Game, Set
III. Sacrifices

He couldn't breathe.

There were cuts all over his chest, long and curling into what he suspected were creative shapes. Larxene's very own attempt at art. And he had been expecting that part, but not so much the way the oil stung, or the jolt she had sent through his body and the way it left him feeling weakened and raw.

His arms were twisted behind him, the angle unnatural and, as she pressed him flat to the mattress, distinctly uncomfortable. Fucking Vexen, the ice wasn't making things any easier. It felt like all the skin had been rasped from his wrists, and the ice, instead of numbing the pain, was keeping it fresh and constant and just this side of unbearable.

But the worst part, Axel thought, wasn't the ice or the cuts or even the look in her eye, like she was enjoying every inch of his discomfort. The worst part was the hand she'd slipped between his legs, the fingers wrapped tight around his dick, massaging the blood into it and making his eyes roll back into his skull.

Shit...

"You don't -- play fair," he managed through his teeth, and then there was a hot wet tongue prying open one of the cuts just below his nipple, and he snarled something incoherent.

That was when she said it, and he realized how wrong he'd been, how stupid: "If you're so worried about fair, perhaps you'd rather play with him instead."

They weren't anywhere near the worst part just yet.

*

Marluxia shed the coat and the clothes beneath it in one smooth fluid gesture. He was like a living painting, or something; too pretty to be real. Axel's eyes weren't really focusing very well through the haze of mingled pain and bitter pleasure, but he didn't have to see the man's face to know he was smiling. Wide, self-congratulatory, and so very, very smug. It was a look Axel had been seeing a lot lately, every time something went smoothly according to plan.

He matched it when Marluxia was near enough, even struggled briefly to reach for him, as if forgetting the restraints in some shadow of eagerness, and Larxene eased back, settling her hands on her own thighs for the first time in what felt like hours, seemingly content to watch. It probably wouldn't last, but he still couldn't help a little shiver of relief as the pain receded to a slow throb.

For several seconds, none of them moved. He and Marluxia smiled at each other. Then the man's eyes narrowed to pleasant slits, and he lowered his head, lips parting, to -- hell -- kiss him. Before the pressure had been brief, even soft, but it wasn't now. Funny how the tongue twisting insistently in his mouth could remind him so intensely of the way Larxene's had pried a laceration painfully open. Marluxia bit his lower lip, and then even the pain was the same.

"Pretty," Larxene purred appreciatively, and instantly her lover stopped, drew away from him, smiling again but only for her. "Ooh, you didn't make him bleed."

"You know I'm not fond of the taste," Marluxia replied, chastising her as if she were a child in his care. She batted her eyelashes for him, a mimicry of the simpering little wife she would never be, then tugged at the sheets, and he moved aside obligingly.

The sheet had been a comforting illusion, allowed Axel to forget for a while that he was bare and restrained and shined up like a brand-new toy. It had shielded him from their eyes. The weirdest part was how Marluxia was looking at him, when he'd been so clinical and detached earlier that stripping down in front of him had been like getting naked for a doctor. Even now, his gaze was softer than Larxene's, and more bemused than hungry, but there was a definite heat in it, a heat that hadn't been there before.

The man had enjoyed his lover's little show.

Fuckers, he thought, and grinned at them both, spreading his legs like an invitation. "Were we staring or having sex? Because you know, like this," and Axel shrugged his shoulders demonstratively, "I really can't take care of it myself."

If everything hurt, at least keeping his focus would be easier. No danger of enjoying yourself too much if you have to keep your teeth gritted the whole time.

*

Wrong.

The noises coming out of him were kind of obscene. Axel choked them off, and Larxene bit into the flesh of his shoulder so that his mouth fell open and another low groan slipped out of it. He let his head fall forward, and heard her laugh, delighted. A surge of electricity through her fingertips, dragged from just below his ribcage to just above his cock.

The problem was that it just didn't hurt enough. He could still feel the long, agile tongue pressed so disorientingly against that tight ring of muscle. He could still feel the fingers working deep, slicking him up inside with a sickly sweet-smelling salve. He could still feel the long thick dick, fucking him much too slowly.

He'd thought he couldn't breathe before. Now Axel was thinking he might never be able to breathe again.

They had broken him away from the bed, the ice he couldn't melt so fragile when it came to knives, but his wrists were still bound securely behind his back. Marluxia was behind him, holding his hips still and making him blind, and Larxene was in front of him, often simply watching with lidded eyes, but kissing him invasively when he got too loud and drawing blood when he forgot himself and dared to be quiet.

