Warnings: Smut, complete and utter sap, Sora topping~.
Characters/Pairings: Riku/Sora (or Sora/Riku, in this case)
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies.
Summary: They should be in school right now, but….
Comments: I keep doing this thing where I’m all weirdly-poetic. If the imagery is confusing, you have permission to come throw
There’s a small voice in Sora’s head which is currently interrupting his pleasant state of relaxation, and said small voice is busy informing him in a shrill tone that he and Riku should be in school right now. He’s sick of that voice, and he wishes that it would go away so that he can enjoy playing hooky without that pesky almost-guilty feeling.
They are currently doing absolutely nothing aside from breathing and dozing on and off, cuddled up together on Sora’s bed. It’s quiet and it’s comfortable and Riku is warm and Sora feels lazy and just a little guilty for feeling lazy. They should be in class, but they aren’t.
It had been Riku’s idea, of course (because Sora would never be such a deviant boy—he’s a good little student, honest), and Sora had protested to begin with. He’d told Riku that they’d missed enough school already as it was, what with saving the world and all, and he’d tried to stand his ground. He really had.
“School went on for a year without us,” Riku had argued. “We saved the world twice; I think we earned a bit of a vacation.” He’d blatantly ignored the fact that they’d had half a summer’s worth of vacation—not much, but it had been something, at least.
Sora had tried to protest. He’d tried to put his foot down, but as always, he had wound up surrendering. He supposes it was the tempting idea of Riku giving him a massage (one of Riku’s ploys, which had had the intended effect) that had completely won him over.
They had snuck into Sora’s house once it was safe (once his parents had left for work, in other words), and Riku had even brought oil with him, insisting that he would spread it all over Sora’s skin and give him one of those full-body massages that would leave him feeling boneless.
The oil is still sitting on the nightstand where Riku had placed it, mostly forgotten, but that’s okay for now because Sora is too busy focusing on sunshine and Riku and how Riku looks, unabashedly lackadaisical with the sun on his hair and on his skin and on his lips. He is smiling, eyes closed, and he’s only ever like this – open, unguarded – with Sora, and the sound of this blissful silence between them is enough to momentarily drown out the annoying inner voice that keeps telling him they should get off their lazy asses and go to school.
He’s not sure how long they’ve been lying here like this, arms and legs comfortably intertwined; maybe minutes or maybe hours—whichever, it doesn’t matter. This is nice, and Sora doesn’t want to let go of it. Seeing Riku like this (being with him like this) is well worth the class hours they are currently missing out on.
Sora kind of wants to do something silly and girlish, like lean over and kiss Riku’s nose just to see if he can make it scrunch up because Riku looks incredibly adorable (and Sora is fully aware that the older teen would kill him for even thinking such a thing, if he knew about it) when he scrunches his nose up. However, he also kind of wants to do nothing more than watch Riku, because seeing him like this is one of those rare things meant to be treasured. He’s worried so much since they’ve been back. Riku has worried about Kairi and about Sora and King Mickey and his parents and the Darkness and the Light and everything and everyone, and seeing him without that worry scribbled all over his face is a relief in and of itself. It makes Sora feel warm—warm in a way that the sun’s rays could never make him feel.
So, Sora compromises. It’s something he’s learned to do very well with Riku, and there’s not much difference in compromising with oneself than in compromising with another. He decides to watch his lover for a little while—to watch the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, and to watch the way the sun seems to kiss every visible part of his body. After watching, he does the silly, girlish thing and leans down to kiss the bridge of Riku’s nose, grinning when the silver-haired boy makes a face, nose scrunching up just like Sora knew it would.
“Were you asleep?” Sora asks quietly, teasingly. Nevermind the fact that he himself has been falling in and out of sleep since they made it to the bed.
“Mm. A little.” Riku’s answer makes little to no sense at all, but that’s okay, too, because the sun makes his skin golden and Sora wants to taste it. So he does, dipping his head and kissing the hollow of Riku’s throat—that little spot where his collarbones almost-but-not-quite touch. Sun-kissed and Sora-kissed Riku tastes nice, and Sora tastes again, frowning at the collar of Riku’s uniform (which is in the way) before pushing it aside and kissing his neck, letting his lips linger for several moments before he finally draws back, and when he does, Riku’s eyes are open.
“You were ‘a little’ asleep?” Sora says doubtfully and he smiles, shaking his head. “How can you be ‘a little’ asleep?”
“It made sense a few seconds ago,” Riku retorts, giving him a look that says ‘don’t argue with me’. It’s not a real threat at all, but Sora heeds the unspoken words nevertheless. He doesn’t argue; he shifts and presses and he tastes again, lips and tongue attacking that patch of skin directly below Riku’s earlobe.
“I should bottle and sell the taste of sun on your skin,” Sora murmurs, his lips not quite leaving Riku’s neck (and he is fully aware that he is the one that is now probably making no sense whatsoever.). “I’d make a fortune.”
“I’m not sleepy anymore,” Riku informs him, stretching a little and tilting his head in what Sora can only assume is an invitation. He takes it as such, anyway, trailing kisses in a zigzag pattern down Riku’s neck until Riku is all but purring.
“You’re not?” Sora inquires knowingly a moment later before pressing a kiss to Riku’s clothed shoulder. “Feeling like giving me that massage you promised me earlier when you coerced me into skipping school with you in the first place, then?”
“After you’re finished, I promise I will,” Riku responds, and though his voice is light, there’s a seriousness to his words, too.
Sora draws back again, brow furrowing in confusion. “Finished with… what, exactly?” he asks uncertainly. He’s unaware that he’s actually started anything. Well, he’s made Riku squirm a little, but that’s something he tries his best to do on a daily basis. Does Riku mean that he wants Sora to make him squirm more, then?
Riku just smiles and tugs at Sora’s tie (and Sora wonders why in the hell they haven’t taken off these damn uniforms yet) until their lips meet, and they kiss like they have all of the time in the world to do so. Maybe they do. In any case, this is nice, too—the sun kissing them while they kiss one another. Sora could close the blinds, he supposes, but he doesn’t really want to. The sun feels good, not overbearing. Not too much. Just right, like Riku, only not as sweet and nowhere near as hot either—not when Riku gets like this, anyway.
