[Fic] KH -- Immoral (1/1)
Feb. 7th, 2011 02:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
windandwaterTitle: Immoral (1/1)
Author: Sailor Seraphim
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Rating: M
Warnings: Rikka/Kira. Sibcest, violence, and adult situations. Also, the thoughts of a horny teenage boy.
Summary: He knows it's wrong. It's wrong in so many ways that he doesn't bother to count. Happy Birthday toluscious_sarah, who requested this from me~!
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He knows it's wrong.
It's wrong in more than one way. In fact, it's so wrong in so many ways that he doesn't bother to count. Not that he wants to. Because if he did, he'd have to think about just how wrong it is.
Which is a lot.
In a lot of different ways.
Fuck.
Sometimes Rikka just wants to curse the world for his problems. Or maybe just curse his parents. He should've followed that instinct he had when he was younger and thrown a fit when his parents mentioned him having younger siblings. If he had, maybe he'd be an only child and his world would be such a simpler place. In fact, everything would be simpler if Kira didn't exist.
But whenever he has that thought, Rikka immediately takes it back, because his sister doesn't deserve it. Not all the time, at least. Just at times like this.
Maybe there is some deity or higher power or sadistic prick up there that hates him. That's the only explanation Rikka has for why he decided today of all days to abandon his 'friends' -- sycophants, really -- at the coffee shop and go hunting for his sister. It is endlessly fun, sort of like a sport or hobby, for Rikka to pop up unexpectedly wherever Kira is with her silly little girlfriends and embarrass her as much as possible. They are like a gaggle of badly colored birds, squawking and flapping and so noisy that it is a wonder that no one tries to take aim and bring one of them down.
Down in the permanently deceased or severely injured kind of way, not the other way, because rumors are that they already have a lot of practice at that. Rikka knows first hand, because one of Kira's friends went down on him behind the gym a few months ago. But he is saving that tidbit of information for a suitable situation. Maybe Christmas. Maybe in front of her friends. That would be awesome.
Still, as slutty as Kira's friends are -- or presumably slutty, as Rikka hasn't had interactions with all of them yet -- something inside him still boils at the thought of his sister, his little sister, on her knees in front of some muscle-bound jock, strawberry lipgloss-stained mouth wrapped around his cock and sucking away. But Kira is the type, isn't she? All short skirts and bared midriffs, teasing glances and high heels. The perfect mix of innocence in her eyes but seduction on her lips and fuck, he's getting hard and he shouldn't be and Rikka's really going to lay into Kira once he finds her. Maybe he'll make her throw a fit and cry in public and send her running for home, where she'd be safe and away from anyone who wants to look at her.
Then maybe he can get one of her friends to suck him off and take care of his problem.
Rikka turns a corner down a less-busy side street and heading for the shopping center when he stumbles across a scene that is his worst nightmare in more ways than one. Hidden in the shadows between buildings, Kira is on her knees in front of a muscle-bound jock. Her skirt rides high on her thighs, and one of her expensive designer heels is scuffed. But her pink lips aren't wrapped around the guy's cock. Instead, Kira is holding a hand to her face, her green eyes wide in shock and pain and surprise. The bastard says something and doesn't like whatever Kira says in return, emerald eyes burning viciously at him. That's when his hand comes down again, and Kira's voice cries out, and her silver hair falls out of its carefully arranged style, like a curtain over the expression of pain on her face.
Rikka doesn't know what happens after that.
He can swear that in one moment, he's watching some asshole knock the shit out of his sister and the next, Rikka is there and the asshole is on the ground, his nose and lip bleeding. Rikka's hands are around the jock's neck and he's not sure what he's hissing out, but whatever it is sure has the jock's attention... at least until his face turns and ugly shade of purple and he passes out from lack of air. Rikka drops the guy like a piece of garbage and gives him a kick in the ribs from his steel-toed boots just because he feels like it.
Kira is still curled on the ground, face in her hands as she cries. It's nothing for Rikka to pick her up and carry her home, managing to mutter something comforting while she buries her face in the crook of his neck, like she's trying to hide from the world. Rikka avoids the main streets because he doesn't want anyone to see his sister like this, so helpless and vulnerable and she'd probably bitch him out later for letting everyone see her at her less-than-perfect best.
