Kagome (_newworld) wrote,

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Followed - Non-JRock, Kingdom Hearts II, Riku/Sora

Title: Followed
Author: Kagome
Prompt: “I'll follow you into the dark.”
Warnings: Smut, language, sap. You know, the usual.
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Riku/Sora
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies.
Summary: Sometimes, he thinks the Darkness has followed him here. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell the difference between what’s real and what’s not.
Comments: I wanted to write Riku/Sora smut but I had no clue where to start. XD Then I heard Death Cab for Cutie’s “I Will Follow You into the Dark”, and this fic was born. Hope you all enjoy it~! For bubblegumtotchi, to remind her that no matter how dark it gets, we love her and will bring her back to the light. Also, I believe she’s in need of some nice, sappy smut to distract her right now. *cuddles tightly* Post-KHII.


Riku had never feared the Darkness before he’d returned home (King Mickey and DiZ had taught him that he’d had no reason to fear it). However, since he’s been back, that has changed.

Sometimes, Riku thinks that the Darkness has followed him here, back to this little island that he’d wanted so badly to escape from two years ago. After all, it had come here once, right? It isn’t like it couldn’t happen again, even though their island is now supposedly safe. They’d saved their world (and the other worlds too) together, hadn’t they? He and Sora and Kairi and King Mickey and the others?

He doesn’t feel safe when he dreams, though. Perhaps one would say that his sleep is dreamless, because isn’t that how people describe their sleep when all they see is blackness? They say, ‘Oh, I didn’t dream last night.’ Riku doesn’t have the luxury of saying such a thing, because when he sleeps, he often dreams about the Darkness. The blackness he experiences is not a dreamless sleep; it is a slumber steeped in nightmares.

On this night, like so many others before it, Riku wakes in a cold sweat and sits straight up in bed, eyes immediately (out of habit) searching for the nearby window. The window is akin to a security blanket for him, because through it, he can see the moon and the stars. He can see something bright in the night sky—something much different from what his dreams offer.

His racing heart calms somewhat when he is assured that the dream isn’t reality. Of course, dreams aren’t real, ever, but there are times when it’s difficult to tell the difference between what is real and what isn’t real.

Sora (who’s gotten into the habit of sneaking in through the bedroom window so neither of them has to be alone at night) stirs beside him and sits up as well, arms immediately circling him and pulling him back into a gentle embrace. This – this warmth - is real. It’s just as real as the stars and the moon and the Light, and it also helps to remind him that dreams are nothing more than that. The Darkness has not followed him here.

The brunette doesn’t ask about Riku’s dream; it’s not necessary, since they’ve been through this much more than once. He simply holds on, burying his face against Riku’s shoulder and humming something that sounds familiar, but Riku can’t quite place it.

Riku can feel Sora’s heartbeat through the insubstantial barriers of their cotton t-shirts: his heart is beating within the normal range—much slower than the older teen’s, but that’s understandable. Sora hasn’t just woken up from a nightmare, but Riku has, and he’s still feeling edgy. Even though he’s left the dream behind (it’s like a song on endless repeat and it’ll be back sooner rather than later), it’s still perfectly clear in his memory, and the Dark realm has become a memory that Riku would much rather forget.

“You’re all right,” Sora tells him soothingly—it’s a statement, not a question, and Riku nods even though he’s not entirely sure he is okay right now. He’s here and he’s whole, and Sora is here with him, but….

Riku turns in Sora’s arms, cupping his face in his hands and taking a moment to just look at what he had temporarily lost (and had possibly almost lost for good) two years ago. Even now, he still can’t quite forgive himself for letting his heart become as weak as he had. If he hadn’t been selfish, he and Sora would have never wound up on opposing sides.

He looks into those deep blue eyes and stares down the shadows of his past, wishing for the thousandth time that things had gone differently back then. His voice, when he speaks, is somewhat hoarse—rough with sleep, or perhaps with the lack of it: “Sora.” It’s all he can seem to manage at the moment.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Sora murmurs, and Riku is grateful for that because he doesn’t think he can talk about it right now, not when the dream is still so fresh in his memory and certainly not when regrets of the past have reared their ugly heads (and that is linked to the dream, too, Riku knows). “But do me a favor and stop thinking and worrying so much, yeah?”

It sounds easy enough, but it really isn’t. Riku would love to not worry, but there are times when he is incapable of it—of not worrying, and this is one of those times. “The dream--”

“Is just a dream,” Sora interrupts, and it’s almost funny—the fact that the younger teen is often his voice of reason now. “That door has been closed, Riku, and the only place that the Darkness resides on this island anymore is here.” He points at Riku’s head, tapping it lightly. “Cos your subconscious decides to be an ass and plague you with memories like that, but that’s all they are. Bad memories that were your reality once, but they aren’t what’s real now. You can’t just spend your days worrying if there’s going to be a repeat of the past. That’s how you miss out on living for the moment. You’ve always done that before.”

