I stand in the shadows of the brightly decorated room, watching the blond boy writhe on his bed. He was having another nightmare of Sora's memories. Memories far worse than any fifteen year old should be saddled with.
He seems to have calmed down and I approach. This isn't the first time I've come to watch Roxas. When Diz and the others aren't watching the monitors, and I'm on my shift, I come here.
His white and black shirt has ridden up on his stomach and I look at the way his muscles expand as he breathes deeply. There's no point in hiding it, the boy is too far gone into the memories to sense my presence.
I wonder what Mickey would say if he saw me? The sad pathetic shell of a keyblade master, who lusts after the shell of another.
But now something different is happening. Not the same pattern that the boy's dreams seem to take lately. He is raising his hands, and his whole body is squirming again.
In the faint blue glow of the boy's nightlight, he looks too much like Sora. Far too much.
My gloved hand is brushing across his forehead before I realize it. He calms, and his bright blue eyes slowly open. But he doesn't push back across his bed, his eyes flying open in fear. Not like how I would have expected.
He also doesn't summon a keyblade to attack me, as he would if he'd still been Nobody number thirteen.
Now I'm the one who has backed up a step, and I don't know how to make the situation go away. I could open a portal and run away, safely out of the digital and into the cold dank of the manor. But how could he know?
"I saw you in my dream. That's your name," Roxas says and sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed. His shirt has fallen back to cover him up completely, and even in the confusion of the moment I am sad that my time to enjoy his beautiful shell is over for tonight.
This still doesn't make sense. If he has Sora's memories he should have called me Ansem. The boy is coming closer to me, he has guts I'll give him that. When he reaches slowly toward my face, like he's approaching a dangerous animal, I back away.
Roxas seems to be growing bolder by the minute, and this time reaches forward straight for my eyes. It's only then that I notice I'm wearing my blindfold. What? How can that be?
His fingers press gently on the piece of cloth, where it sits on my temple. He brushes along the edge, moving my hair from the blindfold so his hands can find where it is tied together behind my head.
Why is he doing this? He shouldn't be. We should be fighting. He shouldn't even exist.
When Roxas tilts his head to look at where the blindfold is tied, his hair flops to the side, just like Sora's.
His hands brush another piece of hair from my face, and I see it as it falls back into place. It is the silvery blue hue I know. Ignoring the fact that the blond has loosened my blindfold and slipped it down to hang around my neck, I look around the room for a mirror.
There is one sitting above his desk, and in it I see myself. As I was when I brought Roxas to this empty existence.
I look back at this pale shadow of the boy I've sworn to protect. He is running his hands along my jaw, down to my shoulders as he stares at me with those bright blue eyes. I'm sure the blue lighting is making them even more intense than usual. So very much like Sora.
"Who are you really? Why do I see you in my dreams?"
Of course he wouldn't know me. His memories are lost.
"I am Riku. I don't know why you see me in your dreams," I just keep looking into those eyes. So curious. No trace of fear. Just how I remember them. As I cup his face in my hands I draw close enough to brush the tip of my nose against his. Now he is confused. I'm sure if I let go he would run from me now.
"Maybe its destiny…" I press my lips to his, feeling the twitch run through his body at the contact. Perhaps he was just still half-asleep, and that's why he hadn't been afraid of me before. Now I feel him pull away and I let him.
He wipes his lips on the back of his hand, though he doesn't seem disgusted. Just disconcerted by the feeling imprinted on his mouth by my own.
"Why did you kiss me?" Now he looks more like the Organization member I fought against in the World That Never Was. His body is taught, those same muscles I've had time to examine and spy on while he was left to my care. My poor unsuspecting charge. I've already seen more of him than he could possibly imagine.
"I felt like it. I don't need a reason to do something," I've become defensive again. I know why. My blindfold is gone. As is my other form. I don't know why though. Makes me feel open. And the kid in front of me with his all too clear eyes isn't helping the situation.
"Stop looking at me like that," I say as I pull away. This time his hands grip my arms and hold me still. It doesn't take much effort from him; I'm not really trying to get away.
"Is that why you were in my room? Do I…did I know you?"
The blond boy is shifting his weight back and forth. It must be so uncomfortable. No memories, not sure if the man in front of you is an enemy, a friend, a lover.
"You did. And now you know me again. Which do you prefer?" I lean in, brushing my lips along his jaw with presses that couldn't be considered kisses. When I reach his ear I let my tongue brush against his earlobe and feel his body squirm against mine. "The devil you know, or the devil you don't? I can be whichever you choose..."
At this moment I'm sure I could contemplate what this boy is to me. Is he a replacement, a shadow, a stand-in? Or I could debate whether having sex with a boy in a digital world even really counts. But, frankly, my mind is otherwise occupied.
