. Axel found this possibility as intriguing as he did most things.

To some degree, Sora still understood the messages his skin sent to his brain. His body reacted involuntarily to tactile stimuli: when tickled, he would wheeze; when pleasured, he would murmur; when hurt, he would grimace or flinch away. Axel conducted a hundred experiments to determine the extent of his ability to feel. Sora’s brand of heartlessness was so different from any Axel had seen before, since there was only emptiness where there should have been darkness. Sora was the true shell here.

That was why Sora cried out and struggled when Axel branded him. Despite strongly worded but weakly articulated commands for silence and stillness, Axel could not get Sora to stop fighting against him. A spirit borne of self-preservation was all Sora had. The branded letters wound up and down the side of his right thigh, thick and distinct; while the skin had not bled when the super-heated metal embossed each letter, it had split apart and cauterized in separate split-seconds of pain that had been far more intense than something as simple as silver tacks.

Sora’s flesh quivered involuntarily even after it was over. The letters rippled, at times lost under folds of thick skin, but they were red and angry and real no matter what.

A X E L.

Finally—finally—Sora was marked as his.

Axel would never understand what compelled him to roll over, kiss Sora’s shoulder, and say these words against the unnaturally pale skin:

“I want you to make love to me.”

Not only was the word love a mockery of Sora’s heartless state, since the phrase Axel used (make love to me make love to me make love to me) was enough for his stomach to slowly roll over like a dead, bloated body in the water. Axel spoke as smoothly and assuredly as he always did, but kept his voice muffled and made sure his hands couldn’t do anything embarrassingly sappy like trace Sora’s collarbone or stroke his hair.

Had Axel really looked, he might have been surprised to see the ghost of a pensive expression on his consort’s face. The skewed frown, brooding eyes, creased brow, half-heartedly lifted eyebrows—all of it suggested genuine deliberation, although that was impossible for Sora now.

Sora touched Axel’s forehead, picked up a few limp, dirty strands of hair, and rolled them between his fingers. “Okay,” he said. Just like that. “Okay . . .”

“Do you know how to do it?” Axel asked. “I mean—how to do it right?”

“You’re a hypocrite.” Sora observed tonelessly.

Axel nodded. While blood loss was always a plus, the pain brutal anal sex involved for the bottom was nothing something he wanted to experience personally. There was no use in denying it; Sora didn’t really care.

“Yeah, I know how to do it right,” Sora said. Once upon a time these words would have come out sounding anywhere from spiteful to adoring, but their present lackluster quality just disturbed Axel on some base level. “You gotta turn over onto your stomach, first.”

“No—” The speed and content of Axel’s reply shocked even himself. “I want to see your face during this.”

Sora shrugged one shoulder. “Then just lie back.”

As Axel complied with an order he wouldn’t have paid any mind to before, he caught sight of the still-healing wounds on Sora’s body that spelled out his name. Warmth he mistakenly dubbed as pride germinated in his stomach and grew outward, helping him to relax, as Sora got up into a crouch beside him. Sora studied Axel, looked at his own hand blankly, glanced at their crotches, and then shrugged again. He wet three fingers with a liberal amount of saliva, bent down, and began the mechanical process of preparing a virgin asshole for anal sex.

“Ow,” Axel said.

Axel didn’t like the borderline-painful sensation at all; he was a breath away from telling Sora to get the fuck off of him and forget about the half-witted proposition when Sora’s thumb pressed into his balls. His jaw tightened and he felt something in his back stretching as his rectum closed up, tightly hugging the intruding fingers.

“Don’t do that,” Sora said, frowning. The fingers couldn’t move. “Just relax.”

It took a lot of control to breath with Sora touching him like that, but Axel managed to find the first breath and the others followed. Once he had adjusted to the illusionary breathless feeling, he leaned his head back into the stained pillow and let his muscles unwind. Head, neck, shoulders, back, arms—then Sora’s fingers twitched and massaged the pert hole again, cajoling it wider like an insistent visitor. Compared to the cruel things Axel had done to Sora, this preparation was a thorough pampering.

Axel watched Sora’s face like he had wanted to, noting the unclear expressions that might have been satisfaction, intention, consideration, and rumination. Creased forehead and slanted eyebrows went a long way on an otherwise blank face when it came to interpretation; Axel focused and distracted his mind from the discomfort of Sora’s fingers, which increased from one to two to three.

