Work Text:
Sora fires without hesitation and the arrows fly across the patio like comets, their trails a silver veil of stars that implodes into a supernova upon hitting the bullseye. A perfect shot. And then another and another and another and then Sora runs out of targets and Riku applauds his performance.
“Thank you, thank you.” Sora accepts the praise with extravagant bows, pompous hand gestures and all. Riku has to bite the inside of his cheek to not smile too much.
“Impressive,” Sora straightens up and beams at him; if pride had a colour, it would be the shade of his eyes. Riku should praise him more often; it isn’t like he doesn’t deserve it, “but where did you even learn how to use an arrowgun?”
“It’s not that different from a pistolet.”
That has Riku raising an eyebrow. “And who taught you how to use a pistolet?”
“Jack” after one questioning glance, he adds, “Sparrow.” Which makes sense, because Riku doesn’t want to imagine what firearms in Halloween Town look like, but he guesses they shoot something worse than bullets. “Everyone has a gun in the Caribbean.”
Including Sora, apparently. Which would be intriguing on its own, but turns stupefying once Sora fuses the arrowguns into a magical bazooka bigger than him that he carries over one shoulder like it weighs nothing.
“And this one isn’t much different from a shotgun.” He says, as if Riku didn’t need to grab his jaw from the floor.
“And who-”
“Clayton.”
“The guy that tried to kill you with a shotgun?”
“He was cool at first.” Sora appears to adjust his hold on the wing-shaped grip and Riku detects wistfulness in his words. “The gummiship was broken, so we spent more time in Deep Jungle than anywhere else, since we couldn’t leave.” This story is one Riku knows already, but Sora’s emotions always vary the narration. The first time it was excited and jovial, talking about Jane and Tarzan; other times it was frustrated as he explained his fight with Donald. Now he just sounds detached. “I guess Clayton got tired of me asking questions, so he taught me to keep me entertained.” The bazooka points to the sky, light gathering at the tip. “He said I was a natural.”
The trigger is pulled and the magic condenses into a cannonball that gets rocketed into the air. Riku follows its ascension beyond the pillars and the trees until it explodes in its own cluster of stars. A momentary galaxy before his eyes. If only they had done this at night, the darkness would have emphasised the brightness of each colour. In the middle of the afternoon, twilight still hours away, the improvised fireworks are merely a gleam among the clouds and Riku misses what it could have been. He has been doing that a lot recently. One regret after another. Although, perhaps it’s better this way. With the sun gone the flickering magic would have resembled a meteor shower and that’s the last thing his heart needs to remember.
“Any other secret abilities you are keeping from me?” He asks and he hopes his voice comes out nonchalant.
“A few.” The bazooka gets engulfed in light, shrinking and separating again into the two arrowguns. “One of them is that I’m an excellent teacher.” Sora offers him one of them with a winning smile. “Come on, try it out.” He beckons and Riku is, as expected, weak to his demands.
As with any other of Sora’s formchanges or keyblades in general, the arrowgun looks more like a plastic toy than an actual weapon. With its sparkling star, wing motif, soft blues and radiant yellows, the firearm is as unthreatening as can be. Riku for sure wouldn’t lift his arms up if someone pointed it at him in a dark alley. Besides that, it weighs next to nothing when he holds it. Its structure is made of pure light and it tickles his palm the same way Kingdom Key does, as if he were holding something alive, throbbing with power.
“It’s connected to your magic, so you can control how strong or weak you want the arrow to be.” Sora steps close enough for their arms to touch as he aims at the target in front of them. Riku gulps. “Like casting Fira instead of Firaga.”
An explosion punctuates his explanation, the projectile hitting bullseye and fading without a trace, leaving no scratch behind on the steel. Which is an impressive display of Sora’s abilities.
“Not my forte.” Riku reminds him and Sora laughs. In terms of combat techniques, Riku prefers to rely on physical attacks and strong barrier spells. He does cast the occasional Thundaga and Dark Firaga, but outside of dreams his magic repertoire is quite lacking. That has always been more of Sora’s area. Whimsical guy that he is, no wonder Merlin adores him.