Riku takes a moment to wonder how in the hell Sora manages to sound so coherent at this ungodly hour when both of them should be sleeping (but neither of them are). It makes sense, though—Riku’s obviously in no shape to manage decent articulation here, so Sora has to make up for it by speaking clear sentences as opposed to speaking the near-gibberish of one who has just been woken up.

“Yes, I know that,” Riku finally retorts, albeit weakly (and admittedly somewhat childishly—more Sora’s style than his own), “but--”

But it’s not as simple as either of us wants it to be, is what he wants to say, but Sora interrupts him yet again: “There aren’t any ‘buts’ to it, Riku,” he says firmly, his voice rising in volume. Riku has to tell him to keep it down, because even though his parents’ room is at the other end of the house, there is still a possibility that Sora might wake them. “I know the dreams are bad, and I know it’s hard, but you have to remember what the King told you, and you gotta listen to me, too. You can’t live your life based on what could happen; you have to live your life based on what is happening, because that’s what’s real.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference,” Riku confesses quietly as he averts his gaze. When he dreams, that’s what’s real, even though he knows in his heart that it isn’t real at all—it just feels that way. He had once heard that the past often repeats itself, and that’s what truly scares him: the thought that the Darkness might return to their island and his heart will become weak once more.

“It’s not so hard.” Now, Sora’s voice is gentle. “This is your bed. This is your room. That sky is the same sky we’ve always known. They’re all real.” He cups Riku’s face in his hands and leans in, his warm breath tickling Riku’s lips as he says, “This is real.” He then proceeds to close the distance between them entirely, and his kiss isn’t harsh or demanding; it’s the exact opposite—soft and demanding absolutely nothing.

Riku doesn’t rush into the kiss but slips into it, slow and easy, his pace matching Sora’s, and when he moves to deepen the kiss, Sora lets him. Their tongues tangle, the motion unhurried and almost lazy. For a moment, Riku fools himself into believing that it’s enough, but then he slips his hands beneath the back of Sora’s shirt, sliding his fingers over bare skin, and that moment is over because it’s not enough; he needs more of what’s real in this moment. He needs more of the brunette’s taste on his tongue and more of his naked skin beneath his hands and moremoremore….

The kiss changes, becoming somewhat less gentle and there’s demand in it now (Riku’s demand, not Sora’s, though Sora gives in to it). It’s tinged with hunger and desperation, and Riku knows he should probably stop now, but his fingers find the dip in the brunette’s spine, and Sora moans softly into his mouth. It’s then that Riku comes to the conclusion that stopping is a really stupid idea, and why in the fuck had he told himself that he should stop in the first place when both of them are obviously enjoying this?

Riku wants the clothes out of the way and he wants them out of the way sooner rather than later. Right now is good, actually, and so he grabs the hem of Sora’s shirt and tugs upwards. The kiss is broken just long enough for Sora’s shirt to be removed and tossed aside, and then their lips and tongues are meeting again, wet and messy.

“Yours too,” Sora manages to say between kisses, his hands now pulling at the older teen’s shirt with an urgency to match Riku’s own. They part once more and Riku raises his arms, helping the brunette to rid him of the offending article of clothing before pressing his lips against Sora’s throat, feeling one of the pulse points there. Now his pulse matches Riku’s—fast and erratic. His skin feels hot.

“Riku,” Sora breathes, and Riku scrapes his teeth along the side of Sora’s neck—along the tendon there, and the younger teen shudders and clutches at him tighter. “Ngh. Riku, get back up here.”

“Not yet,” Riku replies, now peppering kisses over Sora’s chest, pausing to take one of the brunette’s nipples into his mouth and suck hard.

Sora’s back arches and he makes a sound low in his throat, his blunt nails digging slightly into Riku’s shoulders. He’s saying something, Riku knows, but it’s garbled, and it seems like Sora’s temporarily lost his ability to string words together to form a coherent sentence. His former lucidity is gone—vanished without a trace, and it never fails to amaze Riku that he can elicit this sort of reaction from Sora every single time.

Riku smiles and moves his hands to Sora’s hips, pulling him closer, into his lap. They still have their boxers on, but there’s still plenty enough friction between them to make both of them groan when their clothed erections brush together.

“R-Riku,” Sora says again, his breath catching and then stuttering out, “I want to....” He trails off then, and Riku has the strong suspicion that it is because of the way he’s currently grinding his hips against the brunette’s.

“Want to what?” Riku asks as he nips at Sora’s neck, almost smiling again as Sora tilts his head to one side, as though in invitation. It is an unspoken invitation that Riku would be stupid to decline, and so he takes it, attacking the newly-bared angle of skin with lips and tongue and teeth.