They part for air long moments later, and Sora realizes his lips are tingling. He wants to kiss Riku again, but he also wants an actual answer, because he can’t do what Riku has in mind if he doesn’t know what it is, can he? Of course not.
“Tell me,” he whispers, not exactly urgently, for perhaps the sun has made both of them lazy, but he still wants to know. He wants to know because he doesn’t know—can’t even guess at it, really, though some part of him knows that whatever it is, he’ll like it.
“Tell you what?” Riku replies, and his smile is lazy too—as lazy as the second gentle tug on Sora’s tie, and as lazy as the sudden sweet movement of his lips against Sora’s once more. Sora knows that the older teen is teasing, just as he always does. The teasing is nothing new; it’s been part of what they have – part of the two of them together, as a whole - since they were little. It’s simply how Riku is, and how they are. It’s gentle and sweet and welcoming in its own way and Sora feels secure in it, like he’s coming home every single time he looks at Riku.
It’s familiar and uplifting and real and beautiful, that careless little smile that still plays at the corners of Riku’s lips even when they break apart yet again, like there’s no difference: smile-kiss-smile, and it’s all the same but it’s not quite the same (it is both one and the other at once, even though the two are opposites), because the instant they aren’t kissing again is the instant that Sora wants them to be kissing again, but that smile (lazy and carefree and untroubled) bids him to set the need for kissing aside in momentary favor of the need to see Riku as he is now, all teasing smiles and mussed hair and rumpled clothes and long limbs and gentle fingers that are currently in Sora’s hair, softly petting.
“You know what,” Sora tells him, poking an accusing finger at Riku before tapping his nose with that same finger, forcing his lover to look down, cross-eyed. It makes him snicker, but he is also unrelenting—won’t give in and forget that easily, because he needs Riku to tell him what he wants.
Okay, so maybe ‘needs’ is a little too strong of a word, because Sora has a few ideas, so it’s not exactly a shot in the dark, but he wants to know Riku’s idea so that both of their ideas can merge, melding together and forming something with seemingly no beginning and no end—a perfect circle. An unmovable target, impossible to miss, because it would be one they’ve made together, with knowing hands and lovingly-whispered words.
Riku doesn’t answer. He just keeps looking at Sora with that smile of his, which widens just a little, his eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement. Another tug at the stupid tie, and Sora follows it willingly, without any sort of protest despite the fact that he wants to pout because Riku is being evil and evasive by not telling him what he wants to know.
Their lips don’t quite meet this time, but their tongues do, and Sora tastes sunlight and he tastes Riku and he moans, lashes fluttering against his cheeks as his heart mimics the same motion within his chest—fluttering, but not unpleasantly. Almost distantly, he thinks that he would like to taste skin again. Riku’s skin, and the sun on Riku’s skin. Yeah, that had been nice.
And he’s letting himself get distracted again.
“Oh no you don’t,” he breathes as he draws back for the third time, trying to glare at the silver-haired teen and mostly failing, because he doesn’t feel quite focused enough to manage a glare right now (Riku and the sun have gone to his head, he supposes). “You have to tell me or I won’t do anything~.” It’s an empty threat, and Riku knows it just as well as he does, but he hopes that Riku will be nice and humor him.
Surprisingly, he does.
Riku pulls him close again, though by the hips this time—pulls him close until their lower bodies are flush and Sora can feel Riku’s arousal against his own, and it’s almost perfect, save for the layers of clothing separating them.
“This should give you a hint as to what I want,” Riku tells him, and his smile is still lazy, though there’s something else in it now, too—something almost primal and yet sweet, too, like honey. How such a small thing as a smile could be so much at once escapes Sora’s logic (and the fact that his blood is currently too busy rushing elsewhere could also be a factor in his lack of an ability to think perfectly clearly at the moment), but Riku has gotten very good at making completely opposite things work well together. Like now, for instance. And like when he can be both fierce and gentle at once.
“It does give me a hint,” Sora agrees with a low moan, his hips grinding down against Riku’s without his permission, though he makes no effort to stop the motion, because said motion causes friction and the friction is achingly good. Still too many clothes, but they can deal with that soon. “But I want more than a hint.”
Admittedly, the fact that Riku is hard and is rocking his hips against Sora’s is a little more than a hint, but Sora figures that he can’t be blamed for wanting to hear more—for wanting to hear exactly what it is that his lover desires him to do. And Sora would do anything for him—anything that Riku asked, or didn’t ask. Hell, Sora had gone to the ends of the worlds to find him, after all, and Riku hadn’t asked him to. He believes that when part of yourself is missing, you simply have to go and find it, and that was how he thought of it back then, too.
“I want you,” Riku elaborates, his hips still steadily moving, rocking upwards against Sora’s, in no rush at all. They don’t have to rush, not today. Not with the sunlight shining on them like this, making them almost lethargic, but still needy. Still wanting.
“More,” Sora whispers when their cocks brush together again. He whispers because he doesn’t quite trust his voice for anything more than a whisper right now. He also isn’t certain if he means that he wants more friction or more skin or more words, though it is possible that he wants all three—more heated friction, only against naked skin that is aglow with the light of the sun, and more words because he wants more details. He wants Riku to tell him everything, or get as close to telling him everything that he can before both of them grow entirely too impatient and decide to forget about words and rely on actions instead.
“I don’t want all of our clothes off,” Riku continues, fingers curling around Sora’s tie and tugging yet again, bringing their mouths closer, and his next words are hoarsely spoken against Sora’s lips: “I want to have to slide my hands under your shirt to touch your skin. Naked from the waist down is all I want, Sora. And we’ll throw the clothes in the wash after. Just….” He trails off, rocking his hips again and moaning. “And I want you on top.”
Sora shudders at those words, parting his lips just so that he can dart his tongue out and lick at Riku’s lips, which are still half-parted and not at all resisting. He dips in for a taste before withdrawing, almost panting against Riku’s mouth as the older teen’s fingers slide under his shirt and brush against bare skin. “You… want me to ride you?” he asks, pulling back a little more just so he can see Riku’s eyes, which are dark and almost hazy. Sora knows without a doubt that the look in those eyes mirrors his own.
