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The black boots pound the stone as the lean man strides through the halls. After all, it's his job to make rounds and seal the castle off from intruders. All while making sure Ansem and his apprentices are all safe and taken care of. Something Braig does tend to slip out of doing from time to time. However, this instance alone has his curiosity piqued.
One particular apprentice is missing from his room and that leaves him to believe only one thing.
That, that old coot's will just might not be strong enough. If that's the case he won't be getting what he wants. He can't have that, not after he's lost so much; such as his right eye, which is covered by a black eye-patch, and a jagged scar over his cheek. Even thinking about battle that caused it makes his face throb.
As well as other parts of his body. The reminders of that whelp are far too strong. It surely doesn't help that his body was the one the coot took over. Oh no, that only makes it worse. Sometimes…
He comes to a stop outside of Ansem's study where the door is firmly shut. Although as he reaches forward and turns the knob he's surprised that it doesn't quite give way as if it's locked. Braig almost chuckles as he reaches down and under the edge of his dark, gray jacket. A second later he produces a small ring of keys in his white glove clad hand. It only takes him a second to unlock the door and swiftly reattach them to the belt wound tightly around his black pants.
Entering, he stops and closes the door behind him as he lets his senses take in the area. The fake wall is gone to his left and that leaves him with only one conclusion. He rolls his sole brown as he begins toward it, knowing that's the only place the scientist can be. His tattered, crimson scarf moves against his shoulders as he walks; moving from solid ground to a transparent walkway.
There he idles again, just at the threshold.
Standing at the computer, removing a disc of black and violet, is the man he's looking forward. He doesn't look like anything special to be honest, not at first glance. Not from his tanned skin and murky yellow-brown eyes to the long silver hair with bangs framing his face. He dresses identical to the others; loose white lab coat, black boots, white shirt with a gray vest atop it, and a purple ascot around his neck.
He can't deny that this man on normal day is cold and sharp with him, almost as if he just puts up with Braig. But more often than late he's been almost casual, nicer even. Something Braig concludes is the result of visiting the hidden room below this castle that he had constructed. The one that houses the armor he was found with – the armor that he affectionately relates to.
Braig isn't sure he likes that the armor is so close to his way out of the norm. But he can't deny he doesn't like the thought of that boy having some ounce of control instead of that old coot. If only for a few pops at a time. But with what it's been, well, he'll never get to his goal at this rate. However, that doesn't mean he can't test that unshakeable duo of wills.
"Hey there Xehanort."
The man looks up. He turns to Braig as he pockets the disc. "What are you doing here?"
For a moment, as their eyes meet, Braig is unsure whether or not if Xehanort is truly even there or not. He's reminded far too much of those intense sapphire eyes that should be there and the look they gave him. A smirk curves out onto Braig's face, "Ain't it obvious? Looking for you."
Xehanort narrows his eyes as Braig walks into the room, something seeming strange about the guard's movements. Deciding it's best to get out of here before the latter can bother him, Xehanort steps to the side. But Braig puts himself right in the way of his escape.
"Visiting that junk again? Did you have a nice chat?"
"It's not junk."
Braig's eye widens for just a second at the very interesting response. He hadn't expected that, although part him of is happy for it. Besides, if Xehanort can't keep up his end of the deal then he'll just have to have fun with what's left of it. He moves forward, pushing Xehanort up against the computer.
The latter's hands reach out, curling at the end – thankfully that it's turned off. He continues to keep his glare steady even as Braig chuckles. "That's not something Xehanort should say. Or do I need to teach you how to act now too?"
Xehanort reaches up, pushing Braig away. "I don't need your help."
The second there some form of distance between them, Xehanort attempts to walk away. Only, he doesn't get very far at all as Braig grabs at the back of his lab coat. Xehanort can't help but stumble and almost trip in the process of Braig forcing him up against the computer once more. This time he faces the blank monitor and large keys, of which his hands press against.
"You're not going anywhere."
Not that it stops Xehanort's next attempt. This time Braig is ready for him. He slips an arm around Xehanort and up toward his chest. He grabs at the ascot , giving it a sharp tug. The other hand wanders around as well but instead slips inside of the lab coat to press against Xehanort's stomach. That is while his leg worms its way between Xehanort's, keeping him right where he is.
"Ah, ah. Do I need to remind you?" Braig leans forward, pressing his lips to Xehanort's ear. "Good boys do as they're told."
Xehanort freezes and every muscle in his body tenses. That is familiar and it triggers something so deep inside that he almost can't even pull it forth. But it makes his body hot and his palms sweaty in anticipation of – something. It doesn't help that right after, Braig rubs his leg up between his legs. He pinches his eyes shut, knowing full well of the bulge that's begun to form there.
He tries to pull away again, to force this repeating physical memory away. But it's forced to stay when Braig reaffirms his grasp on the ascot, making Xehanort swallow past the lump in his throat. He keeps his eyes sealed shut, not that it helps, as Braig's free hand works down to his belt. The marksman makes quick work of it and has it undone, but hanging loose from the loops.