“Giving up already? That’s not the Riku I know.”
“I never said I wasn’t gonna try.”
They exchange a challenging glare, fire in their eyes, but the competitive mood is disrupted by the smiles slowly forming on their faces. Sora’s is a wobbly line he is visibly struggling to contain and that has Riku biting his tongue. Someday he will not suffer the urge to kiss every lovely crease on his features when he grins, but that day is not today and, as Riku fears, it won’t be anytime soon either. That’s why he is the one looking away first. He already indulged enough when he accepted to accompany Sora to visit his friends in San Fransokyo and he crossed his established lines when he didn’t oppose staying in Fred’s mansion while they waited for them to finish their classes. At that moment, Riku had the feeling that Sora knew that the gang wouldn’t be available to hang out and still decided to come. But why would he? Riku hasn’t been able to come up with an answer that doesn’t sound delusional.
Maybe Sora wants to spend time with him, simple as that. After all, Ven did tell him that Sora had been sulking about him ‘running away’ again. Although, ‘running away’ isn’t how Riku would describe it; he has merely been giving him and Kairi space since Quadratum, waiting in suspense for Destiny to run its course after that happened and Riku resigned himself to the place he was always meant to occupy. The supportive third wheel. The future best man at the wedding the Mayor and Sora’s parents have been planning offhandedly at every solstice festival.
Yet again, he is overthinking things.
“Okay.” He mutters, aiming at the metallic sheet.
Then Sora’s hand is on his bicep and Riku loses any concentration he had.
“Your arm is too stiff,” Sora squeezes it and Riku forces himself to relax. This means nothing, he repeats in his mind, “you have to be careful with the recoil.”
“Noted.”
Yet, Sora lingers, fingers burning his skin through the leather as he retrieves them slowly; it feels like a caress. Get your head out of the gutter.
So Riku concentrates, clears his thoughts and commands a shred of his magic towards the arrowgun. The star on it emits a sinister shine and Riku fires. Unlike when Sora did it, what crosses the patio isn’t a comet but a meteoritic shadow that impacts the target with a loud clatter and, for a second, looks like a black hole about to swallow it whole. But his attack, akin to morning mist, dissipates into nothing. A whisper of residual darkness near the centre is the only proof that there was contact.
“Wow.” Sora sounds breathless and Riku rushes to check on the arrowgun. Its colours seem a little duskier, great. He corrupted the thing. “I didn’t know it could do that!”
A hand joins his over the grip, lowering them until it is out of the way and Sora is inches away from him. He is smiling like nothing is wrong, blissfully ignorant of the simmering ocean of darkness raging in Riku’s soul. The one that is clamouring to be held and to be loved and to be consumed.
“Riku, it was amazing!”
Despite his best efforts, his barriers crack and a sliver of desire slips through the gap. “I have a great teacher.” He winks at him and he has an instant to beat himself up over it before Sora’s flushed cheeks and playful expression erase every though from his mind.
“Let’s see if the student beats the teacher.” He leaves him with a jaunty giggle, running to the centre of the patio, where he stands and announces, loudly and energetically, “I propose…” He raises his arrowgun to the sky. “A competition!”
Riku needs a moment to compose himself, but he is quick to react. “You have my attention.”
“It’s easy,” as most of his plans usually are, which is why Riku likes them so much. “We enter the garden, go our separate ways and then we have to find each other. The first one that gets shot three times loses.”
“Sounds fair.”
“Aaaaaaand…” Sora stretches the word, fiddling with the arrowgun. Suddenly, he seems a tad unsure. “The winner gets a prize.”
“What prize?”
“Whatever the winner wants.”
How convenient. Riku scoffs and crosses his arms. “Should I be worried?”
“Depends,” this time, the mischief is clear in his voice, “do you plan on losing?”
The taunt is blatantly obvious, which means Riku must be the stupidest fish in the sea, because he dives for it head first. Hook, line and sinker.
“Not a chance.”
He is going for the win.
