Bound to Paradise
folder
Kingdom Hearts › Slash/Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,154
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Recommended:
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
Kingdom Hearts › Slash/Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,154
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Kingdom Hearts, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Nothing More than Distopia
Well, my first story here on AFF. Well… First on this account ^.^ I hope you all enjoy. I’ve always loved this pairing and been a fan ever since the release of KH2 and Squeon and Cloud get to fight together and the thought occurred to me that they were perfect for each other. Oh yes, there will be additional side pairing. You can be certain of some Axel/Roxas and some Riku/Sora happening, and I’m also looking for yuri pairings to add. I have some favorites of my own, but I’m taking suggestions also. So, never mind my useless babbling, without any more:
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Bound to Paradise
Chapter I
[Nothing More than Distopia]
What was it exactly that it needed…?
A seemingly endless list filled down behind Rowan’s closed eyelids, but each item seemed as thought it was more unfit that the last. It needed something salty, or was it something spicy? Something sour, to balance out the sweetness? Damn it, he changed his mind each and every time he went through this. And just like every other time, he had gotten no where – the conclusion of the perfect ingredient continued to elude him. Now, what had he been doing?
He close his eyes and opened them again quickly, blinking several times to bring himself out of his mental quandaries to see his left hand reaching automatically towards a large pyramid-shaped stack of martini glasses. That, coupled with the full Manhattan shaker balanced precariously in his right was enough to remind him of exactly what he was supposed to have been making when he’d allowed himself to drift off into dreamland.
It was a sad proof of exactly how long he’d been working the damn bar at this idiotic club, that he didn’t even need to be half-conscious to make any drink on the menu.
Throwing an olive into the glass as tanned hands poured in the clear mixture he slid the concoction over the slick surface of the bar top to whomever had ordered it. He really didn’t care. No one tipped him anyway. Tight fucking bastards.
You’d think that working at an elite club for the rich, famous and more often than not, some combination of both, you’d make some decent tips in a night. But if you worked at New Paradise, you seemed only to get tipped if you took your clothes off. For those who didn’t shed layers at the sight of a fifty-dollar bill waved at them, said fifty dollars – along with all other possibly higher denominations of bills that could have followed -would remain happily inside their expensive designer-leather wallets, that is until someone did peel off some fabric at the sight of a waving fifty.
But all in all, Leon decided, working at a strip-club was like that. High end or not, whether Rich or a middle-class salary-man, the men (and women) who came here really only wanted one thing. And it certainly wasn’t to tip the nice brunette bartender you just made your perfect Martini.
He’d been working here too long, he’d accepted the fact. Still, this place paid too well and the work was too easy to pass up. Just until his business got started, at least that’s what the tall man told himself.
He was readying himself to make yet another drink in a long line of repetition when he heard music begin to boom out into the smokey air of the over-crowded place. He didn’t look up, simply swallowed down a few pills to deter the headache he’d felt coming and ran calloused hand through his unruly chestnut hair.
With that Leon leaned against the back counter in a bored fashion, flicking a few unknown particles off of the idiotic uniform he was forced to wear. For some reason New Paradise had decided to go with the typical “bartender look”, why he had no idea. But for whatever reasons the twenty-something man ended up in a rather uncomfortable pair of black slacks, a white dress shirt and an equally stifling black vest. Though the idiocity of the entire ensemble could hardly shock him to a high extent, after all he could hardly complain with what some of the other employees of Paradise were bedecked in each night. Not to mention the fact that he was fairly certain that he didn’t look… unattractive in his uniform.
Leon was a tall man, lean yet distinctly muscular and said physique was put on display nicely in his current attire. His hair, tied back in a loose pony-tail to satisfy health-regulations (although why Paradise adhered to health codes was beyond him, when he knew for a fact that some of the back-room dealings the owner took-part in were hardly law-approved) fell nicely to his shoulders and his tanned skin was complemented by the monochrome colour scheme. He’d been told how good he looked many a time over, by quite a few people, however the people he seemed interested in never seemed to notice anything about him. Whether it was how sexy he looked in a bartender’s uniform or that he was a living, breathing, existing human being.