The white shirt, now removed from being neatly tucked into his pants, falls down enough to at least cover Braig's movements. Although it doesn't help still the cool air that passes over his hardened member when Braig wrestles it free from his pants. Yet Xehanort says nothing. He merely bites back any sound at all.
It's all too comfortable for Braig – so easy, just like before.
Braig tightens his hold on Xehanort's manhood. He extends a finger and his thumb up to rub at the head where a small amount of liquid begins to dribble out. It takes all Xehanort has not to let a moan slip from his lips as Braig caresses the tip. However, it's when he pulls his fingers down that Xehanort bucks slightly into that hand waiting for him.
The tell tale Braig needs to know he doesn't have to keep a hold on him any longer. The hand grasping as Xehanort's ascot moves to its next target, Xehanort's mouth. He brushes a gloved finger over Xehanort's lip before daring to wiggle two between them. Surprisingly enough, Xehanort doesn't put up much of a fight. Braig slips them in where they sit on Xehanort's tongue.
Of course he should expect no different. He draws that tongue between his fingers and begins to rub at it, rolling the muscle between his digits. It only makes Xehanort begin to drool slightly as he tries to keep his tongue away. But he can't and it only makes the moan that slips from him audible. Although, Braig is quite pleased with that and it spurs him on.
Braig tightens his fingers around Xehanort's member. He begins to slide his hand up and down in long, rough strokes. Each time he gets close to the tip he stops long enough to graze the side of his thumb over it. The movements have Xehanort leaning heavily on the computer as he tries to take deep breath around Braig's fingers.
The only coherent sounds Braig can even begin to make out are small "nnghs" and "mmpfs" followed by a moan that echoes in Xehanort's throat. Braig's pace slowly begins to quicken. The pre-cum that dribbles out of the head drips down to meet Braig's fingers, lubricating the sensitive skin with ease.
Those fingers continue to move as the ones in Xehanort's mouth finally pull free. They're coated in the man's saliva and Braig doesn't hesitate in his next step. He brushes the lab coat to the side and dips his hands under the rim of Xehanort's pants. A shiver passes through the latter as Braig's gloved fingertips delve between his cheeks.
He turns his head, "N- Nngh!"
Braig plunges a wet finger inside of him. He wiggles it around, stretching and softening the muscles enough to add a second. Xehanort can't comprehend any of it. Not as those fingers curl and press against his insides. It's so foreign – and yet oddly familiar – that he's stuck in an infinite loop of indecision. His body rocks into the motions, craving it all; forward into the hand, back into those digits that churn up his insides.
His stomach clenches and he can feel the heat building in his abdomen. Hating that it's because of Braig, Xehanort reaches down. He tries to stop it all, everything from holding back his own desire to clasping one hand onto Braig's wrist. Hanging his head, Xehanort bites at his lip to stifle the groan that dares to rip from them.
Clutching onto all of the pride he has left, he closes his eyes as tightly as possible as he orgasms. Xehanort cums, releasing his load against his own shirt. All the while Braig continues his ministrations, not letting up until he's sure he's left Xehanort almost about to drop to his knees from ecstasy.
It's only when Xehanort goes quiet, even his heavy breathing, that Braig begins to pull away. He makes sure to wipe the cum off onto Xehanort's shirt as he does. He heaves a sigh as he takes a step back and turns partly toward the exit. A chuckle leaves him, "Well that wasn't as eventful as I hoped. Unless you were hoping for a round two."
Braig turns back, hoping to catch those eyes only to see the opposite of what he knows he wants. Gone are the lustful eyes and heaving breaths. Even his pants are done back up. Although the shirt remains untucked and stained as it is. Especially since the warm liquid keeps it pressed tightl to Xehanort's chest.
"Shit..."
Xehanort glares at Braig, as if a whole new person entirely. He takes a step toward Braig. "I don't know what you think you're doing. But if you ever do that again you'll sorely regret it.
Braig swallows hard and manages a chuckle, one he hopes eases the tension. But he knows there will be hell to pay for this one. If the old coot has wrestled back the reins then there's nothing good in store for him for quite a while. Bringing up his hands in defense, Braig glances over his shoulder – trying to see how far he has to go before he's out of the room. "Hey now, it was just harmless fun and all that-"
Xehanort is before him before he knows it. Yet his body is well aware. Especially as Xehanort's fist collides with his face. The force and momentum coupled together has Braig reeling backward and falling. The ground is hard and cruel as he hits it, only making his head hurt all the more. Blood drips from his nose as he cracks his eye open.
A boot steps onto his chest with enough weight to dare him to move. Xehanort reinforces his glare. "I'll repeat myself only once. Try that again and I won't be as lenient."
Even as Xehanort pulls away and storms out, practically fuming even still, Braig can't help but chuckle. He's pleased with himself despite having a bloodied nose and an aching body. While he might have lost his toy for the moment, he's forced things back on schedule for now.
Braig pushes himself up and rubs at his face with a sigh, muttering to himself. "He didn't have to hit me though."