“I want to….” Sora trails off yet again and shakes his head, and Riku pauses, looking at the brunette questioningly. “It’s better if I just show you,” Sora tells him.

“So show me.”

Before the words have even fully left his lips, Riku finds himself on his back with Sora straddling him, and they simply stare at one another for several seconds, both of them breathing heavily, both of them hard and aching.

As Riku stares at Sora (who is staring back at him with a hunger in his eyes that Riku knows mirrors his own), the rational part of his mind finally wakes up and reminds him of why this might not be such a great idea, even though he wants Sora and wants this. It has nothing to do with the fact that his parents are home (as well they should be, considering the hour) and everything to do with the fact that he’s still shaken up after that dream. He still feels like a miniature train-wreck, and maybe now isn’t the best time to let things go further than the much-needed comfort of simply holding and being held.

“We should stop.” Riku wants to kick himself for saying such a thing even before he finishes his sentence, because Sora is there and more than willing and they are teenage boys with raging hormones, after all. Moreover, he doesn’t like the fact that Sora is now frowning at him, obviously confused.

“Don’t tell me it’s because of your parents,” the brunette says, sounding doubtful—he knows better than that. “Because we’ve never gotten caught.” He pauses then, no doubt remembering the very same thing that Riku is currently remembering, and rapidly amends his statement: “Okay, so there was that one time we almost did--”

“Because you were getting a bit loud,” Riku supplies helpfully, looking pointedly up at his lover.

“—but we’ve been really careful since then,” Sora continues, blatantly refusing to acknowledge Riku’s input with a verbal reply and scowling briefly at him instead. “So that can’t be the issue.”

“It isn’t the issue,” Riku agrees. “It’s the fact that I’m kind of a mess right now, Sora, and maybe this isn’t the best time for… for this, because even though it was just a dream, it’s still there and--”

Sora presses two fingers to Riku’s lips and shakes his head. “You think that’ll make this mean any less than it always has? You think that you might do something wrong right now just because you had a nightmare? If it’s still there, let me help you make it go away.” He leans down, replacing his fingers with his lips, and his kiss is light and fleeting. “Let me.” The tone of his voice is nearly imploring, but the look in his eyes brooks no argument. He’s always been stubborn, and that’s one of the many qualities about him that Riku loves so much.

“Sora,” Riku begins, even softer than before, “we….” But he can’t finish, because he doesn’t know how he should respond. He knows, however, that this little battle he’s fighting (against himself and against Sora) right now isn’t a battle that he wants to win.

“Let me,” Sora repeats, his lashes lowered and his lips wet and slightly swollen. He whispers the same words against Riku’s ear, and when the brunette whispers like that, it’s always devastating, even when he isn’t trying to be persuasive. Right now, with Riku’s self-control already in shambles, the effect is about twenty times worse (or better—it’s all a matter of perception).

Then, as if Riku is in need of further convincing, Sora shallowly rocks his hips against Riku’s, the motion slow and deliberately teasing—not enough friction to truly satisfy, but enough to make the older teen want more, which is obviously the desired outcome.

As Riku hisses sharply and shoves his own hips upwards, his hands moving of their own accord to roam over the naked expanse of Sora’s back once more, he wonders in the back of his mind just how Sora’s learned to be so damn sneaky and to play so unfairly, and then reminds himself that it’s more than likely his own fault. Partly, at least.

So he gives in, turning his head and nipping at the brunette’s earlobe before smiling and whispering, “I surrender, and am entirely at your mercy.” Nevermind the fact that that particular statement applies all the time when it comes to Sora. Just to be cheeky, he adds, “Make sure you keep the noise to a minimum, though. Don’t want a repeat of that night.”

Sora shudders and then laughs, pulling back only to bend down and kiss Riku once more, and this time, the kiss is anything but light and fleeting. Riku kisses back with enough force to almost bruise, but Sora doesn’t complain—he groans and he leans into it (no fear, because neither of them is going to break and when Riku pushes like this, Sora pushes back, and that’s a beautiful thing).

“Keep your own advice in mind when you’re inside me,” Sora retorts when the kiss is broken, and the words are surprising and unbelievably dirty coming from the younger teen. They make muscles low in Riku’s abdomen tense and they make his cock twitch, and judging by the look of smug satisfaction on Sora’s face, Riku’s reactions have definitely not gone unnoticed.

“It’s dangerous when you talk like that, you know,” Riku warns, though he doesn’t really mean it. There is no danger here, between them. “… You lead.” It isn’t the first time he’s told Sora this, and he knows that it probably won’t be the last, either.

Sora’s smile softens into something that’s made more of affection than anything else (there’s no longer any smugness there, anyway), and he replies, “You already said that without saying it, because I told you to let me and now you’re letting me and I am leading.” He sticks his tongue out, then, and instead of attempting to boggle his brain in the attempt to understand the complete lack of logic in that sentence, Riku leans up and sucks lightly on Sora’s tongue, and that earns him a pout and another shove (not quite as gentle this time) backwards.