Riku shakes his head and Sora frowns uncomprehendingly, because hadn’t Riku just said….?
“I want you on top, inside of me,” Riku clarifies, and Sora swears that his brain stops functioning for a full minute (or more) at those words. Everything comes to a standstill—his heart skips a beat and his breath freezes almost painfully in his lungs and his hips stop their rhythmic grinding, all because of those words. Riku is asking him to be the one in control, and even though his hips are still bucking upwards against Sora’s, he is still in that same lazy sprawl he’d been in moments ago.
When everything starts moving again and Sora releases the breath he’d been holding in a soft but long exhalation, the only thing he can think to say is, “You’re sure?” Or rather, that’s the first thing he can think to say—perhaps not the best thing, but as it is his first thought, it is the one that reaches his lips and then open air first. The moment he says it, he almost wishes he’d bitten his tongue to keep those particular words inside, because he knows that Riku wouldn't tell him that he wants something when he really doesn’t. Besides that, it isn’t like Sora hasn’t been inside of Riku before; it’s just been a while is all, and maybe that makes Sora a little nervous, but he thinks that maybe his eagerness will more than make up for it: His cock throbs (trapped in too many layers of clothing) at the thought of being surrounded by Riku again—of being in him and over him and feeling him all around and watching him lose control of himself.
Riku rolls his eyes as if Sora has asked the silliest question ever (and maybe it’s not the silliest, but it certainly ranks up there with the top five) and he rolls his hips up, still showing absolutely no sign of being in any hurry at all. The action steals Sora’s breath away, and is more convincing than words could ever be. Of course I’m sure, you dork, is what that one simple movement says, and Sora wants to kick himself for even thinking otherwise, even if only for a millisecond. He’s never claimed to be the most sound-minded individual, and sometimes he worries too much. Worries like Riku, only in different situations—he worries if he’s doing things right or wrong and if he should ask for forgiveness or not when he isn’t as gentle as he’d intended to be, and Riku understands all of this; he understands and he does not demand apologies or anything else except what Sora gives him. He’s always sweet smiles and soft reassurances, just like Sora is for him when he’s lost in his own little dark world. They have to pull each other out, sometimes.
Sora wouldn’t have it any other way, really. For all of their insecurities (about themselves, about their world and all of the other worlds in general, and about the little things that don’t really matter in the long run anyway), they found some way to balance out each other, somehow—to bring one another away from the edge of the unknown and back into the welcoming warmth of arms that had always been home for them since the very beginning, though neither of them had realized it until much later (until they’d stood on opposite sides of the battle field; until they’d nearly lost one another and Kairi; until they’d reconciled in their own fashion and had stood together once more on the same side, just as they were meant to).
Sora knows what Riku wants—Riku’s expressed that want to him, and Sora knows that he shouldn’t feel like he should have to hesitate or even ask. They’ve done this before, and there isn’t anything to be nervous about. He hadn’t exactly asked out of nervousness, though; he’d simply asked for confirmation that he hadn’t really needed. In any case, Sora knows that he is thinking too much when he shouldn’t be, again. Thinking when he ought to be acting, and Riku is open and willing and waiting for him, silver hair splayed over the pillow (he hasn’t cut it yet, and Sora kind of hopes that he won’t, because he likes having all of that hair to tangle his fingers into and tug), sunlight playing in its strands, weaving through it and making it shine a little more than usual.
“I’m sorry,” Sora breathes, leaning down and nuzzling at Riku’s sun-touched hair, inhaling the scent of it—of sunlight and of Riku, and now he knows that sunlight has a smell as well as a taste. It’s clean; pure. Giving in its own way. Like Riku. He wants to tell Riku this—that he likes the way the sun tastes and smells on him; he wants to tell him that he thinks Riku and the sun are very similar in a lot of ways, but he isn’t sure how to get the words from his mind to his tongue. They make more sense in his mind, and he knows that if he were to try to explain, Riku would understand in the way that he’s always been able to understand, even when Sora has said nothing.
But Sora doesn’t try to say it, and he apologizes for that too—for not saying what he means to say when he really wants to explain. Maybe the explanation isn’t necessary, though, because Riku is smiling again: that affectionate, half-amused smile that’s mixed with so much want, and Sora can’t ignore it. He can’t set it aside and leave it be like he can leave the words that won’t quite work their way from his mind to his throat to his tongue to the heated air between them. Then again, he’s never really been able to ignore Riku at all (not that he’s really tried, except for when he studies, but that often doesn’t work either).
He inhales again, sunlight and Riku and love and humor and home and all good, sweet, things. An extension of those lazy summer days even though it’s not summer anymore and they ought to be in class, ought to be in class, but that isn’t the important thing right now, is it? Riku takes priority, as is evidenced by the fact that Sora is at home right now—he is home and grinding against Riku just like this is the weekend and they have until Monday to get lost in one another.
This isn’t the weekend, though; it’s Monday, but still. But still.
Riku presses warm fingers to the back of Sora’s neck, gently massaging, until Sora feels almost like he’s boneless, and he knows without question that he is forgiven. “It’s not anything to be sorry about,” Riku informs him, and those fingers slide up and into his hair, massaging his scalp as well. “You know that, by now. You don’t have to ask if I’m sure, and then you don’t have to apologize afterward if you do ask.”
“I know,” Sora replies, and it comes out as more of a half-moan than anything else, courtesy of Riku and his talented fingers. He knows he doesn’t have to apologize for the silly things he says sometimes (or… more often than ‘sometimes’), but he does it without thinking, just like he sometimes (or maybe a little more often than that) says silly things without thinking. It’s just one of those things that seems to be part of him – part of who he is – and he can’t quite make it just go away, no matter how much he’d like to.