The garden beyond the mansion’s patio is close to a forest. A manmade wilderness for the leisure of those who have never experienced real woods and think that trees and bushes are enough. Everything is kept too clean and the landscape is designed to be as walkable as possible. A far cry from the islands where they used to play hide and seek for hours, the thriving nature a perfect labyrinth to get lost in.
This isn’t hide and seek, though, and this curated reprieve from the city is the perfect battleground for their shooting game. The terrain is flat and there is enough distance between trees to force them to spring to use them as barriers. Overall, the space is open, visibility is excellent and Riku has managed to hit Sora two times.
Sora has also landed two successful shots on him, but the draw makes the competition more interesting. Now it’s all or nothing; Riku loves the adrenaline. Only Sora is capable of getting him like this. He is going to miss it.
But, right now, the game is still on and Riku is running across the garden searching for Sora, who performed a tactical retreat after Riku ambushed him. For someone with a personality so vivacious, he sure knows how to disappear among the foliage. An advantage of wearing mainly red and black clothes in the middle of autumn, he guesses; most of the leaves on the trees are the same shade as Sora’s hoodie.
“Ah-ha!” Riku stops in his tracks, goosebumps on his arms. “Caught ya!”
He activates his dark shield immediately and turns around at the perfect time to see Sora’s white arrow fly over his head, missing him entirely. “Bad aim!” He shouts, pointing at Sora. He is hanging upside-down from a tree branch and, once he sees the magic barrier dissolving around Riku to allow him to shoot, he doesn’t move, just smiles.
Riku is about to happily blast that grin off his face when something hits his back and causes him to lose balance.
“What-” he stabilises himself and throws a confused look at Sora and his smug face.
“I win.”
Not quite sure of what just happened, but knowing that Sora is right, Riku leaves the arrowgun on the ground and takes off his jacket. What he sees on its back is a splatter of light magic slowly shimmering off the black leather, exactly what happened the other times he got hit. He is baffled, to say the least.
“But- How? You missed.”
“Nope!” Sora lets himself fall to land skilfully next to him. “The arrow went exactly where I wanted.” While saying it, he raises his weapon to signal behind Riku.
He turns around, but only finds another tree; that is, until he examines it more closely and discovers a patch of white sparkles on its bark, identical to the one on his jacket.
“It ricocheted?”
“It ricocheted.” Repeats Sora, as he blows off the non-existent smoke from his non-gun.
“Arrows don’t ricochet on trees.”
“Normal arrows? Maybe. Magic arrows?” The self-satisfaction on Sora’s face would have set a younger Riku on flames. Now he is still burning, but by a different fire. Victory looks hot on him. “You would be surprised.”
Today is one surprise after another, it seems. Not that he is complaining, but he needs to put a stop to it soon for his own good. He can already see himself fantasising about this later tonight—The two of them, alone in the middle of an autumn-coloured forest, Sora lifting his head by pushing the gun’s barrel under his chin. Riku on his knees, probably against a tree, ready to do anything that is asked of him—and knows that he is in trouble. Why does he keep doing this to himself? When are his horny years going to end? The blind rage wasn’t that bad compared to this, is it too late to become a brooding teen again?
“Well played,” he concedes and puts on his jacket again. “Although, I didn’t do half bad for a student that got only one lesson.”
“You did great, student Riku, I just did better.” Sora grabs Riku’s arrowgun from the pile of leaves and fuses it with his own. They materialise into Shooting Star’s original form and Sora dismisses it in a flash of light. “Now, about my prize…”
“I’m all ears.”
Sora won fair and square; no reason to complain. He just hopes the dare (because knowing Sora, it has to be a dare) isn’t too ridiculous. San Fransokyo is full of restaurants with the weirdest combination of flavours Riku has ever heard of and he isn’t thrilled at the prospect of finding out what a ‘shrimp jelly-filled taco’ tastes like.