It is sheer dumb luck, or coincidence, or tap dancing spirits that no one else is home when Rikka and Kira arrive. Normally, the house is full to the brim with his parents and other siblings, but it's empty at the moment and Rikka is glad. He doesn't want to have to explain why Kira is hurt just yet, or else that assault and battery will turn into a homicide. It also makes it easier for Rikka to climb the stairs with Kira in his arms, shouldering open the door to his room and through to the bathroom that he and Kira are forced to share.
The bathroom is a picture of controlled chaos, what with two teenagers sharing it. But Rikka manages to set Kira down to sit on the edge of the tub, though he has to stifle the urge to curse when his sister clings for a minute longer, letting him feel her warmth and softness and the press of her breasts against his chest. It also stirs something in him, a quiet sort of pride that she trusts him to protect her and keep her safe and doesn't want to leave. And once he manages to untangle himself from Kira, he almost wishes he hadn't.
Kira looks like a wreck. Even the smeared mascara and makeup can't hide the livid bruise that's starting to bloom across her pale cheek. Rage builds up in Rikka's chest, and he almost wishes that he did more than beat that jock and choke him to unconsciousness. Because this is Kira and Kira should never have a mark on her. Not one as violent and ugly as this.
Whatever he's thinking must show on his face, because Kira cringes away, hands fluttering up to hide her face once more. But when she does, that only shows off the bruises beginning to form around her wrists, where the asshole must have grabbed her before he started smacking her around. Rikka nearly shakes from his rage, only managing through sheer strength of will to stand and wet a washcloth, batting away those trembling hands and carefully cleaning Kira's face for her. She whimpers and hisses in pain but doesn't try to stop him, and that upsets Rikka more than it should. Kira is supposed to be loud and brash and argue and fight him all the time, she's not supposed to be meek and docile with tears running down her cheeks.
With her face cleaned, it's almost worse than before. Without the mask of makeup to distract, Kira looks so much younger than she tries to act. There's nothing between her and him and the world. Kira is his little sister again and not the vapid whore everyone else thinks she is. Rikka traces a finger gently over the bruise on Kira's face, watching her flinch as he applies antiseptic cream over practically half her face.
"That's cold," Kira murmurs, her voice tinged with a familiar whine.
"Suck it up," Rikka says in return. "You shouldn't have let that asshole hit you."
Kira whimpers from pain before her brows furrow and her eyes shoot daggers at him. Luckily, Rikka's had years of practice in ignoring those looks.
"I didn't ask him to! He tried-- I didn't want-- and then he...!"
It's baffling how fast Kira can switch moods, sliding from righteous anger to horrified shame. She bursts into tears again and through her stifled words, Rikka can piece together what exactly happened before he stumbled across the scene in the alley. And when Kira is bawling, her face buried against his chest again while his hands card through her hair, Rikka remembers something important.
No matter how she dresses and how she acts, Kira is Kira... and Kira is a romantic. She'd never treat physical affection casually. She wants roses and rainbows and fluffy puppies. She expects a prince on a white horse. She deserves someone whose heart is as big as her own. She believes in love.
It's disgustingly maudlin to Rikka, but that's what he loves about her.
Eventually he manages to get Kira calmed down again, and a few mocking words (but not as cutting as they could be), get Kira to clean herself up further since her clothes are ruined and dirty. He makes a great show of sneering and turning his back as Kira gets undressed, then watches from the reflection in the bathroom mirror as his sister's pale body is bared in her room. Watches how she bends to pull on a pair of lounging shorts, her nipples going hard momentarily because of a cool breeze before she pulls a pink tank top on. Manages to give his hardening cock a squeeze through his pants as he disappears into his room before he embarrasses himself. Maybe Kira will lock herself in her room to have a girly sulk. Rikka hopes she does because then he'd have time to jerk off.
But the psycho gods are against him yet again today, because Kira stands in his doorway instead, looking hesitant.
"Can I stay here with you?" Kira asks. "I don't want to be alone."
Rikka wants to scream. Instead he manages to keep his voice even in his reply.
"Whatever. As long as you're quiet."
Surprisingly enough, Kira just nods in return before scurrying into his room and plopping herself into his bed. It's just like when they were younger, when Kira would come crying into his room in the middle of the night, scared of the dark or monsters or a thunderstorm. She curls up like she belongs, and maybe she does. Rikka tries his hardest to ignore her, standing in front of his easel and contemplating his latest work. Then he moves restlessly to his table and the sketch pads there, because he needs something to do that isn't his sister.