Riku understands, anyway, always has, and that’s enough for Sora. It’s enough to dispel a little of that unnecessary worry. He knows he doesn’t have to try so hard—doesn’t have to backpedal and try to erase the tracks that he’s made in the sand. He doesn’t have to try so hard to explain the images in his mind when they seemingly refuse to transpose themselves into words, because he knows that Riku understands the words that are spoken – but not really spoken – in the silence, too.
“You know I love you, too,” Riku murmurs, and he doesn’t say it too terribly often, but Sora knows that he means it. It’s one of those things that Sora just simply knows, like one knows to breathe in order to sustain life. It’s not something one has to think about: it’s just there. It exists, and it always has, and that is more than enough.
“Mm,” Sora replies, and that’s not exactly an answer, so he clarifies (because even though he knows that Riku knows his response, he wants it to be a little more than one syllable): “I love you.” Then he draws back, grinning down at Riku as his fingers begin to work on undoing the belt that Riku is wearing. “Remove just the ‘necessary’ clothing, right? Naked from the waist down?”
Riku nods, lifting his hips once his belt has been undone and his pants have been unbuttoned and unzipped. “That’s how I want it to be—us to be, yeah.” He wriggles a little when Sora prompts him to do so, and Sora tugs pants and boxers down together, tugs them down and off and tosses them to the floor. They’ll retrieve them later, when they are less occupied. For now, Sora is happy to forget about their existence.
Then his hands are roaming over bare skin, lightly touching here, not-so-lightly touching there, skimming up Riku’s thighs and making him shiver. So much power Sora holds in his hands, every single time he’s with Riku like this. Not the power of being the ‘dominant’ one in a sexual situation, but… something else. Something that he can’t explain but it’s there nevertheless. Riku shares that power, though, just like he always has. Sora can make Riku shiver with a touch, but Riku can make Sora feel like all of his breath and his energy have left him, with nothing more than a look. It’s shared power—checks and balances and all that, and Sora is overwhelmingly happy with it.
The skin of Riku’s thighs is warm, and now that it is bare, the sun is playing along it, too; caressing, like Sora’s fingers, almost as intimate as the touch of a lover, perhaps. Maybe that is a strange thought, but Sora’s mind is always easily befuddled when it comes to the older teen. Words and ideas that might not make sense in any language at all and most likely would not be understood by even a scholar of sound mind often swirl around in Sora’s head when he’s with Riku.
But then again, love has its own language, right? Love has the capability to make a well-grounded man lose his sanity, and if that is truly the case, then Sora doesn’t miss his ability to articulate or to ration in the least.
Besides, he only needs one person to truly understand him, and Riku does that already. Riku has always done that, and it’s enough. Sora doesn’t have to make sense to the rest of the world or even to himself, because Riku knows and he understands the words that Sora does and does not say. He understands the meaning behind every touch, behind every look, and that is all that Sora has ever needed. Or wanted, really, if he’s perfectly honest with himself.
One of Sora’s hands travels further up and in, wrist and palm ‘accidentally’ brushing against skin that is much warmer, and not because of the sun, either. He does it again, giving Riku the touch of his fingers this time, though it is no less brief. And maybe he’s being a little cruel but he can’t help himself. He knows that Riku will forgive him for this, too.
“Sora.” Even Riku’s voice is warm, somehow, and it is both tangible and untouchable at the same time. It isn’t visible, but it seems to wash over Sora in not-quite-there waves, making him almost moan at the intensity of that heat.
“Yes?” Sora asks, trying to sound unaffected but he’s never been good at pretending, not really. His fingers brush over the head, smearing the pre-cum and making that soft, slick skin glisten. He wants to make Riku’s cock glisten more, with his lips and his tongue and his throat, but that can happen later, because Riku wants more than Sora’s mouth on him—he wants Sora in him, and Sora is all too eager to give him what he desires.
Riku lifts his hips again, and Sora watches, mesmerized, as shadows and sunlight shift on his bare skin, touching him in places that neither was touching a moment ago. “Touch me,” he whispers, and it’s a breathless half-plea, half-command—one and the other; both at once.
Sora gives in to it, because he has never been able to resist Riku and he has never wanted to. He gives in and he touches, feeling the combined heat of Riku and the sun, and his fingers curl and squeeze, and when Riku moans, Sora echoes it. “Touching you,” he says, though it doesn’t have to be said, and he squeezes again, a little harder this time, just to hear Riku repeat that same sound—which he does, only in a slightly lower pitch.
“Yeah,” Riku groans, hips bucking, pushing into Sora’s tightly-curled fist. “You could make me come just like this. Just… letting me move in your fist.” His hips move down and up again, and Sora joins in the movement, stroking Riku slowly, still in no rush at all. Perhaps lying together in the sun like this has done something to them—perhaps it has made them less urgent than they usually would be.
Sora’s done it before; he’s made Riku come just by sliding palm and fingers along his cock, slow at first and then faster as he pushed Riku closer and closer to orgasm. He’s made him come with his mouth, too. Not to mention his fingers, inside of Riku, brushing against Riku’s prostate. Oh, yes, he’s made Riku come like that, too, fingers and mouth working in unison to send Riku over the edge.
Tempting ideas, all of them, but Riku’s already told him what he wants, and Sora will not stray from that. He shakes his head, nipping lightly at Riku’s bottom lip before uncurling his fingers, sliding them under Riku’s shirt and splaying them flat over his belly instead (and suddenly he understands why his lover wants to keep their shirts on, because there is something rather appealing about having to maneuver around – under – fabric just to touch). “Later, Riku,” he replies, moving his hand further up, letting his fingers brush over one nipple and then the other, enjoying the way Riku’s breath stutters as he does so. “Maybe after we get our lazy asses in the shower, hmm?”
“Maybe I’ll want it the other way around, after that,” Riku says, and though his words are teasing, there’s a seriousness in his eyes that does not go unnoticed. “Maybe I’ll kiss you everywhere—slide my tongue into you and make you squirm.”
The mental image and the memory of that are enough to make Sora’s cock throb painfully, though for all of his want right now, he still doesn’t have any desire to rush through this. They aren’t in some dark alley; they’re in Sora’s bed, and there’s no chance of anyone walking in on them at the moment. This is their extended weekend, and they have as much time as they need right now.