Going by the hesitant but excited expression Sora is wearing, though, Riku can guess his petition doesn’t involve laughing at him as he retches above a trashcan. His nervousness looks too genuine for that. There is a hopeful shine to his eyes, like he is gathering courage. Whatever he is going to ask for, it’s something he has wanted for a long time. Riku wonders if all this—the stay in Fred’s mansion, the insistence on showing off Shooting Star’s formchange, the competition, the prize—was a scheme to get him to agree. If so, it’s the most thought Sora has ever put into persuading him to do something. Normally he asks him straightaway and Riku folds immediately because they are best friends and he is down bad. The most recent example being this morning, when Sora invited him to hang out with Big Hero 6 and he accepted despite the fact that those five still give him sceptical side-glances.
“I want…” Sora starts, taking one step closer to him, even if his gaze is focused on his fidgeting fingers. “If you don’t mind…” Riku is getting worried, but then, Sora looks up at him and his eyes are the bluest Riku has seen them. “A kiss.”
A kiss.
Riku’s lips are suddenly ice cold.
“What?” He says, it’s barely a whisper, but Riku feels it leaving his mouth in the same exhale that blood abandons his face to plunge into his stomach and he is dizzy and lightheaded and he might pass out.
“I want a kiss.” Sora repeats, louder, as if the problem was that Riku didn’t hear him. Which isn’t the case. The problem is that Riku heard him all too well and now he can’t stop repeating those two words in his head. A kiss, a kiss, a kiss, a kiss. His mind is overflowing with images about what could be. Memories of how it was. How utterly disgusting he felt when Sora opened his eyes. “What? Do I need to be turned into an ice statue for you to kiss me? Because Arendelle is just around the corner, I could go there, get hit by Elsa’s magic and be back in half an hour.”
“Don’t joke about that.” He snarls, pure vitriol, and Sora shrinks in on himself in shame. The wound is too fresh to poke at it this carelessly. Turning to humour to cope with trauma might be Sora’s go-to for these situations, but it for sure isn’t Riku’s. Still, he needs to calm himself; it’s the first time Sora has brought up that and this, too, is delicate. “Sora, we already told you-”
“I know it was you, Riku.”
Fuck. Every nerve on Riku gets on edge. “Did Kairi-”
“I can figure things out on my own,” now Sora is the one on the defensive, “I’m not that dumb.”
“You are not dumb.”
“Then stop lying to me as if I were.” He glares; it feels like a stab in the chest. “Because I know it was your act of true love that thawed my frozen heart.” Sora clutches his necklace and Riku tries to step away, but Sora grabs his right wrist. “The same way I know it was our connection that kept me from disappearing.” His fingers entangle with his, hot skin against hot skin. Riku should stop this. He should not crave this as desperately as he does. “And it was our link that brought us together.” Sora’s voice softens, as does the rest of him; he seems to implore with his eyes. A million questions behind them, which answers could doom the both of them. “I just don’t understand why you are pulling away after all that, acting like nothing happened. Don’t we want the same?”
If Sora knew the desires plaguing his heart since he was fifteen, he wouldn’t be touching him. “I don’t know what you want.”
“I want a kiss I can actually return.”
He says it like he means it, like he is sure of it. But there is a reason why Riku lied to him that day and why he got Kairi involved in the mess. In Quadratum, before the ice cage trapping Sora in Unreality, Riku lost his nerve. Like a little kid, he got angsty and impulsive and selfish, because he never outgrew his hot-headedness; he just learnt how to hide it.
That night, at the top of a skyscraper with a luminous 104, Riku found Sora’s real body encased in crystal and kissed him. It was a shot in the dark, really. Riku remembered Sora’s anecdote about Arandelle and Elsa and Anna and true love acts. He thought about Aqua and Ven and Terra and their stories about princesses being awoken from sleep-induced curses by true love kisses. His brain got drunk on the adrenaline of being chased and almost caught by Yozora and he simply acted. Riku dove in, pressed his lips to Sora’s cold ones and then wished to die when the ice melted under his touch and mesmerised blue eyes blinked open, only to close again.
After that, it turned into a race to the portal that would take them home and, once he crossed it and returned to the world of sea and sky where Kairi was waiting, he told a barely conscious Sora that she was the one that saved him. That her love for him had thawed the ice. At that moment, he didn’t dare to look at Kairi, but she didn’t deny his claim and welcomed Sora into her arms.
