By: Miroir du Symphonie
Pairings: Riku x Sora, Leon x Cloud x Aerith, Vincent x Yuffie
Prompt: Mickey's ears.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. They are the property of Square Enix and/or Disney.
A/N: While I am fully aware that Vincent Valentine is not in Kingdom Hearts, I have always been a firm believer that he should have been. After all, if Cloud's emo bitchiness made the cut, why not Vincent? He's so much hotter and sexy...
Kidding. But seriously, Square, why not?
This one is for my beta, A-chan, also known as My hand held in yours, on her seventeenth birthday—because she's been such an awesome friend. The world needs more people like her—I swear to God there'd be no war. Thanks for putting up with me and my issues, A-chan and I'm sorry I caused you stress or pain. I hope you enjoy this birthday and I hope I'm there for the next one and the next one and all the rest after that. This is regrettably the best I can give—it's a rush job and honestly I don't think it's that good—but you deserve more than just a fic.
So much more.
Leon likes to watch them wearing his clothes.
They put him on the bed and tease off his garments; two pairs of sinful hands ease fabric from his legs and ghost the skin underneath. Two pairs of hazy eyes exchange two devilish smiles and suddenly he's naked and the warmth is gone and Aerith is shutting the closet and Cloud's fingers are in his mouth and he can taste the three of them—with the underlying, spicy tang of Leon's trusty leather glove.
They are hot. And reckless and beautiful and naughty and hot.
Getting dressed is even harder than getting undressed, he can see from his vantage point on the bed. Aerith can't seem to resist the urge to stroke the base of Cloud's wing through the cloth of the white T-shirt. And Cloud can't take his eyes off her ass encased in those leather pants—but neither can he, and to this day he can't believe that such an angel would be willing to live among their darkness. Her silken hair is loose and Cloud's hand moves to her waist as he helps her with the belts, and precum leaks from Leon's cock in rivers with the way they hang on her hips.
Oh god, the belts.
They are putting on the finishing touches: she lets out a keening wail as Cloud works at her thigh, one hand between her legs and the other fastening the black belt buckles. The jackets are the last to come on, and he watches the exchange of a heated kiss before they turn in his direction for approval.
Later, when the entirety of Leon's closet is scattered on the floor and two sweaty bodies are curled beside him, he reflects that laundry day would have to come sooner than expected.
Cloud likes to see them in mirrors.
The reflective circle portrays a million brunettes as his partners lie beside him in the middle, Aerith's ankles locked around Leon's waist as he takes her with deep thrusts. Cloud's muscles are aching and his wing lays bandaged, yet he cannot recall being harder in his life—their image is cast around the room, surrounding him—the helpless abandon on her face and the fierce arousal on his. Cloud wants to join in so badly; his hand works quickly between his legs as he continues to watch their six silhouettes...
He knows they are thinking of him, even as green and gray eyes screw shut in climax and their clasp on each other tightens. This is what he fights for when his sword crosses Sephiroth's: a tangle of arms and legs and gentle kisses, Leon's deep voice and Aerith's lilting giggle as they tell him about their day. He's been drifting all his life and he's finally found something to hold onto, something that was there all along...
Hands reach out for him as the two come down to earth: Aerith nips at his neck, pushing his hand away from his cock to finish the job herself. Behind him, Leon's careful touch is on his back, one hand stroking the sore appendage and the other joining Aerith in her task.
When his orgasm finally fades and his tired eyes open, he smiles at his own reflection—safe between his lovers. He's drowning in them. And he likes it that way.
Aerith likes to watch them fucking.
On the last day of her monthly affliction, she slides into bed with an air of anticipation. They greet her with kisses and quiet sympathy—their hair damp from a bath and their bodies smelling of sandalwood—showering her with their brand of attention as they get ready for slumber. She has considerate lovers, she thinks with affection, and would be upset at her current inabilities if it wasn't for the pending show.
With little warning, Cloud attacks Leon, and the bed creaks with sharp protests as the brunette crashes onto it. Aerith smiles—a tiny, secret smile. So it's one of those nights.
Leon is the taller of the two, with broader shoulders and a light dusting of freckles on his shoulder that she likes to count with hickeys. Cloud is smaller but much more flexible, and his wing arches behind him like a banner as he slicks his fingers with lube and takes Leon's cock into his mouth. It isn't often that the blonde dominates, and she regards their interaction with keen interest as the lion slowly comes undone.
Aerith loves the wanting, almost needy look on Leon's face as Cloud whispers dirty things into his ear, two and then three fingers thrusting in and out—she loves the look of wonder on Cloud's face as he finally pushes through and the small catch of breath Leon makes when the blonde gets deep inside. It isn't long before they begin to move together, and love coupled with inevitable lust burns within her as the bed vibrates with the force of Cloud's thrusts; his back is bleeding slightly from the scratch of Leon's nails but Aerith knows he doesn't mind.
She feels almost selfish as they continue, hisses of pleasure and pleadings for more teasing her ears as the musky scent of their sex fills the room. They are beautiful and wonderful and all hers, and it amazes her every day that two men still haunted by darkness can make her feel this good.