“That sounds like a very good plan to me,” Sora tells Riku, and his words are sincere and husky, something low in his stomach twisting like it can’t wait, but he knows it can. He’s tried his patience before, and waiting really does make things that much sweeter in the end. He can be patient here and now, too, just like he has been before. And Riku is looking up at him with that familiar smile again, and that makes it easier to wait. To let things move as slowly as they currently are: lazy, sun-drenched caresses and languid, humid kisses. A break for air, and then it starts all over again, a slow spiral that gradually blossoms into something else, something that lodges sharp and quick below Sora’s navel and demands. He doesn’t ignore it, but he doesn’t bother to quicken the pace in order to placate that sharp and coiling need low in his belly, either.
Fingers brush against one clavicle and then the other, and Sora blatedly realizes that Riku’s tie is missing, and he wonders where it is, eyes darting around in a half-hearted search for it. He smiles when he finds it looped over one of the bedposts and then he shakes his head, not remembering when Riku had discarded the tie in the first place, though he supposes that that doesn’t really matter right now.
Riku brings him back to the moment that they’ve lost themselves in with a gentle brush of his fingers against Sora’s cheek, and Sora leans into it, almost purring as his eyes close. “Would even let you take me in the shower,” he murmurs, toes curling when Riku shifts, the older teen’s thigh brushing against his groin through the fabric of his pants and boxers. It takes him a moment to continue, because even that slight contact has left him without breath and without thought processes adequate enough to make his words leave his tongue. “… Would let you hold me with my wrists pinned above my head. Would keep my eyes open for you, because I know you like to watch, and--”
Riku cuts him off with a groan and a light nip to his throat, which instantly makes Sora’s pulse speed a little. “God, Sora,” he breathes, and that’s all he says; it’s apparently all he can manage, but those ocean-colored eyes are already saying everything that Sora wants and needs to hear, anyway: I need you; I want you; I love you; I’ve given you all that I am and ever will be; please. So many words—so many emotions, in just a look.
Sora rocks his hips down, slow and sweet, like the sunrise, like the first rays peeking into the window, and they moan in unison, fingers scrabbling for purchase and finding it in double-handfuls of their white shirts. Sora can feel the heat of Riku even through his clothes, and he wants to feel more of that heat on his skin—more sun and more Riku. The ache is growing, getting sharper and harder to push aside, but Sora will control it for as long as he possibly can. He’ll savor this—savor Riku like this, tousled hair and half-closed eyes (that see everything anyway) and curved lips and bare and not-bare skin, radiant and beautiful and real, in Sora’s bed, tangled in Sora’s sheets.
Sora leans down (without being prompted to do so this time), pressing soft kisses to Riku’s eyelids, and he almost snickers when he feels Riku’s lashes tickle his bottom lip. He is such a sap sometimes, and he knows it, but Riku never tells him to stop, and Sora loves him all the more for that. He can be as stupidly, girlishly sappy as he wants, and he knows that Riku will never shun him for it, because when they are like this, Riku can also be stupidly, girlishly sappy. It all balances out; it always does and it always has, between them.
Riku’s fingers (which are still gripping firmly onto Sora’s shirt) uncurl and travel lower, over Sora’s belly, and Sora moans and presses down again, certain that he is urging those hands on, urging them lower. They stop before Sora expects or wants them to, and Sora almost asks Riku to not stop, but then Riku starts fumbling with Sora’s belt and the brunette understands, his own hands moving to assist his lover.
It still seems like things are going in slow-motion—like it takes much longer than it actually does for them to undo Sora’s belt and then his pants and shove them (and his boxers) down his legs. It’s fitting, though, the slowed-time. It’s well worth the wait, too, because as soon as his pants and boxers have joined Riku’s on the floor, there is more heat: The sun is dancing over Sora’s skin now, too, and Riku is pulling him down until their lower bodies are flush and then Riku is moving again, doing that grinding thing and Sora feels like he’s melting or like he’s combusting or doing both at once. The heat between them and around them is nearly stifling but it’s perfect, and that sharp-painful-needy-achy-demand doesn’t seem so sharp anymore, and yet seems even sharper somehow; perhaps the sun and Riku have something (or everything) to do with this.
Riku slides his fingers into Sora’s hair, and his mouth is hot and wet against Sora’s jaw as he breathes, “Now, yeah? I can have you now?” His hips haven’t even stopped moving and Sora is afraid that if they keep going like that, he’ll come before he’s inside of his lover, which isn’t exactly an unwanted scenario, but it’s not what either of them has in mind at this point in time, and so before Sora can let himself get thoroughly distracted (to the point of not caring how they orgasm just as long as they do) by the leisurely press and slide of Riku’s hips, he nods and moves his hands down, simply to still those deliciously torturous movements for a moment so that he can think.
“Yeah,” he replies, the word almost getting caught in his throat thanks to the way Riku is currently looking at him, ocean-colored eyes just barely visible beneath his lashes, but the hunger is there, in those beautiful eyes of his, and in the curve of his lips and the flush of his cheeks. It’s in his body language, too—he is so very sure, so very trusting of Sora, even when Sora might not trust himself anywhere near that much. He’s learned, though, with Riku. They’ve learned together about trusting in others and trusting in one’s self. Sometimes it’s harder to trust yourself than it is to trust the one who’s got your back—who’ll be by your side, come what may. They’ve taught one another this very important lesson: trust yourself.
Sora trusts Riku like this, trusts him implicitly, whether Riku is being top or bottom (because both involve giving of oneself, really), and he trusts himself, too; he trusts himself to be what Riku needs him to be and to give to Riku what the older teen desires. At first, that had been a seemingly impossible task. He hadn’t trusted himself to begin with, though he’d trusted Riku. Now, both of them have grown a little more and have learned a little (a lot, in truth) more about relationships, and about how it’s just as important to trust yourself as it is to trust your partner.
