
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/271974.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Kingdom_Hearts
  Relationship:
      Replica/Riku
  Character:
      Riku_(Kingdom_Hearts), Riku_Replica
  Additional Tags:
      Rough_Sex, Dehumanization, Community:_kink_las, Clone_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-11-02 Words: 999
****** Shadowplay ******
by Letterblade
Summary
     Under the evening glow of Twilight Town, in a little stand of trees,
     Riku meets the damn replica again.
Notes
     Written for round 1 of Kink LAS: rough sex. I just wish I'd kept the
     original draft before I had to cut about three hundred words from it.
     That version made more sense.
Under the evening glow of Twilight Town, in a little stand of trees, he meets
the damn replica again. His own face staring back at him with mad intensity--
something's different now. Hollowness in its face, voice. Like it's been broken
and broken again.
They fight.
Not surprising. That copy, that fake throws itself into battle in answer to
anything--which shouldn't be odd, he supposes, that it got from its template,
himself. It's fast and strong and utterly merciless, and Riku needs every shred
of power just to survive the onslaught--because, yes, the damn thing's better
than him, inhuman strong, commanding darkness easily, fighting with
desperation, no holds barred.
But he's real. And he'll win.
He doesn't expect, middle of the fight, to be slammed against a tree and
kissed, teeth and tongue and ruthless. He can't breathe. His sword falls. The
fake's sword is gone too; its body presses against his.
Riku freezes with a gasp as the replica yanks his vest open, baring his skin to
the evening breeze. The fake babbles and rolls him to the ground, faster than
he can react--
"I love Naminé and she broke me and I'm going to die and I'll never have--"
--Sora, or Kairi's love, here you are, my shadow, give me what I deserve--
His pants fly. Cards tumble from the pockets. The twilight forest flickers,
twists, winks out of existence, revealing the bone white walls of Castle
Oblivion that lurk behind every illusion. The fake lets out a sudden whine.
"Put it back," it hisses.
White flowers bloom above, bleached echoes of the seneschal's eyes. Riku
fumbles for the nearest card, realizes too late which one it is.
Destiny Islands blossoms around them. A false and sorry echo of the home he'd
destroyed. His heart clenches. The fake's eyes go terribly wide; then it
laughs, sharp and humorless.
Perfect, Riku thinks, and it's not his thought at all. The fake slams him bare-
assed into the bushes, and his naked fingers and toes scrabble in the warm
sands of--not home. Not home at all. Everything's fake.
The replica's hot breath against his cheek, the cold tingle of congealed
shadows pressing against his body, because he's naked and it's still fully
clothed, wrapped in darkness made solid. Inhuman strong fingers prod and grab,
and bruises will rise in their wake, he knows, and even when he strains, it's
not letting him move.
"You want this," the fake hisses.
"What do you care?"
"I'm not Larxene," it snaps, livid with anger, and Riku puts it together, and
twitches and aches with sympathy he'd rather not have. Fucking Organization,
fucking nobodies, everything's wrong here, everything's gone mad--
He doesn't want this. Nothing so trivial. He aches for it, he needs it, and he
writhes unyielding beneath the fake as it strips off its gloves in a flare of
darkness and shoves its fingers down his throat.
If he was in danger, in real danger, the King would come. He's safe, he tells
himself, completely pointlessly, because he's not sure he wants to be.
"Fuck you," he growls, when he can speak again. "You're not going to win--"
"Because you're the real thing and I'm not? Fuck you." The fake sinks teeth
into his throat and two spit-damp fingers into his ass, and it's not slick
enough to be anything but painful. He's going to need a potion after sex, Riku
thinks, faintly dizzy--fighting, fucking, it's like the fake doesn't even know
the difference, and that's exactly what he--
The other hand grabs both his wrists, crushingly tight, and yanks him up to
sit. Fingers pull out of his ass, and the fake dissolves its pants and shoves
its cock down his throat. He's sucking himself, he thinks, faintly hysterical.
This is absurd, this is humiliating, he can hardly breathe, if he opens his
eyes he sees his own silver curls, and when he thinks about biting, a hand
closes around his jaw, wet and smelly, and he beats his fist aimlessly against
strong legs wrapped in darkness and realizes that he's hard, aching hard, oh,
fuck.
The fake yanks him off his cock, sharp and sudden, slams him back down, throws
his legs in the air, pins him with one hand at his throat, and shoves into him,
to the hilt, hard. Riku stifles a yowl of pain as the replica fucks him, rough
and dragging--
And then the fake throws back its head with a triumphant, piercing cry, and
darkness blooms, inky and dribbling, pouring off of it, into him, filling him--
Riku screams, full-throated. The darkness in the back of his mind roils and
hums in answer. Ansem, that damn beast of a man, gathers himself as if to ride
him, take over his body again--
"My darkness," the fake grunts. "Not his. Shut him up. You don't get to run
away from this, you don't get to be anybody but yourself."
It's too much. Riku thrashes, in vain, howls as his fake pounds him merciless
and agonizing, and he can't even think, replica teeth at his throat, his bare
feet kicking the air, darkness, darkness, darkness--
But not Ansem's darkness. Just himself.
It lasts seeming forever, harsh and needy, until a fist surging with darkness
wraps around his cock and pulls, yanking him off, and he comes with a desperate
screech, but nothing stops. Oversensitive, he's a live wire, can't comprehend
the noises he makes, vaguely aware of the fake muttering nonsense in his ear,
yes, real thing, this is what you want, Riku, isn't it, this is what you
deserve--
Heat in his ass as it comes.
It's over. The fake slips out of him, drops its full weight atop him, wraps
around him parasitic tight.
It's sobbing. Hoarse little hiccups in the back of its throat.
Riku stares up at the unreal sky, body aching head to toe, bright false
sunlight making his eyes water, and wraps his arms around his replica.
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