“It makes sense to me, okay?” Sora says in his defense. “Now quit teasing me and--”

“Let you?” Riku finishes, raising his arms above his head in the mockery of a stretch.

“Exactly.” Calloused hands and a warm, wet mouth begin working their way down Riku’s chest and abdomen, following familiar (though invisible) paths, and Riku makes a noise low in his throat each time those nimble fingers find a particularly sensitive spot. That talented mouth then proceeds to worry at that exact same spot, making Riku want to squirm.

Sora isn’t anywhere near as nervous or as shy as he had been their first time. Neither is Riku. Their first time had not lacked awkwardness—it had been akin to the blooper reel of a bad porn movie, if such a thing existed. They had fumbled their way through it, anxious and uncertain, and Riku had sworn that he would never forgive himself for causing Sora such discomfort (he hadn’t prepared Sora well enough—hadn’t used enough lubricant, and Sora had later described it as feeling like an intense and unpleasant burning and stretching sensation).

He had learned rather quickly, however, that it isn’t so difficult to forgive yourself when a hot mouth is pressed against your own and slightly trembling hands are tangled in your hair. Sora had forgiven him—had told him that there had been nothing to forgive and that he had known the first time wouldn’t be all pleasure.

So Riku had forgiven himself, too, and after that, he’d realized that sex really does take practice, just like everything else, unless you happen to be a prodigy or something. He’d never heard of anyone being a master at sex the first time… but then again, he hadn’t really researched it, either.

And he doesn’t need to. It doesn’t matter. All that matters right now is this. All that matters right now is Sora, and how Sora is making him feel, and it’s enough. It’s more than enough and it’s more than perfect.

Riku opens his eyes (he doesn’t remember when he’d closed them) and looks at Sora when the sweet torture that the younger teen had been providing ceases. Sora’s mouth is less than inches away from his skin—hovering at a spot just below his navel, and his hands are on his boxers, fingers resting on the waistband. The corners of the brunette’s lips are barely curved upwards, but Riku doesn’t need to see that smile to know it’s there. He can hear it in Sora’s voice as he says: “I need you to lift your hips if you want this to continue. Then you can go back to being a lazy bum who lets me do all the work.” He doesn’t mean it—both of them know that.

“Oh, but aren’t I supposed to be letting you do all the work right now?” Riku shoots back, and now it’s his turn to be smug. “Get off my legs, and I’ll be all too happy to assist you.”

Sora heaves an exaggerated sigh but moves nonetheless, and Riku presses his feet flat on the mattress, lifting his hips and wriggling in a way that is more than a little suggestive. Sora seems torn between laughing and practically pouncing on him, but he does neither, and instead tugs Riku’s boxers down his long legs, stopping only when the material is pooled around Riku’s ankles. Riku kicks them the rest of the way off, not caring where they land and thus not bothering to look, but he won’t be at all surprised if he later discovers them haphazardly hanging on a corner of one of his dressers or something.

“Better,” Sora murmurs as he slides his hands up Riku’s thighs, carefully (and purposefully) venturing close to the older boy’s length before changing course at the last moment, fingers darting away and moving higher, dancing over Riku’s hips. Riku makes a mental note to pay Sora back for the teasing, even though he has a sneaky suspicion that said teasing might be retribution of some sort, because it isn’t like Riku plays fair all the time, either.

Riku knows that he could tell Sora to stop tormenting him and get on with it already, but he doesn’t, because his spiky-haired lover is calling the shots right now, and because being tormented like this really isn’t bad at all.

“So where was I?” Sora asks, the fingers of his right hand circling Riku’s bellybutton—a place where Riku is particularly ticklish, though he’d only just realized it a few months ago, courtesy of Sora.

Riku laughs breathlessly, but he doesn’t try to squirm away. He answers Sora’s question with one of his own: “I don’t know—where were you, Sora?” It’s not a proper answer, but he knows that Sora isn’t really expecting one.

Sora’s eyes are heavy-lidded now (and that, too, is deliberate); if he is frustrated or put-off with Riku’s reply (or lack thereof), he doesn’t show it. He keeps his gaze fixed on Riku as he lowers his head and licks at the crease where thigh meets pelvis. “Was I here?”

Riku exhales a little shakily and reaches down to thread his fingers through the strands of Sora’s hair, not applying pressure to the back of his skull – not trying to guide him, even though his mouth is painfully close to Riku’s neglected cock – but simply touching. Sora tilts his head back and makes a sound that is almost a groan, and Riku rasps, “Maybe.” Still not a proper answer, but then again, Riku knows that Sora doesn’t really need the reminder.