Speak of the devil….
Leon leaned his head onto his hands to watch the current entertainer on stage. Maybe this was the only reason he hadn’t quit this job a long time ago, more than the money or the stability… He admitted that this one person could keep him here, as long as he was alive and still had a sex-drive…
Cloud.
The magnificent blond was well-known as the favorite of both many of the patrons here as well as the owner himself. And for good reason, he was stunning. Beautiful in every way a man should be, and even a few he shouldn’t. Leon mentally added, knowing that no other man should be able to look that good in five-inch black stiletto heels and a leather-miniskirt.
Leon’s shifts typically ended up overlapping with at least one of the other’s dances, and when they didn’t he usually showed up late, completely drunk or not at all. Cloud was the one thing that made this stupid job bearable.
He let loose a rather pathetic sigh. He had it bad… He’d admitted long ago that he enjoyed the other’s little “shows”, although he almost felt horrible admitting it. After all, it didn’t put him at too much a higher level than the other dirty shit-bags who were down near the stage. Leaning forward and waggling the bill they had in their wallets to attempt to attract the beautiful, scantily-clad blond’s attention.
Leon’s fingers drummed slightly on the bar surface in front of him, matching the thumping beat of the blaring music that was causing his headache to grow at an exponential rate. But all the same, his pewter-coloured eyes followed the movements of the younger leather-decked male on the stage. Though he couldn’t deny that he was enjoying the other’s rather erotic dance, he had to wonder what he was like. Whether he was like so many of the other dancers and employees at Paradise…. Or if he was something different. Something he liked to consider himself. Although he felt that differential slipping away every night he put on his uniform.
He didn’t know much about the other, only speaking to him on the occasions that he wandered down into the crowd for a drink after his show, and even then the snippets of words exchanged could hardly be considered conversation. Leon wasn’t sure if he wanted to know more about the other he had admitted to being attracted to, on a physical basis. Admiring the younger form afar was a nice change of pace from the typical mundane work night, and if he found out that he was really just another run-of-the-mill club performer he felt that his “hobby” would loose its appeal.
No he shouldn’t think that way about Cloud, Cloud had to be different. The way he moved, the way he always had that deep look of sorrow and regret after he finished his rounds and headed back to his dressing room.
He was summoned out of his pondering mental realm as a club patron began to all but scream at him for their drink of choice. Had he not needed this job he would have liked to scream back that he was quite busy, but just like most of the others bound to Paradise he was here because he had to be.
Bound to Paradise… How Ironic. Life can be such a bitch some times. Or all of the time. He was leaning towards the second one.
Ripping his attention away from Cloud’s show Rowan began to make whatever over-priced foo-foo drink the all-too largely-chested female had ordered from him, with an over-emphasized bat of fake eyelashes (after she’d finished her harpy screeching no less). He offered her a façaded smile, though once he had turned around he rolled his eyes. Only wishing he could start a screaming rant of about the complete idiocity of today’s females, those who came to Paradise at any rate. He’d been all but undressing the current male performer with his eyes, and he hadn’t made any attempt to hide it. Was she blind? Or maybe it was just those basket balls in front surgically attached to her chest that were obscuring her vision.
He finished making her drink and set it on the counter in front of her, then turning abruptly and acting as though he had another drink to make. Eventually, the banshee woman left in favor of grinding those basketballs into someone else’s face, and Leon was free to turn around again.
Only of course after he’d missed the rest of Cloud’s show. Damn it all to hell. Idiot woman.
He went back to his mental postulations, until to his surprise he was pulled out of his mind-realm yet again, and Leon felt his stormy eyes both widen and lighten…. This time it was Mr. Dancer himself.
