Title: For a Good Time, Call...

Author: Digimon Empress Yaten (de yaten)

Notes: Written for the springkink community. Slut!Demyx. Mentions of sex, violence, lots of language. Some 'Zexion'/Demyx. Kind of.

Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts or its characters. I don't claim to own them.

He can't stop. Oh - he doesn't want to stop, but he can't either way. He's got to keep going, keep moving, fast, fast, faster to avoid growing moss and/or getting bored. Both involving stagnation, and he doesn't want to stagnate, get stale, get old, get into a dead-end rut - so he rushes from body to body to keep everything just-the-right-amount of fresh. Just the right amount of being warm and alive and all the more closer to something that's almost-real in his not-really existence.

He can't count the number of time's he had sex, made love, screwed, banged, boinged, fucked, did that ol' horizontal tango - whatever the he, she, or it he's with wanted to call it at the time. If they called it anything at all. He doesn't mind what they want to see sex as, or what they see him as; see him as a piece of meat to be fucked raw while his head bang-bangs red against the headboard, or a cool-nice-casual sweetheart they desperately want to call the next day but the phone number scrawled on their nightstand always leads to a dial tone -- it's just a different rush for him, a different beat-beat he absorbs into his black empty chest. A different way to feel their heart, and remember his.

The rush is the best, the greatest, just the bee's knees, a really top notch feeling that runs from his scalp all the way down to his toes. The rush is what he what he lives for - though technically, according to the rest of them, what he doesn't live for because a Nobody can't really exist and if he doesn't exist, he doesn't live, and therefore has nothing to live for.

But the sex makes him forget that. For a little while, anyway. Which is why the gap between bodies had to be short, sweet, so brief that sometimes he cries out the wrong name or forgets that he actually left such-and-such World a day ago, and only after the white of orgasm and a cry in a foreign tongue does he realize that the fish-scaled body below him was definitely not that of a dark-eyed Agrabah street-walker. Oops. His bad. But it isn't like most of them were very memorable. A warm body is a warm body (or cold, in the mermaid's case) and he couldn't be expected to remember every single name of every single thing he's been in. Or has been inside him. Same thing, really, it's just a different way to get what he wants.

Well.

Sometimes he remembers.

He remembers Nobodies the most - not that he means to remember them more, but it's pretty hard to forget the first (or second or tenth) time he had sex while upside down; with a writhing mass of leaves and vines; and he suspects he was drunk, because he can hardly remember - with a group of his own Dancers. It's also hard to forget a sexual encounter when you're almost-constantly seeing the other person (the other nothing? Nobody?) around the castle, or accompanying them on such-and-such a mission where they have a habit of somehow ending up sleeping together (again) before the task is finished. Or maybe he just had sex with them more often than he did Somebodies. Easy access, didn't generally have to resort to seduction, and (most) of the Organization was pretty damn good in bed. It must've been the lack of emotion-excuses ('I shouldn't be doing this, I have a wife/husband/kids/boyfriend/girlfriend/we're not married') that sometimes sullied sex with Somebodies. No remorse, no holding back.

That's not to say he doesn't remember Somebodies, too. But not as much - just a select group, a small handful, a lucky few. The ones he goes to more than once, or twice, or thirty-four and two thirds (he got called back to The World That Never Was before she came) times. He doesn't know why he goes back, exactly. Maybe it was the quality of the fuck. Or the sweet hypocritical way they smiled so-sweet down at him so-so-nice while they fucked his mouth until he was sure he was going to puke. Or (and he doesn't know why this pleased him) the not-anymore virgin who broke down and cried and said that no way was he gay, and fuck how would he explain this to this girlfriend? (Or maybe that an hour before, Demyx had his girlfriend against a wall and moaning, moaning his fake-name, and it made him want to giggle.)

Maybe he likes strings.

Who was it that said that - Zexion? Axel? Probably Zexion. He was more of a mind-fuck than an actual fuck; slow and dark and always leaving Demyx with a huge case of heebie-jeebies to accompany the afterglow of orgasm.

Maybe he likes strings, because it hurts Somebodies, hurts their hearts, when he snips them. And hurting a heart was a very satisfying way to remember the feel of one. Sex, Zexion - or maybe Axel, hmm? - admitted, was the easiest way to get that almost-feeling of having a heart, but it also left the quickest. Which was why Demyx was (and he objected to the term, but only for a second because Zexion was awfully good with his tongue) a nympho who jumped from body to body so quick, so fast. He didn't want that oh-so-special high to wear off.

Demyx recalls arguing, between pants and fumbling for a bottle of lube, that he didn't have sex just for highs, just for hearts - I mean, he did it with Nobodie too, didn't he?

He doesn't recall Zexion's (if he gave one, and wasn't in-fact Axel) answer, but he did make it a point to call back Shelley... Sharon? Sheryll? what's-her-face from that Andalusia-connected world, as if to say, to prove that he didn't want or like to break strings. He just liked a good time. (Of course, Zexion had only commented, casual, in mid-thrust, that he probably only went back to her because the heart falls much, much harder when it's hurt the second time, and Demyx had proven nothing.)

The next day, Demyx took Shelley/Sharon/Sheryll's heart, and Zexion/Axel said nothing more on the matter.