Thin material locked the barrier between lithe fingers and that of the aching member suffocating underneath the light fabric.

Tanned skin grazed over the annoyance, sending the slightest pressure and heat to the throbbing cock that was begging for attention. Pants grew louder in annoyance and heat, and no longer could he take the torturously slow ministrations. He slid down the plaid shorts as slow as his partner would allow before curses would spew beyond bruised lips in anticipation.

Cold air met the throbbing member and a gasp was released. Alabaster fingers curled over the tip and a thumb lightly dug into the slit, eliciting a moan of pleasure from the coffee haired boy. Agonizingly slow, the fingers began to follow a vein from the tip to the slit, memorizing every detail of the sensitive skin. The sweet torture was even worse than the previous skin to fabric contact; now that flesh was meeting flesh, the arousal grew and the patience shrunk.

"Fuck, Roxas, harder," the coffee haired boy moaned, bucking his hips to meet the torturous hand. But the alabaster skinned partner had not yet had his fun – torture was his purpose, his reason for existing. Pleasure for his partner was his sole purpose in life.

Sora begged, and Roxas obliged in an alternate form of torture. He dug his long fingernails into the sensitive skin and raked up the shaft in a sadistic way, eliciting a scream of agony and pleasure from Sora and causing small droplets of red liquid to ooze from the veins pulsating from the sides of the shaft. "As you wished," Roxas uttered monotonously, but with a hidden edge that Sora was all too occupied to notice.

Fingers slid up the shaft again in a continuous rhythm, stroking the head and dipping into the slit repeatedly. He kept a steady beat, sultry and sadistic – almost animalistic the way Sora bucked into his hand and twitched at the slightest movement to his aching cock. His head flied round fast enough to give whiplash – pain radiating from the back of his head and down to his cock. It could have been. It should have been, but no, it delved deeper - deeper into the throb of his cock, deeper to the demented psyche.

Curses flew from his lips like songbirds as he reached a peak. White built in his stomach and through heated strokes by Roxas white spilled over the slit as his body reacted in an animalistic way to the very basic feeling of humanity.

Shaking limbs and shuddering eyelashes found their way to porcelain and water, unfolding a ceremony of ablution to cleanse his tainted member, to purify his sin in heated baptism. Cold water met the skin and he gasped – a cruel contrast to the delicious heat coursing his veins.

With the sin washed away he lazily plopped down on stained white sheets, Roxas lying beside him with the same aura about him that always managed to arouse Sora. Placing his hand on Roxas' chest, he felt the familiar touch of the white sheets and smiled contently.

The video camera in the corner of the room captured every detail of patient 236, Sora Strife, resting uncovered on his bed in his solitary room – his medication lying long forgotten on the night table.

Er, that was my first attempt at a lemon-y thing. It wasn't a full blown lemon, in fact I don't even really know what it it.

I'm sorry if it confused anyone, because it definitely confused the hell out of my friends, so if you don't understand it please feel free to ask me. I'm a bit crazy about psychology and I've always wanted to write something like this, and here was the product.

Please review!

~Libby.