Ohohoho… Cliff hanger ^.^ I’m not sure when the next chapter will come out, but I’ve already got the basic outline done (in my head of course.) Reviews will of course, make the whole process go faster.
And don’t forget to suggest yuri pairings! And one more thing: Then I’m done I promise. I HAVE COVER-ART FOR THIS STORY! I’ll post a link to the sketch soon.
Kara-kuro: OUT.
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Bound to Paradise
Chapter I
[Nothing More than Distopia]
What was it exactly that it needed…?
A seemingly endless list filled down behind Rowan’s closed eyelids, but each item seemed as thought it was more unfit that the last. It needed something salty, or was it something spicy? Something sour, to balance out the sweetness? Damn it, he changed his mind each and every time he went through this. And just like every other time, he had gotten no where – the conclusion of the perfect ingredient continued to elude him. Now, what had he been doing?
He close his eyes and opened them again quickly, blinking several times to bring himself out of his mental quandaries to see his left hand reaching automatically towards a large pyramid-shaped stack of martini glasses. That, coupled with the full Manhattan shaker balanced precariously in his right was enough to remind him of exactly what he was supposed to have been making when he’d allowed himself to drift off into dreamland.
It was a sad proof of exactly how long he’d been working the damn bar at this idiotic club, that he didn’t even need to be half-conscious to make any drink on the menu.
Throwing an olive into the glass as tanned hands poured in the clear mixture he slid the concoction over the slick surface of the bar top to whomever had ordered it. He really didn’t care. No one tipped him anyway. Tight fucking bastards.
You’d think that working at an elite club for the rich, famous and more often than not, some combination of both, you’d make some decent tips in a night. But if you worked at New Paradise, you seemed only to get tipped if you took your clothes off. For those who didn’t shed layers at the sight of a fifty-dollar bill waved at them, said fifty dollars – along with all other possibly higher denominations of bills that could have followed -would remain happily inside their expensive designer-leather wallets, that is until someone did peel off some fabric at the sight of a waving fifty.
But all in all, Leon decided, working at a strip-club was like that. High end or not, whether Rich or a middle-class salary-man, the men (and women) who came here really only wanted one thing. And it certainly wasn’t to tip the nice brunette bartender you just made your perfect Martini.
He’d been working here too long, he’d accepted the fact. Still, this place paid too well and the work was too easy to pass up. Just until his business got started, at least that’s what the tall man told himself.
He was readying himself to make yet another drink in a long line of repetition when he heard music begin to boom out into the smokey air of the over-crowded place. He didn’t look up, simply swallowed down a few pills to deter the headache he’d felt coming and ran calloused hand through his unruly chestnut hair.
With that Leon leaned against the back counter in a bored fashion, flicking a few unknown particles off of the idiotic uniform he was forced to wear. For some reason New Paradise had decided to go with the typical “bartender look”, why he had no idea. But for whatever reasons the twenty-something man ended up in a rather uncomfortable pair of black slacks, a white dress shirt and an equally stifling black vest. Though the idiocity of the entire ensemble could hardly shock him to a high extent, after all he could hardly complain with what some of the other employees of Paradise were bedecked in each night. Not to mention the fact that he was fairly certain that he didn’t look… unattractive in his uniform.
Leon was a tall man, lean yet distinctly muscular and said physique was put on display nicely in his current attire. His hair, tied back in a loose pony-tail to satisfy health-regulations (although why Paradise adhered to health codes was beyond him, when he knew for a fact that some of the back-room dealings the owner took-part in were hardly law-approved) fell nicely to his shoulders and his tanned skin was complemented by the monochrome colour scheme. He’d been told how good he looked many a time over, by quite a few people, however the people he seemed interested in never seemed to notice anything about him. Whether it was how sexy he looked in a bartender’s uniform or that he was a living, breathing, existing human being.
Speak of the devil….