--- TBC --
Author: Sailor Seraphim
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Rating: M
Warnings: Rikka/Kira. Sibcest, violence, and adult situations. Also, the thoughts of a horny teenage boy.
Summary: He knows it's wrong. It's wrong in so many ways that he doesn't bother to count. Happy Birthday to
luscious_sarah, who requested this from me~!===========================================================================
He knows it's wrong.
It's wrong in more than one way. In fact, it's so wrong in so many ways that he doesn't bother to count. Not that he wants to. Because if he did, he'd have to think about just how wrong it is.
Which is a lot.
In a lot of different ways.
Fuck.
Sometimes Rikka just wants to curse the world for his problems. Or maybe just curse his parents. He should've followed that instinct he had when he was younger and thrown a fit when his parents mentioned him having younger siblings. If he had, maybe he'd be an only child and his world would be such a simpler place. In fact, everything would be simpler if Kira didn't exist.
But whenever he has that thought, Rikka immediately takes it back, because his sister doesn't deserve it. Not all the time, at least. Just at times like this.
Maybe there is some deity or higher power or sadistic prick up there that hates him. That's the only explanation Rikka has for why he decided today of all days to abandon his 'friends' -- sycophants, really -- at the coffee shop and go hunting for his sister. It is endlessly fun, sort of like a sport or hobby, for Rikka to pop up unexpectedly wherever Kira is with her silly little girlfriends and embarrass her as much as possible. They are like a gaggle of badly colored birds, squawking and flapping and so noisy that it is a wonder that no one tries to take aim and bring one of them down.
Down in the permanently deceased or severely injured kind of way, not the other way, because rumors are that they already have a lot of practice at that. Rikka knows first hand, because one of Kira's friends went down on him behind the gym a few months ago. But he is saving that tidbit of information for a suitable situation. Maybe Christmas. Maybe in front of her friends. That would be awesome.
Still, as slutty as Kira's friends are -- or presumably slutty, as Rikka hasn't had interactions with all of them yet -- something inside him still boils at the thought of his sister, his little sister, on her knees in front of some muscle-bound jock, strawberry lipgloss-stained mouth wrapped around his cock and sucking away. But Kira is the type, isn't she? All short skirts and bared midriffs, teasing glances and high heels. The perfect mix of innocence in her eyes but seduction on her lips and fuck, he's getting hard and he shouldn't be and Rikka's really going to lay into Kira once he finds her. Maybe he'll make her throw a fit and cry in public and send her running for home, where she'd be safe and away from anyone who wants to look at her.
Then maybe he can get one of her friends to suck him off and take care of his problem.
Rikka turns a corner down a less-busy side street and heading for the shopping center when he stumbles across a scene that is his worst nightmare in more ways than one. Hidden in the shadows between buildings, Kira is on her knees in front of a muscle-bound jock. Her skirt rides high on her thighs, and one of her expensive designer heels is scuffed. But her pink lips aren't wrapped around the guy's cock. Instead, Kira is holding a hand to her face, her green eyes wide in shock and pain and surprise. The bastard says something and doesn't like whatever Kira says in return, emerald eyes burning viciously at him. That's when his hand comes down again, and Kira's voice cries out, and her silver hair falls out of its carefully arranged style, like a curtain over the expression of pain on her face.
Rikka doesn't know what happens after that.
He can swear that in one moment, he's watching some asshole knock the shit out of his sister and the next, Rikka is there and the asshole is on the ground, his nose and lip bleeding. Rikka's hands are around the jock's neck and he's not sure what he's hissing out, but whatever it is sure has the jock's attention... at least until his face turns and ugly shade of purple and he passes out from lack of air. Rikka drops the guy like a piece of garbage and gives him a kick in the ribs from his steel-toed boots just because he feels like it.
Kira is still curled on the ground, face in her hands as she cries. It's nothing for Rikka to pick her up and carry her home, managing to mutter something comforting while she buries her face in the crook of his neck, like she's trying to hide from the world. Rikka avoids the main streets because he doesn't want anyone to see his sister like this, so helpless and vulnerable and she'd probably bitch him out later for letting everyone see her at her less-than-perfect best.