“Is that okay?” Sora was still Sora enough to ask a question like that. “Axel?”

“It’s good,” Axel grunted.

The fingers withdrew, still partially coated in saliva. After another series of blank looks, Sora popped the dirty fingers into his mouth and wet them all over again. The gobs of spit that followed his hand this time were applied to his own erection until it shined.

“Tastes salty,” Sora said when he caught Axel’s stare. He waggled the slick fingers humorlessly at the man. “And you don’t want me to hurt you.”

Axel smirked and agreed silently, since any more pain would be responsible for Sora’s back meeting the bedpost, his spine bending in half, and his own ass being violated far more luridly than usual. In fact, lurid violation was starting to sound more appealing than being on the bottom and “making love”—Axel had such a short attention span sometimes—

But then Sora moved forward, his eyes dark and indecipherable as shadows slipped over his hair and down his bowed back, and steadily guided his wet cock into the well-prepared orifice. Axel tensed up immediately, panicked and unwilling without recourse, but Sora said something that sounded suspiciously like “I want you” and his hot precum created a gossamer web at the entrance to Axel’s ass and all of that was enough to make Axel close his eyes and forget about more domination.

Sex felt different when it wasn’t about control and pain. Sora bit his lower lip as he moved past the initial defenses, placating still-edgy muscles that wanted to clamp down around his cock, and breathed in deeply when he had gone far enough. His heavy crown pendant shifted with him, at first swinging through the air and then dragging across his partner’s clammy skin. Beneath him Axel moved all four of his limbs, toes flexing and fingers trying to find something to hold onto to make the room stop spinning. He was pinned down like a butterfly for study; it was useless to struggle against this, but instinct told him to anyway.

When Sora moaned, pulled out, and thrust that first time, Axel’s disoriented thoughts of fighting for stability evaporated like ethyl alcohol from a killing jar. His last thought was a fearful one about spontaneous combustion, because he was going to burst into flames if this frighteningly wonderful combination of painfully pleasurable friction continued any longer than it already had. It was one thing to possess, and it was another thing entirely to be possessed.

The pain faded, replaced by hard strokes that seemed reluctant to have a constant rhythm. Sora was so eager to try out new things, even when he was without a heart, and Axel screamed because it was just too, too much . . .

Sora didn’t even need to touch Axel to make him orgasm. It happened when Sora misjudged the angle of his thrust and his engorged cock pressed right up against some magical area in Axel’s ass that neither of them had encountered before. Axel saw stars and then the constricting darkness of completion that forced all of the air from his lungs. His hips lifted unconsciously, ejaculate coated both of their stomachs, and his ass tightened until Sora went over the edge as well.

There hadn’t been anything phenomenal about the sex, but Axel hadn’t expected that or even wanted there to be. Sora breathed fast and irregular against Axel’s neck. Sweat dripped from their disgusting hair, sundry odors mixed and melded into something blood-curdling, and Axel just wanted to pull the rumpled sheets over them both. Sora was still inside of him, though not as a demanding or taxing presence, and Axel didn’t mind. But . . .

Sora was wearing a heartbreakingly gratified smile when he pulled out. His eyes were still dark and still without the silent messages of confidence. Axel thought their color was alluring.

“Was that what you wanted?” Sora asked once he was able to speak again.

“Yeah,” Axel whispered back.

Sora slumped down next to the man and stretched out. “Good.”

“Now it’s time to go to sleep,” Axel said, pushing Sora onto his back. The boy complied and didn’t even protest when two fingers swept his eyelids shut. “And you’re going to have nice dreams, okay?”

“Okay,” Sora mumbled, exhausted and sated.

He opened his arms to accept Axel into them, because this had become a ritual and he didn’t need orders to understand that, even after his one and only time on top. Axel slid into those arms, pressed his fingers against the boy’s dipped spine, and nudged his forehead against warm, wet skin.

“Sleeping yet?” Axel whispered.

“No,” Sora said. He pressed his body closer to Axel’s and sighed quietly, which was rare for him nowadays. Their noses bumped, pressed together; breaths mingled, strange and mossy; Axel licked the side of Sora’s mouth, tasting vanilla and marmalade.

“You’re mine.” Axel passed his fingers over Sora’s scarred thigh. The geometry of his claim—curves, lines, jags—fascinated him and made him regret not marking Sora like this when he still had a heart and could have appreciated the pain.

“Yes,” Sora said.