"Larxene..." Marluxia sounded strange, dusky, even strained, but the rhythm of his fucking hadn't changed. No, of course not; the bastard was way too controlled for that.

"Of course," she said obligingly, and pressed up against him, coat and zipper startlingly there, startlingly real between them. Did she ever have real sex? But her hand was on his belly again, bare, fingers tangling suddenly in short coarse curls, and his cock jumped, his hips jerked, and even with her laughter it was hard to remember to be snide.

The spark made his vision go white, and left him numb but throbbing. He was going to come and hardly feel it.

Bitch.

He flexed against Marluxia, twisted to kiss her, and she allowed it with a pleased little coo, forgetting for at least a few seconds what she was supposed to be doing to him. Warm lips brushed his ear distractingly and warm hands settled on his wrists and then stars burst hard behind his eyes as Marluxia shoved the ice into his lower back. His head was spinning, he thought he'd be sick, but he was still peripherally aware of the two of them kissing and biting each other over his shoulder.

"You hurt him, I think," he thought he heard Larxene whisper. "Just for daring to touch me?"

"Displeased?" The deeper voice was noncommittal, neither confirming nor denying but distinctly, endlessly, amused. And still, Axel realized as he caught his breath, sawing slowly in and out of him. He'd never stopped.

Larxene giggled. "Do it again."

Oh god.

*

Every part of him ached. He felt raw inside, his skin too tight. Larxene had perfected this horrible way of stroking her fingers over his sack and shocking him softly so that his whole body jerked and he moaned through his teeth. Then Marluxia, who seemed to wait for this exact moment, would shove in hard and deep, making the world fell away until there was just her fingers, his dick, and the pain as someone squeezed the ice into his wrists or bit an open laceration.

More than once, Axel wondered if he hadn't been wrong, if they were simply never going to let him come at all. If they planned to just keep going until he couldn't think straight. Maybe this was how Larxene meant to break him.

Not the most pleasant thought. He tipped his head back against Marluxia's collar bones and let himself moan thinly like a whore. "You're gonna-- fuck-- kill me if you -- keep this up..."

"Do you want something?" she asked sweetly, and another small burst of electricity went through him. "Say... please."

Or maybe they just wanted to hear him beg. Axel had to fight to keep his lips from curling. Begging really, really wasn't his thing. He swallowed, turned to find the strong line of Marluxia's jaw, and licked it lightly. An almost subservient curl of tongue. He could feel her eyes on him, on his mouth, and even the other man paused in surprise.

It occurred to Axel that if he wanted to, he could clench down now, and Marluxia would crumble, pretty control snapping as the orgasm hit him. Larxene would be furious, and in her heat she would shock him so hard that he'd finally come. He wouldn't have to beg.

And they'd never believe he'd really wanted to be there.

He lowered his eyes, not for the first time tonight, and murmured, "Please." The fact that his breathing was thick and labored helped the pitiful sound, but he wasn't going for that, didn't want that. He let his voice trail away to the softest husk and added, pleasantly, "I'm so close -- so fucking hard -- it wouldn't, mm, take much... Just -- a little squeeze, or a few hard thrusts..."

He wasn't sure it had been enough, but looking up at Larxene with that imitated hesitation, he could tell that he had said exactly the right thing. She dipped her head ever so slightly in assent, and then -- then--

Then Marluxia went for broke, thrusts suddenly fast and wild and... good, if he was honest with himself. Really good, after everything they'd put him through. His eyes crossed and he lost himself in the pleasure of it, more than he'd meant to. So much so that he wasn't expecting it when she ducked her head and dragged her tongue over his sensitive tip and holy fuck the jolt. Everything exploded in a color like his blood, and the relief was intense enough that he nearly passed out.

*

Hours later, he could still feel her hand on his cheek, stroking it as she informed him that he had been a very good boy but not quite good enough to fuck her. Axel had smiled at her, so disappointed, and suggested lightly that they'd have to do this again sometime so he could try again. She was charmed, and Marluxia, watching him a little closer than he liked, seemed to find nothing terribly suspicious in his interest.

Then they'd kissed him, full on the mouth, one after the other, and he could still taste that, too.

Axel spread out on his own bed, freshly showered, and gazed up at the ceiling for a few seconds. Letting himself feel the filth, the horror, so intensely that he might have been a Somebody with torn clothes and tears all down his chin.

He could only hold onto the feeling for so long before he had to laugh. Whatever they'd done to him, they were going to pay for it, weren't they? Several times over.

End