Leon leaned his head onto his hands to watch the current entertainer on stage. Maybe this was the only reason he hadn’t quit this job a long time ago, more than the money or the stability… He admitted that this one person could keep him here, as long as he was alive and still had a sex-drive…
Cloud.
The magnificent blond was well-known as the favorite of both many of the patrons here as well as the owner himself. And for good reason, he was stunning. Beautiful in every way a man should be, and even a few he shouldn’t. Leon mentally added, knowing that no other man should be able to look that good in five-inch black stiletto heels and a leather-miniskirt.
Leon’s shifts typically ended up overlapping with at least one of the other’s dances, and when they didn’t he usually showed up late, completely drunk or not at all. Cloud was the one thing that made this stupid job bearable.
He let loose a rather pathetic sigh. He had it bad… He’d admitted long ago that he enjoyed the other’s little “shows”, although he almost felt horrible admitting it. After all, it didn’t put him at too much a higher level than the other dirty shit-bags who were down near the stage. Leaning forward and waggling the bill they had in their wallets to attempt to attract the beautiful, scantily-clad blond’s attention.
Leon’s fingers drummed slightly on the bar surface in front of him, matching the thumping beat of the blaring music that was causing his headache to grow at an exponential rate. But all the same, his pewter-coloured eyes followed the movements of the younger leather-decked male on the stage. Though he couldn’t deny that he was enjoying the other’s rather erotic dance, he had to wonder what he was like. Whether he was like so many of the other dancers and employees at Paradise…. Or if he was something different. Something he liked to consider himself. Although he felt that differential slipping away every night he put on his uniform.
He didn’t know much about the other, only speaking to him on the occasions that he wandered down into the crowd for a drink after his show, and even then the snippets of words exchanged could hardly be considered conversation. Leon wasn’t sure if he wanted to know more about the other he had admitted to being attracted to, on a physical basis. Admiring the younger form afar was a nice change of pace from the typical mundane work night, and if he found out that he was really just another run-of-the-mill club performer he felt that his “hobby” would loose its appeal.
No he shouldn’t think that way about Cloud, Cloud had to be different. The way he moved, the way he always had that deep look of sorrow and regret after he finished his rounds and headed back to his dressing room.
He was summoned out of his pondering mental realm as a club patron began to all but scream at him for their drink of choice. Had he not needed this job he would have liked to scream back that he was quite busy, but just like most of the others bound to Paradise he was here because he had to be.
Bound to Paradise… How Ironic. Life can be such a bitch some times. Or all of the time. He was leaning towards the second one.
Ripping his attention away from Cloud’s show Rowan began to make whatever over-priced foo-foo drink the all-too largely-chested female had ordered from him, with an over-emphasized bat of fake eyelashes (after she’d finished her harpy screeching no less). He offered her a façaded smile, though once he had turned around he rolled his eyes. Only wishing he could start a screaming rant of about the complete idiocity of today’s females, those who came to Paradise at any rate. He’d been all but undressing the current male performer with his eyes, and he hadn’t made any attempt to hide it. Was she blind? Or maybe it was just those basket balls in front surgically attached to her chest that were obscuring her vision.
He finished making her drink and set it on the counter in front of her, then turning abruptly and acting as though he had another drink to make. Eventually, the banshee woman left in favor of grinding those basketballs into someone else’s face, and Leon was free to turn around again.
Only of course after he’d missed the rest of Cloud’s show. Damn it all to hell. Idiot woman.
He went back to his mental postulations, until to his surprise he was pulled out of his mind-realm yet again, and Leon felt his stormy eyes both widen and lighten…. This time it was Mr. Dancer himself.
Ohohoho… Cliff hanger ^.^ I’m not sure when the next chapter will come out, but I’ve already got the basic outline done (in my head of course.) Reviews will of course, make the whole process go faster.
And don’t forget to suggest yuri pairings! And one more thing: Then I’m done I promise. I HAVE COVER-ART FOR THIS STORY! I’ll post a link to the sketch soon.
Kara-kuro: OUT.