Axel felt sore in ways he didn’t know were possible. Ankles popped when he rotated them and knees hiccupped as he folded in closer to the boy. “I want you to dream about me,” Axel said and closed his eyes.

“Okay.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Swear on your heart.”

“I swear on my heart.”

Axel hadn’t expected to feel, of all things, disappointment. “Go to bed,” he said roughly.

Sora opened his eyes—and obvious defiance of polity, but his smile was of that heartbreaking fashion again and Axel thought that maybe his own lost heart had been broken by proxy. “I wanna do something,” Sora said and wriggled away. “I wanna give you something.”

“Huh?” Axel asked, nonplused. If Sora was going to bend down and deep-throat him again, that would be a nice enough gesture, but right now he felt tired and sticky and just wanted to get comfortable for a while. “Give me what?”

Axel thought he had taken everything away from Sora, everything, but the boy was smiling in spite of the dead, glazed quality of his eyes. The silver crown necklace around Sora’s neck clinked as Sora undid the clasp, snaked the chain away, and carefully tied the necklace around Axel’s neck to makes sure that its links didn’t pinch Axel’s skin.

“Just because,” Sora said, smoothing down the necklace.

Impulse still existed even when you were heartless, but Axel was taken aback anyway. Maybe the crown pendan had looked good on Sora, or silver complimented Sora’s fairer skin, or Axel just wanted to let Sora have something of his past self in order to remember what he had been and where he had come from. But now the necklace was Axel’s. Still smiling, Sora wrapped up the stunned man into a hug and settled back down.

“Thank you,” Axel said.

Sora mumbled something and dozed off, his embrace solid and real and invariant and addicting and . . .

Now—now more than ever before—Axel felt encaged in his own fiendish designs.

Sora dreamt again. He dreamt of home, just as he had before, but this time his subconscious mind devoted itself to following the bedtime command of Dream about me, okay? So Sora dreamt of home and Axel, and this time it didn’t hurt, because he didn’t have a heart to feel hurt with.

At the beach on the main island, he stepped out of his boat, naked as the day he was born and blissfully unconcerned about it. His friends weren’t there with him. No one called after him as he walked up the beach, taking his time to look down and back at the footprints he made in the sand. He took the familiar dirt path that he always had, teasing the picket fences with his fingers as he went by them to receive three inconsequential splinters in his right hand. The sky was orange-red with a sunset fast approaching; its colors, warm like a low flame, infiltrated everything but the shadows. He smelled pollen in the air, the heavy scent of life starting over. He didn’t care.

His backyard looked like the one from his memories, although his mom wasn’t there to walk outside and greet him. He walked up to the sliding glass door, pressed his face to the glass, and looked around the kitchen for some hint of life. When he tried the handle, the door opened for him and he went inside. There were steaming pots on the stoves and the oven light was on. Someone was cooking dinner.

“I was wondering when you’d get back.” Axel was there behind Sora, as if he had always been, and the hug he pulled Sora into was one of those hugs only Axels were capable of. Total security. It was what Sora wanted most, just then. “Are you hungry?”

Sora wasn’t surprised to notice that Axel was also naked. Grinning, he twisted in the embrace and licked the man’s collarbone. “I’m famished.”

“I made all of your favorite foods,” Axel said.

“And then we can have sex on the kitchen table afterward.”

Axel went to the stove and removed the lid on a pot of boiling water to dump in a large amount of macaroni. When he looked back, his grin was wicked. “Set the table for me, okay?”

They had a feast of macaroni and cheese, chicken Parmesan, glazed sweet potatoes, celery slathered with peanut butter, chocolate cake, vanilla ice cream . . . by the time they had finished, they had stuffed themselves to proportions unimaginable in reality. Sora rubbed his foot alongside Axel’s afterwards, tried to trap foreign toes under his own, and laughed when Axel tickled him back along the sensitive slope of his ankle. Axel scooted his chair closer and used the same foot when pressing against Sora’s cock and balls, and the laughter became moans.

In dreams, sex was nebulous and unpredictable. All at once it was fast, ginger, loving, furious, slow, hard, exciting, mind-blowing, sentimental, impersonal, and a million other adjectives. Sora didn’t care about the kitchen floor getting dirty when Axel knocked the dishes and silverware down, pulled the two of them up onto the table, and mounted him with a stare heated enough to melt ice at a glance. Lubricant didn’t exist here, but neither did pain. Being raped, feeling Axel’s twisted love being burned into his skin, was enough to make him cry.

