A/N: You ever have something get in your head and not leave you alone? Yeah, that was this for me.

Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with Kingdom Hearts, which makes me sad. So, so sad. Contains masturbation. Nummy.

I'm supposed to be emotionless, to possess no feelings. According to The Superior, we are merely empty shells of our former selves, void of anything that would remotely link us to humanity. Which, I suppose, explains why we are able to lie without guilt or kill with no remorse. Empty, hollow, void of all feelings.

I think then that I must be broken.

I have to be broken, because every time I see him, something stirs within me; something that both frightens and excites me. Something that my former self could have positively identified but that eludes this lesser being I have become. And yet, it's only that one feeling, that one twinge of emotion that I seem to possess; for I feel no guilt as I remain hidden in the shadows of his room, eyes the only thing appearing from the swirling tendrils of the Dark Portal I'm lurking in. Invading his privacy, his personal domain; no remorse, no guilt. Only…this stirring.

A hunger, perhaps? It centers in my lower abdomen as I watch him enter, hands reaching up to remove the hood of his coat. Vibrant red spikes, slightly matted down with perspiration contrast exquisitely against his pale skin and the black of his garment. A tired sigh escapes him as he runs long, nimble fingers through his hair, restoring them back to their previous style. A hand leaves his hair and grasps the zipper of his coat, slowly sliding it down, revealing inch after blessed inch of his torso, red hair trailing from his naval into the pants he wears.

He is exhausted, Number VIII. I can tell with the way his shoulders hunch and his normally quick, acid green eyes seem almost glazed over. With a flick of the wrist, he tosses his coat across the room to land uncaringly over a chair. He reaches one hand across himself to the opposite shoulder, kneading away at the tense muscles I know must be plaguing him. It seems odd that emotions are beyond our comprehension, but pain is a constant 'feeling' we can not avoid. Wounds suffered to the flesh are not merely memories of pain inflicted to our Somebodies. Pain is real and heart or no, we feel it.

Both hands, now, on his body, rubbing at his neck as his head tilts back and a moan of pleasure escapes his lips. Pleasure is a feeling that is merely a memory, The Superior says. VIII's memory of pleasure must be most vivid, if the expression on his face is any indication. Eyes shut and mouth slightly agape, he continues rubbing, his hands making small circular motions down his body, to his chest. A gasp as he rubs against his pectoral muscles, a nail scratching over his left nipple. The long, graceful fingers continue their trek downward, over his abdomen and lower, where he cups himself through the leather of his pants.

His teeth capture his bottom lip between them, gnawing gently at the flesh as he flicks open the button. The sound of the zipper lowering seems almost too loud to my ears as he eases it down, slipping his hand into the leather and grasping himself. The hunger I've felt upon his entering increases as he removes himself from the leather, deadly fingers skimming over the erect flesh, more pleasure filled moans escaping through his teeth.

Grasping firmly, he begins to slowly move his hand up and down his erection, the other hand bracing himself against the wall opposite my vantage point. He has an exquisite profile. VIII is all lean muscle, thin but not overly so; deceptively strong and wiry.

Perfect.

His pace picks up slightly and I feel a tightening between my legs. I'm hard; I know I am. Yet, I can't tear my eyes away from the sight before me or be bothered with anything other than him at this moment. The muscles in his back flex with each stroke he makes, pale skin stretching taunt over them as his back arches and a guttural moan escapes into the room. Unopened pants cling to thin hips as his continues to stroke himself, breathing becoming harsher and more uneven as he spreads the pre-come leaking from his tip along the length of his erection, making his movements easier.

I find myself reaching toward him. I want to touch him, to be the one causing those delicious moans coming from those parted lips. I want him. I want Number VIII. I want Axel.

Lust. I remember this feeling as lust. Powerful, controlling lust. My erection is now unbearably painful against my pants, begging for release. But I'll deny myself a little longer. My satisfaction will be nothing until I can witness his, to imprint the look on his face as he comes in his hand, to keep that image in my mind forever, to bring it to the forefront of my brain when, as he is now, I next pleasure myself.

A shiver runs up my body as his growls, his hand speeding up, working himself faster and faster. His head snaps back, sweat beading on his forehead, trickling down his face to his neck. His hips give an involuntary thrust as he finally finds his release. And the sight is so beautiful, so enrapturing, that I nearly miss the name that falls from his lips as his essence coats his hand…

"Roxas…"

It's the only stimulation I need. Biting my fist, I stifle the cry that nearly escapes me, my untouched erection releasing into my still fastened pants. Not one touch, not a bit of friction; just my name…my name, coming from his lips as he came was enough to send me over the edge.

I close the portal, the sound going unheard as his gasps for air cover my retreat. I'm completely back in my own room now and I quickly fall to my bed, nerves tingling and senses…alive. Completely alive.

I lay still for a while, replaying the entire situation in my mind again. And every time, it's my name he cries out as he comes. My name. Roxas. XIII. Nobody.

But somebody, just for a moment. And it was perfect.

I'm hard again, the image of his face and body in that moment so arousing, it's impossible not to be. Unzipping my coat, I reach for my soiled pants, reaching my hand inside and pulling out my now sticky erection. Moaning, I begin to stroke myself, visions of Number VIII…of Axel, doing the same only minutes before, with my name escaping his lips.

Eyes closed, mouth opened slightly, my other senses seemed heighted and I can't help but notice a familiar sound of black tendrils opening in my room. And I swear to Kingdom Hearts that when I open my eyes, I see green staring back at me.

And those eyes, like my own, hold no guilt…no remorse.

A/N: Do you know how hard it was for me to have little to no dialogue? Wow. Really...wow. Reviews are welcomed, flames used to melt the ice outside my house.