Kingdom Hearts: CoM. (Marluxia/Larxene)
Title: "An Education in the Rhetorical Arts" Author: lindensphinx Rating: R. Warnings: Bloodplay. Theoretical two-way dubious consent. No actual sex, sadly enough. Word count: 625 Summary: This is nevertheless a negotiation. Marluxia/Larxene. Prompt: Kingdom Hearts: Chain of Memories, Marluxia/Larxene: knife-play - "just how much can you take?"
An Education in the Rhetorical Arts
He takes the knives from her.
The way he holds them is so awkward, like he's carrying a package for her instead of her very own sharp toys, that she giggles. Puts her hands behind her head, her leather coat creaking with the stretch, tilts her hips.
"Ah-ah! You don't even know what to do with them!" she says, snickering.
Marluxia looks down at his hands, at her knives in them, as if he's just now discovering what he's got. His eyebrows rise.
"This is normally your role, yes," he murmurs. Cultured tones, all round with unsurprise. He smells like lilacs. She wants to sneeze when his hand, the knife slid between two fingers like a thorn, slides up to touch her hair. The metal is cool on her cheek and she shivers.
"Too nice, Marluxia," she trills, pressing her face into the edge. She can feel her skin split, opening. It's easier with a Nobody, to cut them. The skin doesn't want to stay shut. Her cheek is warm, now, and she can imagine the thin trickle of blood.
His eyes are expressionless pools. Blue, like irises or pansies. She snarls at him, shimmying her hips into contact with his. She can't feel if he's hard or not through the coat, and she doesn't care. She tilts her head back – the knife bites harder – to expose her throat. Pictures his throat, under her teeth. It helps a little.
"Larxene," Marluxia says. There is a little hoarse catch to his voice. She smiles. His fingertip traces the cut, comes away red. He puts it to his mouth. She wriggles harder against him, claws at his back, rubbing the leather with static charge. That makes him twitch, a tiny shudder.
She's waiting for him to spring it on her, shove her down on the couch and unzip and tell her all about his grand plan, how he – oh, choke – needs her help. Her loyalty. The knife traces a path down the side of her neck, so light it tickles.
"Larxene," he says again, honeysuckle and ozone mixing in the the air and making her want to gag, "What would you like me to do?"
She hisses at him. "I don't like you to do anything."
"Mm," Marluxia says. He tilts his head downward, so that his mouth meets hers, gently open. He tastes like nothing at all.
She kisses him back until she gets bored of it, and the knife isn't doing anything for her where it is, so she puts her empty hands on his shoulders (the leather gives, tacky and soft under her palms, like her skin or his or any Nobody's) and shoves him hard.
He takes it, rocking a little but not falling or stepping back.
Says, voice mild, "Should I stop?"
She thinks about sending a bolt of lightning right through him where her hands touch his shoulders, the kind of shock that would stop a heart if he had one. There's a paltry heat in her body at the idea.
"I'm bored, Marluxia," she says.
"I know," he tells her.
She fists her fingers in his coat, jerks herself closer to him, closes her mouth hard on the fishwhite skin of his collarbone. Her tongue feels sticky against his skin, so she bites harder. Marluxia arches under her, his head tipping back and his mouth opening on a breathless sound.
He's dropped the knives on the floor when his hands come up to gently touch her spine. She lets go.
"Okay, okay," she says, finally, turning her head away. "I'll go with you to Castle Oblivion."
She thinks she can feel him smiling when he bends his head to kiss her hair, but maybe that won't matter.