Genre: Smut, Romance, and a hint of Fluff
Ships?: Tony Stark/Zexion
Characters: Tony Zexion
Rating: R
Spoilers: Nope
Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts, Ironman, or any related characters. This was written out of enjoyment of the series, and no profit is being made.
Music: One Minute Man by Missy Elliot
Notes:
One Final Sound
Love is watching someone die
Love is watching someone die
One sound, and his world loses everything. Color. Losing hope black and Chinese funeral white. Feeling. He sees more than feels his arms go limp, can no longer sense nightmare thorns pricking through his coat and into his veins. Sound. Paulie is saying something, but it's only noise, meaningless. Empathy. A gun rises to point to his heart, and he can only stare, dull and lost and with the shattered remains of his heart falling past rib bones and tendrils of darkness that remain twisted through his body.
Thought. He doesn't want to think, doesn't want to realize, feel, hurt. The bullet would be a blessing.
The snarl by his right ear breaks through the shock in its primal intensity, in how it is more than sound and feeling and a part of him. Minutely, he looks to the side and watches as one of the demon heads bares needle-stalagmite-stalactite-knife teeth, drenched in rusted crimson. Distantly, he can hear glass shatter, falling to the ground like a rainstorm. When he next blinks, slow and tired and nonononoNOplease, Paulie and Schrote are stumbling, running, escaping. That wakes him up. The pieces inside of him pull themselves back together like burning shrapnel and he's fighting, his own teeth bared as well as he thrashes against the tendrils wound around his arms.
No, no, NO! ********! No! Those c**k-sucking ********, he can't let them escape! He can't! He needs to drive switchblades through their skin, bullets through their skulls, needs to slam bones against concrete and hear them break and crack because... Because... Jenny... They...
Helplessly, consumed by rage and despair, he can only watch as they disappear through the sharply cut darkness of the back door. His own breath rasping down his throat and filling his lungs is far too loud in his ears. The world is suddenly too clear.
With those two gone, the Darkness finally begins to move, thorns and spines marking his skin as they drag themselves away from his arms, his wrists, his throat. He can hear it slither over his jacket, peel away from the side of his face. When the liquid spears which makes up some of the tentacles jerk out of the walls and slam back into his spine, he falls forward, stumbles, almost meets the floor face-first. That doesn't matter. He'd almost prefer that instead of seeing... seeing...
She's so limp, so lifeless sprawled against dead gray. Her knees are curled up to her stomach like- it's ridiculous, but he suddenly realizes something stupid, how those are her favorite pair of jeans and how she wore them when the two of them were helpin' Billy paint his apartment and she had smiled, laughing as she streaked blue paint over his cheek-
He's on his knees before he even realizes it. Numbness takes over his arms, his fingers, and he stares while tears sting his eyes. Quickly, it spreads to his entire body, and he loses his balance, shoulder thudding against the corner of the doorway while the side of his head cracks against the wall. The inside of his throat feels as if it's been shredded into strings and knotted together, catching his voice and tangling it inside. All he can do is mouth 'no', tears leaking down his face.
oooooOHr, whaT diiid thEY do to JEnny?
The voice rasps up his spine, curls around his rib cage and tightens its hold on his own heart like an anaconda. Something white hot and focused shoots past his heart, breaks past the knots in his throat and burns in the back of his mouth. Snapping his head to the side, he spots the metal of the gun shining in the dull light. The feel, the weight - it's a dark familiar comfort how it practically molds itself to fit his hand. He looks back at Jenny as the pain curls around his chest and stabs itself to his heart.
she was a Burden - THIssss IS freeDOM.
The hot pain is lacing itself through his arms now, entwining with his darkness-flooded veins and coating his muscles as he pushes himself up onto his feet. Things are quickly becoming numb again - all except hot metal in his palm. His ankle almost twists out from underneath him as he turns back towards the doorway. His reflection in the mirror stares back at him, eyes too golden bright. Surprise and confusion is layered over his own focused apathy; he can feel it tapping against his bones and leading up to his skull like sharp fingernails. One step forward. Another. Another.
where are YoU goING?
This is what he's become. Those gold eyes aren't his - there isn't any sign of dark gray or black and white. The Darkness sprouts from his back and blends with the black of his coat so that you don't see its sick shine until it's too late. Parts of it are plastered to his neck, near the curve of his jaw near his ear. Amidst twisting thorns and slickness, he can see two of the demon heads pull out, their eyes just an ill a yellow as his own. His jaw tightens in time with his fingers gripping the gun all the harder. Foreign alarm like claws grasping at his throat, parasitic panic a knife twisting in his stomach.
NoO, JackIE! thiSss ISNOT your tiME!
No vocal answer; he doesn't bother to give one, just the cocking of a gun. They're snarling and twisting now, rage and anxiety and fear pounding against him. Tendrils snap tight over his wrist, sharp bits and pieces piercing through skin and into veins. That is a pain that never reaches him. He ignores how they tear through an artery as he forces the gun up, ignores how he thinks he dully feels cracks spiderweb over his bones. The metal is still warm to his lips. Something is leaking down his wrist and splashing onto the ground.
nNOOO! caNNOT! mmmmMMMUSSssT NOT!
One sound, and it doesn't even hurt.