Without even really thinking about it, Sora finds himself reaching for the oil (that has not yet been touched) and opens it, squeezing some out onto his fingers (too much, actually, because some of it dribbles down onto Riku’s thigh). The sun has warmed it, just like it has helped to warm their bodies, but Sora still rubs his thumb over the liquid anyway, spreading it somewhat evenly over three of his fingers before teasingly trailing those fingers between Riku’s thighs, nearly losing it when his lover makes a soft almost-gasp and presses down, urging his fingers to push inside.
Sora’s breath stills, getting stuck somewhere between nose and lungs—in the bronchi, or perhaps a little higher than that, in the trachea. In any case, his breath freezes but his fingers move, circling just as deliberately slowly as he wishes, because even though Riku wants (even though both of them do), it’s still okay, like this… this gradual build, this slow burn. It’s perfect like this, sweet and unhurried and filled with sun and the unhidden light in eyes that are ocean-colored. Sunlight on water. Perfect.
He lets one finger slip in up to the first knuckle, releases the breath that’s frozen within him without providing his body with much-needed oxygen before drawing in another deep, steadying breath—body should be happy now. Much-needed oxygen delivered, though there is a matter which is of higher importance (in Sora’s opinion) that he is currently tending to.
Riku makes a small sound and Sora’s eyes dart back up to the other teen’s face (he’d been watching the rise and fall of his chest without even realizing it). He stills momentarily, afraid that perhaps he’s suddenly causing Riku some discomfort, but the look on his lover’s face tells him nothing but the contrary. He is not in pain, and so Sora does not stop. He continues to push his index finger in until it’s fully embedded in Riku before adding a second finger, pressing and probing and scissoring and stretching and twisting his wrist until Riku’s breath is coming hard and fast, chest practically heaving. The sounds he is making now leave no doubts plaguing the younger teen’s mind: All that Riku is feeling now is pleasure; it’s just a matter of readjusting to things that one has already become familiar with, really.
Sora curls his fingers and presses again, a little harder this time and with more purpose, finding by memory the spot that he’s searching for, and when Riku hisses and bucks his hips down onto his fingers, thighs quivering and cock jumping, Sora bites down on his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood and takes another deep breath (in through the nose, out through the mouth) because if he doesn’t, he’s afraid that his self-control won’t be able to handle the onslaught, and he would much prefer holding onto the remnants of it, because as silly and sentimental as it sounds even in his own mind, he wants nothing more than to make love to Riku right now, in the warmth of the sun and the warmth between them that they’ve built together for years.
A third finger joins the first and second, and suddenly Riku’s fingers are weaving into his hair, gently tugging, and Sora is tilting his head back, welcoming the mouth on his neck even though the angle is a bit weird and he has to move his hand to keep his fingers where they are, lest they slip out with Riku’s movement.
“Want,” Riku breathes, licking at Sora’s Adam’s apple and making him shiver. The shiver has nothing to do with the temperature—it’s nowhere near chilly in here. “Want you in me, nice and slow; we’ve got time. We’ve got time.” He says it like it’s an epiphany of sorts: like’s he’s only just now realizing that they do have time; like he’s only just beginning to understand that they are warm and safe and whole and together here, and even though memories (good and bad) will follow them and guilt will sometimes weigh on Riku’s shoulders even when it shouldn’t, their hands are clasped. They stand together, facing an uncertain future, and Riku is telling him that they have time: a precious commodity which they’ve seemed to have very little of lately.
Sora figuratively melts and he nods, still feeling Riku’s lips and breath soft and warm on his skin. “We do,” he agrees, and then he withdraws his fingers from Riku’s body, threatening to come unglued again because of the little hiss that Riku makes when he does so. And before Riku can say or do anything further, Sora reaches for the oil again, squeezing a rather generous (more than necessary, he’s sure, but better more than not enough) onto his palm and wrapping his fingers around his own arousal, swallowing hard and trying not to arch into his own touch.
Not that Riku’s helping, what with the way he’s suddenly leaning back against the pillows again, a knowing smile plastered on his face. His eyes are filled with appreciation and other things, and he says, voice soft and utterly sincere, “I love watching you touch yourself, Sora.”
And then Sora can’t help but buck into his own hand, though he does so without even sparing a second thought to it. Riku tends to do that—he’s very good at short-circuiting Sora’s thought processes. Thought is overrated anyway, and really isn’t needed here at the moment, right?
“Riku.” His mouth is dry, and he wants to kiss Riku again—partly to remedy the problem and partly (well, mostly, really) just for the sake of kissing him and feeling those lips against his own again.
But Sora resists and continues spreading the oil over his cock, trying not to get too terribly distracted by the way that Riku is gazing at him, like he’ll never get enough of watching Sora do this—like it’s all he’s ever wanted, and if Sora lets himself think like this, then he’ll come long before he’s ready; he’ll have his release before he’s even inside of Riku, and that certainly isn’t how he wants this scenario to play out.
His lover is apparently determined to distract him as much as possible, however, which both delights and frustrates Sora. The feel of Riku’s hand on his length – fingers curling and linking with his own, helping Sora stroke himself even though it’s not necessary – is heavenly, and Sora always loves it when Riku touches him like this, but goddamnit, the silver-haired teen is trying his already-frayed patience. Perhaps that is Riku’s intent—to make Sora so needy that he simply gives in and takes and forgets all about moving sweet and slowly and fluidly. Maybe Riku wants to see if he can make Sora forget about pausing to feel the sun on their skin, and maybe he’s trying to see if he can make Sora forget all about pushing into him carefully, taking his precious time so that Riku can feel every single inch of him, all the way to the very base.
While Riku can quite easily derail Sora’s train of thought and can easily persuade him to do things that Sora typically would not do (at least, not without a lot of persuasion—like skipping class today; usually that would require a lot of persuasion), Sora refuses to let it be easy for him to make him forget Very Important Plans like the one he has in mind right now. He’s still going to take his time making love to Riku—at least until the point that his body absolutely will not cooperate with him any longer, and only at that point will he let all of his self-control slip. Only at that point will he forget about the incandescent beauty of the sun as land and sky crash together. Not before then. Not now.