I can feel his uncertainty so I pull my face up and place a soft kiss on his forehead. I'm taller than him so I can stand at my normal height, and look down at his blushing, eager face. He has to make this decision. I know too much. I know who he is replacing.
His fingers brush over my black trench coat, tangling themselves in the beaded strings. I can't imagine what's going through his head right now. In the quiet of his room I can hear his hitched breathing, and the sound of his throat swallowing over and over out of anxiety.
Surely enough, his fingers find their way to my zipper and nervously pull it down, watching my face to make sure that he hasn't done anything to break this tenuous moment. Sealing us together I reach my arms around his waist and begin to brush along the soft skin under the hem of his shirt. He tries to continue unzipping my coat, but is obviously distracted by my fingertips along the waist of his sleep shorts.
My time is running short here, the longer I remain the better chance I'll be discovered. I pull away from Roxas and tear off my gloves, throwing them to the ground. It's not like I have to worry about where they'll end up after I leave.
Roxas seems to realize that my actions signaled my need to hurry, and pulled his shirt over his head and threw it somewhere in the vicinity of my gloves. His fumbling fingers against my chest bother me and I brush them away, undoing the coat myself and letting it fall off me.
Before it even hits the floor I'm pressing the boy's soft body beneath mine on his bed. His eyes are lit by the same blue glow that permeates his room, and in it I can see them flicking to the door nervously.
I scrape my fingernails along the side of his ribs, and he wriggles and cries out. Leaning down I murmur against his cheek, "Best work on being quiet then."
The pressing of his body against mine is becoming frustrating and I pull away to take off his shorts but he is impatient. His hands wrap around my neck and trap my hair, making it pull against my scalp. I ignore my discomfort as he pulls me into a deep kiss, abandoning the hesitance I felt in him earlier.
Back and forth we lick and nip each other, always ending each foray with the same smacking sound of our lips parting gently. No matter how fiercely our tongues and teeth, we always end with just that soft pressing of our lips together, the afterglow of a kiss.
I don't know which side of him my legs are, or where his hands have gone. All I can focus on is slipping my fingers under his shorts. He doesn't push me away, or make any sign that he might want to. But I see him bite his lip and turn to the side, which I don't appreciate.
I'm the one who is supposed to be imagining him to be someone else, not the other way around. I shift my weight to free my other hand and brush it along his face, turning his eyes down to where my other hand has snuck further under his straining shorts.
He groans but doesn't look away, and I remove his boxers as far as they will go, stretched across his tightened thighs. My hands curl around his shaft and pump slowly, smirking as his eyes follow my hands and his panting becomes erratic and his chest heaves out of time.
I can sympathize considering the situation, but he is getting far too loud. Little grunts that escape and the louder longer moans are going to attract attention in the silent home. I speed up one hand and with the other gently cover his mouth.
"Shhh," I say quietly. He nods and his eyes close, my fist driving faster against him, rubbing against his lower stomach and sticking with each pump.
He comes and grabs onto my arm with a bruising grip, giving himself purchase as his hips jerk up in spasms. As I slow my stroking down he slumps backwards onto his bed and I pull my hand away, absently wiping it on his bed cover.
I climb off his bed and prepare to leave the digital world when I feel his fingers brush against my jeans and hook into the pocket there. He's lying on the bed, his legs still spread, only held in their position by his shorts still wrapped around his thighs.
"Don't you want, you know…"
He pulls a bit more on my pants, bringing me closer to the bed. I don't think I'll ever get tired of watching him breath, the muscles straining and relaxing in such a real motion. Such a human thing. So deceiving.
Roxas moves his hand across the front of my pants and presses against my crotch, knowing that I was still hard. But things are different. I can't continue this. Not now that I remember he's just a husk.
I pull his infuriating hand away by the wrist and lean down to seal his lips in a quick kiss.
"It's wouldn't be real for me," he tries again to free himself and close the distance between us for another kiss, but I pull away while keeping his hand pinned to the bed.
"It isn't even real for you."
I can see him ready to argue but I put my hand over his eyes and send him back to sleep. Back to the place where he remembers things he shouldn't. He'll forget this soon enough. I leave the false Twilight Town and return to the cold reality of the mansion's computer room.
My skin is still a sickeningly dark tan and my hands are too big to be mine. On the computer Sora's Nobody sleeps in his bed, an unknowing victim of a voyeur gone too far.
Guilt for a nothing act with a nothing person just sits lightly in the back of my mind, shoved away for a later time. There are other more important things to focus on right now.
Sleep well my favorite little fake.