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...drabble

Letting Xehanort read some of his more risque theories had certainly been a bad idea. Ansem knew that little fact and let it compound each night that he found Xehanort in his chambers, waiting.

Theory had nothing to do with passion, though, or the growing need within his body to sate himself with acts that just days before would have been unthinkable.

An experiment, he told himself as he spread Xehanort's legs and tried not to look up into eyes that were a contrasting mix of cold science and hot desire.

He didn't know. He just didn't know. No one had delved where he was going. No one had tested a heart by claiming it so fully. If even he was.

Tight muscle gave in to his fingers, physically reinforcing the half-swallowed gasp that sounded too much like his name for his own arousal not to ache.

The only thing he could find unthinkable, suddenly, was to not proceed.