“Maybe here?” Sora suggests before slowly trailing the tip of his tongue along the underside of Riku’s erection. He pulls back, frowning. “I dunno. You’re going to have to help me, Riku~.” He manages to sound perfectly clueless while Riku knows that his younger lover is anything but clueless—he knows that Sora knows exactly what he’s doing. Craftiness – both inside and outside of the bedroom – is a skill that Sora has indeed honed.

“… You might have left off there,” Riku finally admits, choosing to conveniently forget that Sora had actually left off somewhere south of this bellybutton and north of the waistband of his boxers, because what does that matter? Sora’s breath is hot on his cock and his voice is strained with the effort of holding himself back; it’s tempting to rock his hips up because Sora’s mouth is so close and it would be incredibly easy to make those soft lips part further for him (he knows Sora wouldn’t complain)… but, no. As tempting as the idea is, he refuses to give in so easily. Nevermind the fact that he’s already kind of relinquished control to the brunette for the time being. Trivial detail.

“We can pretend that I left off here,” Sora says knowingly, his lips brushing against heated skin on every syllable. “I don’t care if it’s a lie—it’s where I wanna be right now, anyway.” Sora is saying this, Riku knows, because the brunette is aware that this particular tactic is ruthless enough to make Riku want to relinquish every ounce of self-control that he still possesses (and at the moment, that honestly doesn’t amount to much). Riku can’t say that he dislikes this tactic, either, ruthless as it may be.

“So what are you waiting for, then?” Riku asks, pleased that he doesn’t sound nearly as impatient as he feels. His fingers are unmoving in Sora’s hair, against his scalp, and Sora is staring at him as though he really is waiting for something, but Riku has no clue what that something might be.

Sora smiles lopsidedly, and the moment of waiting (for something or for nothing at all) passes—slips away like the night when the sun rises. “Good question,” he replies, and that’s not a real answer, either, but it’s good enough. It has to be, because in the next moment, Sora is taking Riku’s length into his mouth and sucking until his cheeks are concave, and his tongue is swirling firmly over and around the head, and it really doesn’t matter what it was that he was or was not waiting for because this is well worth the wait.

“OhfuckSora,” Riku hisses, the words a jumble, running together so that they seem more like one word instead of three. His fingers tighten their hold and he bucks his hips – albeit involuntarily – as his self-control shatters all over again, resolve getting tossed by the wayside, and Riku honestly couldn’t care less to see it go. So much for control, but that doesn’t really matter either—not when Sora’s head is bobbing up and down, slow and steady, and not when he isn’t protesting the near white-knuckled grip on his hair but is instead arching into it before sliding back down again, sucking and licking and fucking purring, the vibrations sending delicious little shivers down Riku’s spine over and over again.

Riku is torn between telling Sora to stop and to never stop—the former because even though it’s tempting to come in Sora’s mouth (he’s done it before, after all), he has something entirely different in mind right now, and the latter because… well, simply because it feels really fucking fantastically good. He doesn’t know which he wants more at the moment, and the brunette isn’t making the choice any easier on him, not that he really expects him to.

Sora makes the decision for him, though, and he stops, drawing back and letting Riku’s erection slip out of his mouth with a small, wet sound. Riku is both relieved and frustrated—the emotions are practically polar opposites, but even though those emotions contradict each other, it makes sense for him to be experiencing both of them, given the situation.

Sora nuzzles at Riku’s fingers, and the action makes Riku think of a cat. “I’m going to sit up now,” Sora tells him, “and that means you’re going to have to move your hand~.” When Riku does, the younger teen straightens, fully sitting up. “I would have kept doing that until you came, but that wasn’t quite what I had in mind when I said you’d be inside me.”

It should be illegal for his best friend of several years (almost all of their lives) and his lover of several months (almost a year) to talk like that, and to learn to talk like that in such a short span of time, because a year ago, Riku would have never imagined such phrases coming from the brunette. So, in Riku’s mind, it should be illegal. In fact, he would make a real effort to get a law to that effect passed, barring one problem: he thoroughly enjoys it when Sora talks dirty to him, just like he knows Sora likes it when Riku talks dirty to him.

Making yet another effort at something like retaliation, Riku says, “Me either. The image of you underneath me while I shove inside of you came to mind.” Take that, you dirty-talking little sneak, you.

Sora closes his eyes and shivers, but when his lashes flutter open and he looks at Riku again, he is smiling wickedly, and that smile is all teeth and absolutely no inhibitions. “Sorry, but I had a different image in mind: Me on top of you, rocking down while you shove up into me.”

Riku’s thoughts promptly come to a screeching halt. Sora’s idea is a very good one, he has to admit, and he would, if only he could manage words. Words are definitely underrated in some cases, though, and this, Riku decides, is one of those cases. So, in order to show just how much he likes Sora’s idea, he drags the now-squirming brunette down for another kiss. “You can be incredibly dirty-minded sometimes,” he growls when he pulls back for air.