Sora moans, hips shoving upwards of their own accord before he can stop the motion, his sight going completely unfocused for a moment (totally Riku’s fault). “Riku,” he says again, but with purpose this time, “you’ve got to stop, or I’ll come before I’m inside of you.” He lightly swats his lover’s hand away, and Riku surprisingly lets him, resting his now-oil-slicked hand on his thigh and looking up at Sora questioningly.
“Who says we can’t do both?” he breathes, and Sora groans again, shaking his head as if to clear it. Not part of the plan, not part of the plan, not part of the plan. He has to admit, though, that it is possible. But it isn’t part of the plan and no matter how interested Sora might be in this little proposition, he refuses to let himself follow through with it for the time-being. Perhaps later. There are many, many other things that he wants to do, after all.
“We can,” he agrees, uncurling his fingers from his cock with some effort and positioning himself easily between Riku’s spread thighs. “Later, though; not right now. Right now, I just want…. I just want to be in you, okay?”
Riku’s smile is as sweet as it had been earlier—sunlight and sugar-sweet, and he nods, thighs falling open a little wider. “Okay.” There is a brief pause, in which neither of them says anything and the silver-haired boy seems to be contemplating something. And then, he says, “How do you want me, Sora? You sure you want me like this? Or would you rather have me on my hands and knees? On my side?”
Again with the tempting ideas, but yet again, they can be saved for later—a time which is not right now. Sora wants Riku like this right now. He wants to be able to see Riku’s face; he wants to see every single expression in his features and he wants to see the way his mouth curves into a small ‘o’ when he hits just the right spot. He wants to see everything, and so this is exactly how he wants Riku right now: on his back, legs spread. He’s pretty sure that his lover knows this, too, but is asking simply to torture him even more than he already has. He can be so very unfair sometimes, but Sora would be lying if he said he didn’t love it.
Sora presses closer, the head of his cock brushing against Riku’s entrance, tearing moans from the both of them. Skating his lips wetly along Riku’s throat again, once more tasting sun and the sweetness of his lover’s skin, Sora replies: “I want you like this, Riku, just like this.” Then he’s really pressing forward and in, and it’s slow, just like he mentally promised it would be. One inch at a time, toes curling with each inward press, breath snagging painfully at the way Riku’s hands suddenly have fistfuls of his shirt in a deathgrip. The way he groans and arches beneath him even makes Sora forget how to breathe altogether for a moment, only remembering to draw breath again when he starts to see strange speckles of darkness at the edges of his vision—not shadows exactly, but tiny reminders that his brain and the rest of his body needs oxygen.
So Sora inhales against Riku’s neck, pausing in his movements just long enough to fill his lungs and (mostly) empty them again. Repeat the process, and he’s moving again, settling the weight of his upper body on his forearms as he pushes in again and again, until he’s fully sheathed within the silver-haired teen, and then he realizes that he’s panting at this point, and he makes a conscious effort to slow down his breathing like he’s slowed down everything else. He thinks of sunrise and waking from naps and from longer slumbers wrapped in Riku’s arms and he smiles. Slow and steady in and out, in and out, and this isn’t hard at all as long as he’s consciously controlling it.
Sora props himself up, gazing down at Riku again, and he realizes he’s mistaken: breathing isn’t easy at all right now, even if he concentrates on it. His next breath is taken away before the blood in his lungs has had the chance to move back to his heart so that said blood (and oxygen) can circulate through his body, and it’s because of Riku—Riku and the look in those depthless eyes. There’s so much emotion there; there’s so much trust (as always) and fondness and adoration and desirewantneedlust. It’s the three former emotions that make Sora’s heart figuratively – and maybe even literally – leap within his chest. It’s the latter four-in-one that sends a fresh wave of heat straight to his groin. It’s the combination of all of them that makes him see those odd little spots again.
Riku understands—knows right away without Sora having to breathe words that he doesn’t have the air for anyway, and he cups Sora’s cheek, fingers lovingly caressing his skin. “Breathe for me,” he whispers, shifting back and then forward so that Sora slides out of him a little and then back in again, deep. That small motion alone makes Sora’s head reel and makes him inhale (quicksharpburning). A second later and Riku is kissing him deeply, stealing his breath away again, though in a more active way this time, and Sora likes this way even better.
Then they are moving together—really moving, in perfect accord. Hips and mouths and hands know this song by heart now, and they easily find and keep their rhythm, lips separating for air whilst hips rock together. The only real difficulty is keeping it at the slow pace that both of them want, because muscles scream for more and ache and tremble with the force of restraint. It’s not easy keeping it slow when Riku is staring up at him and meeting his every thrust, forehead and neck and arms and thighs glistening with the finest sheen of sweat and lips bee-stung and wet. It’s not easy keeping it slow when Riku shoves up a little harder and Sora’s eyes practically roll back in his head, the pleasure making him completely forget himself for a moment. It’s not easy keeping it slow when Riku makes those noises for him or whispers his name with every other breath. It’s not easy keeping it slow when Riku closes his eyes and kisses him again, managing to somehow be both forceful and gentle at once—taking but giving too, tongue pushing past unresisting lips and freely exploring the heat within, thrusting and rubbing, mimicking the motion of their hips.
Sora isn’t sure if closing his eyes helps to keep his impatience at bay or if the action only serves to throw more wood into the already-brightly-burning flame. In a sense, it lessens the urgency, because without sight, Sora only has to focus on the fluid motions of their hips. On the other hand, the lack of sight only amplifies everything else: the shirts covering their torsos are in the way, blocking skin, until clever hands slide beneath Sora’s shirt again, fingers caressing his nipples in touches that almost aren’t even there, and Sora thinks that if his eyes were open, he wouldn’t be able to feel as much. He thinks maybe he wouldn’t be so intently focused on the heat of Riku’s cock, which brushes against his abdomen each and every time they move. He thinks that maybe he wouldn’t be so focused on Riku’s wet kisses or the way that their lips don’t really quite part completely when they pause in between kisses simply to draw breath (in this way, they share breath).