It is sheer dumb luck, or coincidence, or tap dancing spirits that no one else is home when Rikka and Kira arrive. Normally, the house is full to the brim with his parents and other siblings, but it's empty at the moment and Rikka is glad. He doesn't want to have to explain why Kira is hurt just yet, or else that assault and battery will turn into a homicide. It also makes it easier for Rikka to climb the stairs with Kira in his arms, shouldering open the door to his room and through to the bathroom that he and Kira are forced to share.
The bathroom is a picture of controlled chaos, what with two teenagers sharing it. But Rikka manages to set Kira down to sit on the edge of the tub, though he has to stifle the urge to curse when his sister clings for a minute longer, letting him feel her warmth and softness and the press of her breasts against his chest. It also stirs something in him, a quiet sort of pride that she trusts him to protect her and keep her safe and doesn't want to leave. And once he manages to untangle himself from Kira, he almost wishes he hadn't.
Kira looks like a wreck. Even the smeared mascara and makeup can't hide the livid bruise that's starting to bloom across her pale cheek. Rage builds up in Rikka's chest, and he almost wishes that he did more than beat that jock and choke him to unconsciousness. Because this is Kira and Kira should never have a mark on her. Not one as violent and ugly as this.
Whatever he's thinking must show on his face, because Kira cringes away, hands fluttering up to hide her face once more. But when she does, that only shows off the bruises beginning to form around her wrists, where the asshole must have grabbed her before he started smacking her around. Rikka nearly shakes from his rage, only managing through sheer strength of will to stand and wet a washcloth, batting away those trembling hands and carefully cleaning Kira's face for her. She whimpers and hisses in pain but doesn't try to stop him, and that upsets Rikka more than it should. Kira is supposed to be loud and brash and argue and fight him all the time, she's not supposed to be meek and docile with tears running down her cheeks.
With her face cleaned, it's almost worse than before. Without the mask of makeup to distract, Kira looks so much younger than she tries to act. There's nothing between her and him and the world. Kira is his little sister again and not the vapid whore everyone else thinks she is. Rikka traces a finger gently over the bruise on Kira's face, watching her flinch as he applies antiseptic cream over practically half her face.
"That's cold," Kira murmurs, her voice tinged with a familiar whine.
"Suck it up," Rikka says in return. "You shouldn't have let that asshole hit you."
Kira whimpers from pain before her brows furrow and her eyes shoot daggers at him. Luckily, Rikka's had years of practice in ignoring those looks.
"I didn't ask him to! He tried-- I didn't want-- and then he...!"
It's baffling how fast Kira can switch moods, sliding from righteous anger to horrified shame. She bursts into tears again and through her stifled words, Rikka can piece together what exactly happened before he stumbled across the scene in the alley. And when Kira is bawling, her face buried against his chest again while his hands card through her hair, Rikka remembers something important.
No matter how she dresses and how she acts, Kira is Kira... and Kira is a romantic. She'd never treat physical affection casually. She wants roses and rainbows and fluffy puppies. She expects a prince on a white horse. She deserves someone whose heart is as big as her own. She believes in love.
It's disgustingly maudlin to Rikka, but that's what he loves about her.
Eventually he manages to get Kira calmed down again, and a few mocking words (but not as cutting as they could be), get Kira to clean herself up further since her clothes are ruined and dirty. He makes a great show of sneering and turning his back as Kira gets undressed, then watches from the reflection in the bathroom mirror as his sister's pale body is bared in her room. Watches how she bends to pull on a pair of lounging shorts, her nipples going hard momentarily because of a cool breeze before she pulls a pink tank top on. Manages to give his hardening cock a squeeze through his pants as he disappears into his room before he embarrasses himself. Maybe Kira will lock herself in her room to have a girly sulk. Rikka hopes she does because then he'd have time to jerk off.
But the psycho gods are against him yet again today, because Kira stands in his doorway instead, looking hesitant.
"Can I stay here with you?" Kira asks. "I don't want to be alone."
Rikka wants to scream. Instead he manages to keep his voice even in his reply.
"Whatever. As long as you're quiet."
Surprisingly enough, Kira just nods in return before scurrying into his room and plopping herself into his bed. It's just like when they were younger, when Kira would come crying into his room in the middle of the night, scared of the dark or monsters or a thunderstorm. She curls up like she belongs, and maybe she does. Rikka tries his hardest to ignore her, standing in front of his easel and contemplating his latest work. Then he moves restlessly to his table and the sketch pads there, because he needs something to do that isn't his sister.
--- TBC --