“I learn from the best,” Sora replies before bestowing a kiss to Riku’s forehead and asking where the lube is, adding, “I know you’re the one who put it up last.”

Riku’s brow furrows as he reaches back, sliding one hand underneath his own pillow to search for the item in question, only to wind up empty-handed. “I thought you put it up.”

Sora heaves a sigh and Riku knows, even without looking, that the younger teen rolls his eyes before he leans over Riku, opening the top drawer of the nightstand and fumbling blindly and one-handedly in search of the lubricant. “Not in here, either. What did you do with it?”

If he were Sora, Riku would be pouting right now, but he isn’t Sora and he doesn’t pout, damnit. Sometimes he sulks and sometimes he broods but he never pouts. At this moment, he is scowling. “I didn’t do anything with it.” In the next moment, however (after slipping his hand underneath the pillow beside him – Sora’s pillow – and finding nothing), he is sheepishly admitting, “I don’t know what I did with it.”

“Mm-hmm.” Sora sounds unsurprised. “You’re getting good at forgetting things. Barely seventeen and already the troubles of old age are knocking on your door. You still know who I am, right?”

“No,” Riku replies smoothly, ruffling Sora’s hair. “I have no idea who you are kid, sorry. Guess that means you should get out of my bed~.”

Sora makes an attempt at glaring at him, which mostly fails. “You know who I am, Riku. Just… find the lube for me?”

“You’re not helping me look for it,” Riku points out as he rolls over onto his side and then his stomach, leaning over and looking under the bed. There’s too many shadows here—too much darkness and not enough moonlight, and so he can’t see much. He feels around on the floor with one hand, but, like Sora, he returns empty-handed. Unlike Sora, he’s slightly dizzy, courtesy of the sudden rush of blood to parts of his body aside from his head.

“I tried already,” Sora argues, pointing at Riku’s nightstand. “Looked in the obvious place where it usually is and it wasn’t there, so now it’s your turn.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. My turn to look again,” Riku grumbles, though he does so only half-heartedly. As he slips his hand beneath the mattress—the last possible place he can think to look, he fondly muses that, if they were arguing about a misplaced item in a much less intimate situation than they are currently engaged in, Kairi would tell them that they ‘argue like an old married couple’. She’s said it before, and Riku is beginning to agree with her. It’s not such a terrible thing, though. In fact, it’s actually rather nice.

Even nicer when his fingers brush against and then close around what he and Sora have been searching for—the small tube that had momentarily gone missing. He withdraws it from its hiding place and triumphantly shows it to Sora before beginning to unscrew the cap, but Sora snatches it from him before he can do much else. The cap isn’t even off yet, for crying out loud!

I’m gonna do it,” Sora tells him as he shoves his boxers down and off, the tube of lubricant clutched tightly in his left hand. “I’m gonna prepare myself for you.” He picks up where Riku left off, unscrewing the cap and setting it aside before squeezing a dollop of the not-quite-liquid substance onto the first two fingers of his right hand.

“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” Dumb question, Riku knows, because the answer is obvious. He’s supposed to watch, and that’s exactly what he’s doing now, eyes glued to Sora as his lover leans back and lifts his ass, his weight supported by his left arm and both of his feet.

“You’re supposed to sit back and enjoy the view.” Bingo. Sora slides his hand between his spread thighs, fingers circling his entrance before slowly pushing inside. He gasps softly (“Oh”) and his head falls back—the long, tempting line of his throat is bared, and it would be so easy to shift and kiss (or bite) that unbelievably soft skin, but Riku stays where he is. He’s supposed to be ‘enjoying the view’, after all, and he most certainly is.

“No difficulties with that,” Riku replies, but it’s only partly true. Watching Sora prepare himself is highly enjoyable, but it has its drawbacks—one of those being that it isn’t easy to resist the urge to touch him, and he’s not supposed to be touching right now, he is supposed to be watching. Easier said than done.

When Sora looks at him again, the small smile playing on his lips makes it obvious that he isn’t falling for Riku’s partial lie. He knows that it isn’t exactly easy for Riku to do nothing more than watch, and Riku knows that Sora will use that fact to the fullest possible extent.

“Having fun?” Sora suddenly asks, his voice sounding almost raw. He twists his wrist and gasps sharply, and Riku’s breath hitches in his throat.

“Yeah,” Riku answers, and again, it’s another partial truth, because he knows he’d be having even more fun if he could be touching Sora right now. Or, better yet, thrusting into Sora right now.

“Good.” Sora begins thrusting his fingers into himself, his legs spreading even further apart, and Riku can see everything—he can see the way Sora shoves his fingers in and out of himself; he can see the way Sora’s hips rock down (an involuntary action, no doubt) to meet his fingers; he can see the way Sora’s cock twitches each time his lover twists his wrist just like that.