When he opens his eyes, though, there’s danger there too, simply by allowing himself to look at Riku. He feels like he’s drowning every time he looks into those eyes the color of the ocean, and he doesn’t want to struggle against it—it’s warm here, and safe. The water is warmed by the sun, and there’s a warmth in those eyes that has nothing to do with the physical, but the emotional: Sora knows he is loved, and it makes his heart ache.
Even the most innocent of things – Riku’s hair, for instance – is a horrible distraction. Each time Sora looks at it, he again notices the way the sunlight catches in it and plays over and through it, making it shine brighter than it normally would. It makes Sora think of crystal for some reason, and then his eyes never fail to wander back to Riku’s face. There, he becomes mesmerized again and he lets himself drown—no cares at all except this: Riku’s hands and eyes and hair and mouth and hips (which Sora is suddenly gripping tightly, though he doesn’t remember moving his hands to do so), and they are working steadily to undo him—to unravel his patience until there is nothing left.
Sora doesn’t mind, really. Some part of him would just like to pretend that he does.
He shifts, pushing in harder than before to pay Riku back for his earlier shove upwards, and he knows he’s found that spot when Riku gasps, hips stuttering before stilling altogether for a moment or two, which is just fine by Sora. He can do all of the moving for a little while, and that’s exactly what he proceeds to do: he draws back and pushes in and repeats the motion again and again, making sure that he brushes against Riku’s prostate each time, and by the seventh thrust, Riku is moaning complete nonsense, and Sora’s patience slips a little more. Perhaps it’s okay to give in now; they’ve been going slowly, after all, just as planned. Just as desired.
And now, Sora’s body really wants a little more speed.
Once again, Riku understands what Sora doesn’t say and he nods wordlessly, tangling the fingers of both hands into the brunette’s hair and pulling him in for another knee-weakening, mind-blowing kiss. Their lips haven’t even parted before Sora begins picking up the pace, and then Riku begins moving again, finding Sora’s rhythm and matching it perfectly. Sora knows that neither of them will be able to hold on long, not considering this new rhythm they’ve begun, but Sora is perfectly okay with that, too. They’ve held on long enough. It’s okay to let patience and self-control and that slow sweetness fall by the wayside.
This is still sweet, after all—only in a different way.
Hips rock together, self-control lost (and they have no desire to look for it), mouths searching for and finding more heat, be it in the form of the other’s mouth or in the form of sweat-dampened skin. Sora can feel Riku’s fingers digging into his back, through his shirt, and the pain is only slight—it doesn’t take away from the pleasure they’re building between them. In its own way, perhaps it even adds to it. So Sora doesn’t protest when he feels those hands slip underneath the back of his shirt or when he feels blunt nails pressing into his flesh. Nor does he protest when he feels the hint of teeth scraping along his throat (it makes him forget all about breathing again until he feels ridiculously dizzy), and then Riku’s lips are pressed against his own again and Riku is sharing breath and more sun and that same sweetness he’d tasted earlier, like molasses or honey or that melon that Sora can’t seem to remember the name of even though they scramble to pick them during the summer before they’re all gone.
“Touch me,” Riku whispers against Sora’s lips, and there is that familiar edge of desperation to it that lets Sora know his lover is oh so very close. Just a little more, and he’ll come, and while Sora is fully aware that in this position, they’ll wind up making a mess of their shirts, he doesn’t care. They can wash them later, sometime after their next session (in the shower, on the counter in the bathroom, against the wall—hell, Sora isn’t picky) and before his parents come back home. The cleanliness (or lack thereof) of their uniforms is nowhere near the top of his list of priorities at this point in time. Making Riku orgasm, however, is at the very top of that list. Sora knows how to prioritize quite well.
He moves one hand from Riku’s hip to his cock, curling his fingers around it and stroking without any sense of hesitation or even the slightest bit of the leisureliness that he’d felt earlier. The time for slow and teasing is long gone, lost to heat and want and the need to watch Riku fall apart.
A few strong, sure strokes (up and down, down and up, squeeze here, rub there) later, and Riku is tensing and then trembling all over, eyes shutting tight and head falling back against the pillow as he comes. Sora watches for as long as he possibly can, hips stilling momentarily as he gazes down at Riku—at each and every look of pleasure that crosses his face as he loses himself in this (in the two of them together, like this). He’s clenching so hard around Sora that it’s just this side of painful, but yet again, the hint of pain only adds to the pleasure—it twists and morphs and amplifies it, and Sora thinks he just might come without even having to continue thrusting inside of Riku.
Riku surprises him then by shoving up again and forcing Sora in deeper, and it’s not an easy slide, since Riku is still clenching around him. However, that one simple movement – and the friction caused by it – is enough to undo Sora as well, and he can feel Riku’s eyes on him now even though he can’t see them because his own eyes are closed. As much as he would like to, he still can’t hold his eyes open during his orgasm.
They collapse back against the bed together, and after a few moments, Sora almost unwillingly draws back, letting his softening cock slip out of Riku. Then, completely mindless of the mess between them, he curls up beside the older teen, nuzzling against his shoulder. For a long while, neither of them speaks. They simply breathe and hold onto one another, and the silence (save for their ragged breathing and their pounding heartbeats) is perfectly okay with Sora.
“… Wow,” Riku eventually comments, reaching out to run his fingers through Sora’s mussed and sweaty hair. He is grinning like a madman, and he has never looked more beautiful.
“Yeah,” Sora agrees, and finds that he, too, is grinning like an idiot. It’s very easy to do when Riku is around.
When that nagging little voice once again decides to remind him that they ought to be in school, he shuts it out, because these moments – moments when they are close like this and sharing shaky, irregular breaths, their hearts beating in one perfectly lopsided rhythm – are the moments in which Sora truly learns the most. These are the moments in which he can learn without hearing or speaking a single word. The lessons he’s learned with Riku at his side are lessons that will never be touched upon in class.
And Sora knows that right now, they are exactly where they ought to be.
Okay, so could everyone follow my train of thought well enough? XD Did I lose you somewhere? I am well aware that Sora got very rambly, but it is not my fault that the boi had too many thoughts in his poor mind. *LOL*
To be honest, I’m actually quite proud of this one. Maybe I should write fic at ungodly hours all of the time. ^^