This body moving against him, this hand slowly rising along his coasts...so similar and yet so different.
He was shaking, a part of him knew he shouldn't. That it's not normal, that the pain should be just pain. Nothing else. Something was wrong.
He should not appreciate the touch of the other, God, the other should not even be able to touch him. The blade slowly traced an arabesque at the level of its flank, breaking the pulpit strongly. His mind was fogged up, his eyelids heavy. From time to time, the pressure of the knife became stronger, more violent. Sora had the impression that Vanitas would eventually break him, that this heat would eventually consume them both.
He tries to get away from the part of his mind that keeps whispering to him that this pain is exhilarating. So pleasant.
“Why are you here ? Why now ? Why are you doing this ?”, he would have liked to ask, but his voice is broken, weak.
Sora thought he saw a satisfied smile on other's faces. A smile he would never have had on his own. Yet the pain kept coming back and he knew he was smiling back. His skin was already almost too addicted to the sensation. And once again, everything seemed so bad and perfect at the same time.
"-Don't blame me, Sora."
The hand was squirming in his hair, violently, forcing Sora to look at him. The golden look stared at him with this sadism linked to something that Sora doesn't understand.
"-We both know you want this."
And Sora no longer has the strength to contradict him.