By the time the look in Sora’s eyes has become something like liquid heat and he’s added a third finger and is moaning and whimpering (and it’s Riku’s name he’s saying), and by the time the muscles in his thighs and his abdomen are tensing when he pushes his fingers into his body, Riku is clutching at the bedsheets because he needs something to hold onto—he needs something to keep him grounded so that he doesn’t pounce on his lover right here and now, watching without touching be damned.

Riku is close to panting and his mouth feels dry. He wants to move; he wants to push his fingers in beside Sora’s; he wants to wrap his fingers around the brunette’s length and stroke him until he’s writhing and begging (he’s done it before, more than once), but he can’t (well, he can, but that’s not the point). All he can really do is….

Sora.” He doesn’t care if he sounds as desperate as he feels. He knows that it’s the desperation – the sheer neediness – that gets Sora’s attention—makes him pause.

“Done watching?” Sora asks, and the question is strained. He’s like an open book; he’s just as needy as Riku. He wants more, just like Riku, and just like Riku, he’s awful at hiding it. Then again, perhaps he isn’t truly attempting to hide it—Sora’s never been the type to hide how he feels.

“Come here,” Riku growls as he releases the sheets, hands lifting and reaching out to his lover, but not touching him, because he’s not close enough. “Come here, or I’ll come get you.”

“You promise?” Sora asks, sounding intrigued by the idea of Riku coming to get him. However, he apparently chooses to explore that option another time, instead complying with Riku’s demand, making a low sound in his throat as he withdraws his fingers from his body and slides closer to the older teen, the lubricant once again clutched in his left hand.

“You gonna give me that?” Riku asks, indicating the lubricant. He has a feeling that he already knows what Sora’s response will be, though—he’s fairly certain that his answer will be a resounding ‘no’.

“No.” Right again. “I’ll do it. Besides, it gives me the excuse to touch you.” When has he ever needed an excuse?

“You don’t need an excuse,” Riku replies as he watches Sora squeeze a generous amount of lube into the palm of his right hand. He knows what the brunette’s about to do next, and feels his cock throb just from the thought of it.

“No, I don’t,” Sora agrees before wrapping his lube-slick hand around Riku’s cock, giving it a leisurely stroke, his thumb pressing against the slit and smearing pre-cum, mixing it with lingering saliva and the slightly cool lubricant, which will be warm soon enough.

Riku bucks upwards into his younger lover’s tightly-curled fist, and even though the friction is eased by the lube, it’s still there and it’s delicious, and nothing feels cold now—everything is super-heated and it feels like boiling-hot lava is rushing through Riku’s body, starting at his head and ending at his toes. It’s painful, yes, but not in the way that an injury is painful. This drives in deeper: it’s an ache.

“Sora,” he whispers, and then he is touching Sora again – his hair, his face, his neck, his chest and belly and thighs – as the brunette continues to stroke him, coating him well with the lubricant. The friction is different now—completely slick and not dry at all, but the heat is still there and Sora’s hand is moving faster, and it’s incredible, but Riku knows that it’s only going to get better, and it’s going to get better very soon.

“Good enough, I think,” Sora says, and he abruptly stops moving his hand along Riku’s length. He’s impatient now, and it shows in his words and in his actions. “Waiting isn’t so easy when you’re making me feel like this, so….” He trails off, wiping his right hand on the bedsheets. He either doesn’t notice Riku’s scowl or he merely pretends not to notice it. Riku is willing to bed that it’s the latter.

“So don’t wait.” Riku’s voice is gentle and his touch is gentle as he rests his hands on Sora’s hips, helping to guide him into position. He sounds surprisingly calm and collected when he is anything but calm and collected—he feels like he’s falling apart and waiting for Sora to put him back together. It’s not an unpleasant sort of falling apart, though. It doesn’t feel like the world has ended, just that it has paused for breath and will inevitably move forward again, and Riku has to hold on to whatever tiny shred of patience he has remaining (if he has any patience left, that is, and it doesn’t feel like he does) until the world exhales and moves again. Until Sora moves again.

The world exhales and begins moving once more. Sora exhales and begins moving again as well, rearranging legs and arms and slowly lowering himself down onto Riku. When Riku feels the head of his cock nudge against Sora’s entrance, he inhales, sharp and quick and nearly painful, and he forces himself to stay still because he can’t move yet—Sora’s doing the moving for both of them right now.

Sora pushes down and grunts, and Riku is inside of him now—just the tip, but he’s inside, and the tightness and the heat take the older teen’s breath away again. He remains utterly still even as Sora continues to push and to press, taking Riku in inch by inch, only pausing when Riku is fully sheathed inside of him. That is when Riku decides that he can exhale and move—when Sora is silent (save for his soft panting) and unmoving (save for the fluttering of his lashes against his cheeks as he blinks).