They cleaned up afterward, but the job went much faster because none of this was real. Afterward, Sora pulled the man into the living room and hunted about for a photo album lined with white lace and full of memories. He insisted on looking at every page, admittedly while sitting in Axel’s lap, and pointed out all of the old and well-loved photos that showed the both of them in varying states of happiness. Eating ice cream in the park, watching the sunset, having sex, arm-wrestling, drinking each other’s blood—all contained here, a lifetime of memories with Axel.

That evening they did all sorts of mundane things, like weed the garden, make s’mores, play an impromptu game of hide-and-seek, craft silly haikus about one another, and watch television, although each and every activity devolved into sex before too long. In the simmering afterglow of every orgasm, Sora imagined living the rest of life with this man.

(Axel is a dream

His eyes are green like the grass

I think they’re sexy)

“I want to live the rest of my life with you,” Axel whispered.

(Sora looks so good

I just want to eat him whole

His blood tastes so sweet)

Sora nodded. “Let’s go watch the sunset from the roof.”

His dream placed them up there immediately, already in a tight embrace. The shingles of the roof should have felt coarse on their sore thighs and butts, but they felt comfortable. Beyond the palm trees and the beach, the ocean stretched on into infinity, cradling a shimmering gold dollop of light that was the sun.

“It’s beautiful,” Axel said. And then, as an afterthought, he added, “Like you are.”

Sora thought the air was a little more humid than normal, but he didn’t say anything about it because Axel was flattering him. He tilted his head up, smiled, and sought out the man’s face with his palm. In the orange light of sunset, Axel’s green eyes had become the green of deep, dark forests and jungles, but now Sora knew he wasn’t going to get lost in them anymore. He would always be home, no matter where he was.

“I love you,” Sora said.

The sun sunk below the curve of the ocean, illuminating the placid waters in a fantastic display of refracted color. Orange receded from the sky, replaced by yellow and then green and then something close to blue but not really. Night was coming and Sora could see the moon rising into place out of the corner of his eye.

It was more humid now, heavy and hot despite the disappearance of the sun, and sweat slid down Sora’s brow. Axel seemed unperturbed by the change; he smiled back at Sora, brought him into a kiss that made the boy’s toes tingle and curl, and then rolled atop the boy with far more gentleness than he had after dinner.

“I love you too,” Axel said unabashedly.

Sora’s lungs tightened and made breathing far more difficult. In the back of his mind he knew something was very wrong, extremely wrong, but Axel arched his head and claimed the boy’s mouth in a passionate kiss. You’re mine, the kiss clarified. Don’t forget that. Ever.

Struggling against Axel was futile, and Sora didn’t want to anyway even after an alarming burning sensation so different from love burst forth into existence inside his chest. His heart thudded loudly. If Axel wanted to have all of him, consume him in fire, invade his emptiness, conquer his mind—then so be it. Sora wanted to be Axel’s, because without Axel, he was just a nobody.

Sora shut his eyes and saw a faded image, a fading memory, of Axel smiling and wearing the silver crown necklace. And then he saw nothing at all.

Even in the deepest darkness, there would always be a light shining. Right?

Stay with me forever. Please.

Sora’s oxygen-starved brain forced him to fight back with what little strength remained in his muscles. Axel backed off for a moment, avoiding a blow to the temple that could have been lethal, and then pounced forward. The silk cover of the pillow rustled and the shadows behind him giggled like demented schoolgirls as they watched.

Even in death, Sora’s penis was stiff and reaching into the air. Axel felt faintly amused and wondered, as he twisted and pushed the pillow down harder, if Sora had had an autoerotic asphyxiation fetish that neither of them had known to exist.

Suffocating was a horrible way to go, not at all peaceful, but eventually the lack of oxygen went on too long and that penis trembled twice and Axel snapped Sora’s neck anyway in an effort to speed things up a bit. Axel pulled away the pillow, looked at Sora lying there as if he had just dozed off with blueberry jam smeared on his lips. The body was already cooling.

Why had he done it? In the end, why had he done this to Sora? Why had he destroyed someone’s life so utterly, even if it meant getting entangled in his own web of deceit and cruelty?

Because he could. It was that simple, that heartless.

“And,” Axel said aloud, as he leaned down to draw an unreciprocated kiss from Sora’s lips, “because I always wanted to try out necrophilia.”

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[end act 3.]

[end resonate.]
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