The bed quivers and then goes still as they reach climax. Cloud holds out his fingers and she willingly sucks on them, tasting them, raking her fingers through Leon's sweaty hair as she closes her eyes. The show is over for the night, but Aerith doesn't mind.
She can always join in tomorrow.
Vincent likes to see her tied up.
He has plenty red bandannas to spare, and they bind her arms and spread legs to a chair. He is glad for the darkness shrouding them together—though she has seen and pressed kisses to the worst of his scars the shame of many years is hard to erase. He tries not to dwell on that, however, for she is naked and her big brown eyes are shining with need.
He turns a page in his book as his finger works within her.
It is the complete domination that Chaos craves and the demon's approval is loud within his mind. Vincent himself is attracted to her natural exuberance and seeing it suppressed within the folds of red velvet sparks a heat—a fever he can't sweat out. The chair is in danger of falling with Yuffie's unceasing attempts to escape, and her legs pull at the material with such force in an effort to take in more that he is certain the cloth will leave marks.
The sound of her muffled moans go straight to his stiff cock and only iron control keeps him from snapping the restraints and burying himself in her heat. He adds another finger and glances up from the printed text to see the desperate pleasure on her face; she is getting closer and closer to that precipice of no return. He increases his speed and feels her tremble around him, only seconds away from ultimate pleasure, her exotic eyes widening and squeezing shut in anticipation—
—and he takes his fingers out.
He knows she is cursing him behind the cloth around her mouth if the noises are anything to go by, and with exaggerated slowness he closes and bookmarks the book. On the dresser is a small, round object, and he holds it up for her viewing.
A rare smirk teases his mouth at the shiver of nervous pleasure that rocks her pliant body.
He'll enjoy tonight.
Yuffie likes to fuck outside.
Maybe it's the lack of attention that Godo paid her as a child or maybe it's simply Vincent that gets her so horny, but they can no longer be alone outdoors without the ninja attacking. It is against the man's nature to be so open, but she has endured and enjoyed his pleasure and so he indulges her lust—training in the woods has become an exercise in flexibility. Yuffie is happy that the castle roof is so sturdy because it is one of her favorite places—and it is where she on her hands and knees now, behind a parapet with Vincent taking her from behind.
There have been risks, near misses, and initial discomfort to achieve her goal—but it is the thrill and the adventure that she cannot resist. Her shirt is pushed up uncomfortably, her shorts are stuck around her ankle and the grate of cold stone beneath her knees is stinging, yet she gasps and pleads for more from her dark-haired lover. There is no moon tonight, and she knows this makes him feel a bit better about being so high up. In fifteen days, anyone who happens to glance up will see where they are now.
It will be a long time before Vincent is ready to take on the full moon. At the moment, the ninja is content.
At her trembling commands, he increases his speed: orgasm comes upon her like a freight train and she screams her release into the night. Vincent stiffens and she can feel it: it is hot and—honestly—feels weird inside of her. She does not mind it, though, when a clawed arm wraps around her middle and she draws closer to his warmth. No one else would be willing to do this for her, and she loves him for it and for everything else.
Tomorrow, when Aerith inquires as to whether there are wolves around the castle and Cloud goes out to investigate, she will smile and for once, say nothing.
Sora likes to hear Riku talk dirty.
He is a platinum-haired demon with his eyes and his smirk and the way his tongue traces Sora's ear while he's whispering his filthy promises. Riku's hands are everywhere and nowhere at once—on the brunette's neck, teasing his nipples, stroking his cock—and he doesn't stop talking, about how hot Sora is, about how desperately he wants to be fucking that tight body. And Sora is helpless to do anything but moan and hear how much of a slut he is while Riku takes him roughly.
He is tired of being perfect.
Sora does not cry. Sora does not feel angry or hurt or depressed or any other emotion besides eternal, unceasing happiness, and he hates it. He wants to feel impure for once in his life, wants someone to hold him down and make him dirty until he can't take it anymore. He does not know if it's his way of coping with everything that has happened, or the pressure of upholding an image, or simply how much he needs Riku—but every time Riku approaches with that lusty look in his eyes and a smile that makes the angels weep Sora feels himself falling the minute he opens his mouth.
And when it's all over, when they're both sticky and covered in cum and he's so tired he cannot move and his ears are still tingling from Riku's tongue and his words, he knows his boyfriend doesn't mean it. It is Sora's only reprieve, and when Riku holds him afterwards and kisses him gently it's like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders.
He can't wait for the next round.
Riku likes the ears.
He loves the expression on Sora's face when the brunette slips them on, loves the innocent and almost childlike glow in those big blue eyes as he adjusts them in the mirror, loves how the round curve of those two perfect orbs look on his beloved. He loves the way Sora's cheeks go slightly pink as they undress, he loves the contrast between the black ears and the brown hair and the pale skin and the way the dark, soft material feels between his fingers as they make love.
Like a good lover, he is willing to fulfill his partner's kinks, he loves that Sora loves him enough to do the same...
"Just one more time, Sora—"
"Riku, this feels wrong—"
...and he adores how Sora can't look Mickey in the eye.