Riku breathes out and in again, hands skimming down Sora’s thighs and back up to his hips, raising goosebumps (which he feels, rather than sees) on the brunette’s skin. He keeps his hips still, though, and he waits for Sora to move again, fingers lightly caressing tanned skin. “Waiting for you, Sora.”

Sora doesn’t make him wait long. He pulls back until Riku is almost all the way out of him, only the tip still inside, and then he sinks back down, whimpering when he’s gone as far as he can possibly go—when he’s taken all of Riku into himself. He repeats the motion again and again until he builds a rhythm, and it’s not agonizingly slow but it isn’t fast enough, either. It’s enough to push Riku close but not enough to send him over the edge, and so it’s maddening in its own way.

“Sora.” Riku shifts underneath his lover, wanting more than anything at the moment to tighten his hold on Sora’s hips and slam into him, hard and deep. He knows that Sora is doing this, too, on purpose, whether it is to merely stave off the inevitable or to torture him more than he already has, or maybe Sora’s doing both at once (killing two birds with one stone). Either way, it isn’t enough, and Riku needs more. Right now, he has no problem informing Sora of such. “Need more. Move faster.”

Sora slows down and leans over, the angle awkward, and presses his lips against Riku’s. “Make me,” he challenges, the words laced with suppressed laughter. It’s surprising, but Riku supposes that he really shouldn’t be too terribly surprised, because Sora will always be Sora, and he’ll always be playfully competitive. Even when he’s giving so much to Riku, he’s taking, too, but that’s how it balances out—that’s how it makes their imaginary playing field even, so it’s okay. That’s how it’s supposed to be, anyway.

Riku has never been the type to turn down a challenge, especially when that challenge is issued by Sora. It’s no different right now. No different, because his muscles are screaming at him to move and Sora is hot and tight around and against him, lips wet and tongue tickling and muscles clenching ever so slightly.

“I will,” Riku informs, and it’s the only warning that he gives before he rolls them, holding tightly onto his younger lover’s hips in order to keep from slipping out. Now Sora’s flat on his back and Riku’s face is buried against his neck, tongue lapping at soft skin, tasting and claiming (or, rather, re-claiming).

Riku then proceeds to do what he’s been aching to do, drawing back only to shove inside again, changing the angle so that each consecutive thrust will cause him to brush against Sora’s prostate. “Now, let me.”

Sora doesn’t try to resist or retaliate; his thighs fall open a little more and he shudders and rocks up when Riku shoves down, hissing something that Riku can’t decipher because the word (or words) is (are) muffled due to the fact that his mouth is currently pressed against Riku’s arm. The older boy already knows what it means, though: Sora is raising the white flag.

They build a different rhythm, together this time—one that is faster and harder and it’s enough. It’s enough to make Riku want to come, but he won’t until Sora has, because he’s stubborn. As their hips stutter, their rhythm stopping and starting again, becoming more erratic by the moment, Riku slides a hand between their bodies (it’s easy enough because both of them are sweating) and fists Sora’s length, stroking him. It’s quick and rough and demanding because Riku doesn’t want to wait any longer. He doesn’t want to slow down; he doesn’t want to pause. He wants to see Sora come.

Sora keens (and that, too, is muffled) and bucks up, into Riku’s hand, and Riku knows how far gone his lover is because he’s right there with him, lost as well, but they’re together here and it’s good and it’s right. It doesn’t take much—four more strokes and Sora is falling apart, coming completely undone, hands scrabbling at the bedsheets and teeth sharp on Riku’s left forearm. The noises he’s making sound like sobs, and he’s clenching over and over and coming, making their bellies slightly sticky.

When Riku comes (mere seconds after Sora, because he’s never been able to hold on long with Sora clenching around him like that), all he sees is light, despite the fact that his eyes are tightly shut. He sees light: blindingly bright and beautiful and pure.

Later, when they’re curled together in a sweaty and slightly sticky mess (neither of them really wants to move right now—they’ll worry about cleaning up in a minute), Sora murmurs, “Even if the Darkness does come back somehow, it’s not like you ever gotta face it alone. Not while I’m here.”

And now, it’s much easier to let Sora’s words sink in—it’s much easier to let the worry slip away.

“I know,” Riku replies, and he does know. He knows that, even if the Darkness follows him, so too will the Light. He knows that if he gets lost again, he won’t stay lost long, because….

Riku buries his face in spiky hair and inhales Sora’s scent, not detecting even the slightest trace of Darkness there. He finishes his thought, though out loud this time, knowing in his heart that Sora will understand: “Because you’ll always find me.”

Complete fluff attack, I swear. XD Oh well; hopefully the smut was hot, too? :D I can’t help it. It had to be sappy. It’s Riku and Sora, for heaven’s sake.
Tags: kingdom hearts, kingdom hearts ii, rikuxsora, soraxriku

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