Xemnas demanded the fic was rated M so he could do things.
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“Terra…Terra.”
Xemnas stirs in bed, eyes searching for the owner of the voice.
A faceless blue-haired woman stands at the end of the bed, hands resting on the footboard. His lovely ghost is here, a spotlight of moonlight announcing her ethereal presence. She’s a breath of fresh air, a welcomed sight to the blank canvas of his mind. She waits, she watches, a sea on a windless night.
He invites her and sits against the headboard, covers falling to his waist and eyes glued to her figure.
She saunters around the four-poster bed without a sound, nightgown fluttering slightly, as she disappears behind a curtain. Her height changes as she comes out the other side and a set of ocean eyes meet his before fading.
Her features are as fickle as the weather, ephemeral like a drawing in the sand.
It doesn’t matter to him, for one thing, remains constant—her hair—a distinctive shade of blue he’s committed to memory. He’s obsessed with the color; collects and catalogs every imaginable item remotely close to the hue. He even went as far as acquiring plants and butterfly specimens from a long-departed land for their coloring.
And all to make sure she doesn’t slip from his mind.
“Terra,” she calls again, now in bed beside him, cold hands caressing his face.
He pulls her against his chest and places a finger over her rosy lips. “Shhh. It is Xemnas, old friend.” he corrects her, for the name Terra brings instability and unrest. It’s futile as no matter how many times he does it, she still won’t say his name.
“My beloved…” he says, lips fervently pressing against her sweet and wanting ones. He holds her tight, his grip possessive. “My dearly beloved,” he whispers on her neck, urging her to his lap.
“My Aqua.”
The rest is history, as he removes her gown and claims her porcelain skin with his lips, hands mapping out her doll-like perfection. He presses against her, lets her feel muscle and want until she snaps and begs to come undone. And he complies, works her to a frenzy with his mouth.
“Terra.” she moans, hips bucking as he tastes her, hands gripping his long silver hair. “Terra!”
He grips her hips and stops, denying her relief. Terra, Terra, Terra, it echoes in his mind even when she’s quiet. Mine, mine, mine. A sentiment boils in his chest, drives him to be rougher. He pins her hands above her head, positions himself, and takes her. Hard. Fast. Unrestrained. Punishment for her—for not saying his name—and instant gratification for him.
One last thrust and—
And he awakens in bed, head buried in a pillow and hands clutching the sheets under him. Hot. Throbbing. He’d made a mess of himself. Again. Frustration takes a hold of him as he’s forced out of bed for new sheets and a shower. Then sleep decides to avoid him for the rest of the night.
Restless, he leaves the room and heads for his usual spot—The Chamber of Repose.
***
Large picture windows line the hallway, his path lit by the pale light of Kingdom Hearts high in the sky.
Xemnas stops to gaze at the heart-shaped moon. His plan is coming along wonderfully. Soon he shall achieve his coveted goal.
“Xion, it’s just a bit of rain and lighting. That’s all.”
“I know. It’s the thunder that worries me…”
His attention shifts further down the hall, taking note of the two figures clad in black coats. Roxas and Xion from the sound of it. They’re together most of the time, share a bond unseen among other members of the Organization. A dynamic eerily similar to him.
“Ok, then I’ll stay with you tonight.”
“W-what? You mean…in my room?”
Roxas scratches his head. “I guess it could be mine. Doesn’t matter as long as we’re together, right?”
As long as we’re together , he’s heard that before.
The two figures walk in his direction, holding hands and unaware of his presence. They don’t stop in time and bump into him.
“Lord…Lord Xemnas.” The girl—or boy—says, nervously.
He remains quiet, contemplating their faces. They’re familiar, yet they don’t ring any bells, vestiges of that old life of his. One reminds him of his old friend, the other of—well another friend he doesn’t know anything about.
However, he knows they must’ve been close. He’d played a prank on a sleeping Roxas once for no particular reason. Something had compelled him to do so. An impulse akin to that of wanting to mess with one’s little brother.
“Xemnas?”
Xemnas snaps out of it and resumes his walk without saying anything, leaving behind a confused Roxas and Xion.
***
After making his way down multiple hallways and stairs and past his security measures, Xemnas finds himself in the secret room. The shrine he’d built as his friend’s resting place.
Her armor greets him from across the room, impossible to miss against stark white walls. He’d preserved it in hopes of one day returning it to its owner, for deep down, he feels she’s not entirely gone.
“Friend, you’re haunting my dreams again,” he says, taking to the alabaster throne in the middle of the room. “Why are you…?”
There’s no answer as expected. Still, he never stops asking questions. Sometimes he’ll even have an entire one-way conversation with her.
It frustrates him to no end for he wishes the pile of metal would speak to him at least once. That it would say: I miss you too, dear friend. It’s the least it could do for him, for keeping its owner among the living, yet it refuses to cooperate.
To this day, it remains abandoned in the same spot, unmoving and in the same pose, gauntlets outstretched before the rest of it as if reaching for the keyblade before her. An agonizing crawl that will never end.
Xemnas leans back on the throne, examining the scene before him in search of clues. Where are you? The answer to that enigma must be staring him in the face, something he hasn’t thought of, something he’d overlooked perhaps…
His gaze lands on the orange star dangling from the keyblade. A good luck charm, presumably made for him by said friend. The object felt important enough he’d left it there for safekeeping. Having it on his person has earned him a raised eyebrow from Xigbar more than once. The man asked questions and probed his mind as if searching for something.
“I need more of you. A name and pieces are not enough. It does your memory no justice.”
He nears the star and takes it in his hands, holding it up for inspection under the bright and sterile lights, nicks and dents apparent. “Why did you make this for me?”
No answer.
“Something about an unbreakable connection, was it not?” he asks, facing the armor. “Look how well that turned out Aqua…”
Xemnas kneels before the glinting, beaten metal. He clutches the helmet and brings it up to eye level. “You’ve cursed me to fragments of you while you hide. You should’ve taken all of it with you,” he says, pressing his forehead against the helmet. “Where are you, Aqua ? Where are you…?”