It was the right thing to do, the decision a best friend would take. Riku reunited them together and fled the scene, lips burning and mind reeling with the knowledge of how Sora’s mouth felt against his. He has not been able to stop thinking about it since: of what he stole, what he took away from her. Kairi should have been the one on that skyscraper, kissing Sora awake. That magic moment should have been theirs; Riku irrupted into the tale and played someone else’s role.
Somehow, Sora has discovered the truth, and instead of crucifying him, he is asking for more. Riku has never been this confused. Yet, Sora stands confident, secure in what he wants and, when he squeezes Riku’s hand and pulls the together, Riku’s resolve shakes, it starts to break.
“Am I asking for too much?” His voice is low, his eyes clear.
Riku is lost. They are too close for him to form a coherent thought. Sora’s lips are just right here, some inches away, demanding to be kissed again. His tingle with the memory, the ghost sensation that lingers.
Maybe he is curious, Riku thinks, maybe he will want this now and never again. The fascination for the unknown is a call difficult to ignore, Riku is all too aware of its allure. Especially when you have only had a taste of what lays beyond and your imagination works overtime to fill in the gaps. It turns into an all-consuming obsession. Just this once, Riku tells himself, for him.
For Sora.
It will hurt when they pull apart after this (Stars, it will kill him), but it will be for the best. Sora will finally be free of doubts and Riku will disappear into the background of his life. Just another friend more. An awkward memory he will reminisce about and grimace, before going on with his day.
With grief in his heart, he cradles his face. “Don’t blame me later.”
Whatever Sora is about to say gets swallowed by him. Just like that night: he dives in. Unlike then, Sora is warm, almost burning when he gasps against his mouth. Preciously alive as he slides his arms around Riku’s neck and pushes him down, his nape protests, but Riku is too in love to care. Because Sora’s bottom lip is tender from anxiously biting it and tastes slightly copperish if he sucks on it. Because they move against his like they are hungry, like they have been yearning for him. Riku hadn’t planned on this, but it’s obvious he isn’t guiding the kiss once Sora’s tongue traces the seam of his mouth and he lets him in. Pure bliss.
A little voice in his head says that he should stop. Another one is screaming about Sora and Sora’s hot tongue gliding against his, Sora’s hands on his back, Sora’s taste, Sora’s smell, Sora, Sora, Sora. Sora, who pulls apart to take a breath and then nibbles at his lip, dragging a moan out of him.
This is risky territory; the heat pooling in his guts is enough of a tell. But Sora starts kissing him again, slick tongue prying his mouth open and Riku is weak.
His hands move to his shoulders. “Sor-” The name ends in a groan as Sora kisses him eagerly, almost aggressively. There is possessive intent in the way he digs his fingernails in his jacket, how he is keeping him as close as possible, and that’s why Riku knows he must end this before he goes crazy.
He sneaks his fingers between their lips to cover Sora’s mouth. The initial puzzlement that turns into betrayal once Sora opens his eyes is close to making him regret it.
“You won one round.” His voice is rough and breathy; he is vaguely aware of his lungs burning. “One prize.”
Understanding floods Sora’s face and he moves Riku’s hand away. “Let’s play another one! Right now! Same prize!”
Against his better judgement, Riku agrees.
In their second round, Sora plays fiercely enough to make Riku question if he went easy on him during the previous one, because he only manages to hit him once, while Sora practically machine-guns him.
It attests to how much Sora wants the prize, at least. Riku is as worried as he is elated about it.
“Wait!” Sora yells after dismissing Shooting Star and, for one second, Riku fears that he is about to call the whole thing off, but Sora grabs his hand and starts dragging him towards the patio.
When they walk past the treeline, Riku realises that the clouds are gold-lined over an orange-tinted sky. Sunset has arrived while they lost themselves in each other and Riku is acutely aware that Hiro and his friends will be here in two hours. How will Sora act then? A part of him doesn’t look forward to discovering it.
“Here!” Riku stops once Sora does and, when he looks away from the horizon to face him, he startles at seeing Sora at his eyelevel. “Now you don’t need to lean down.”
Sora is standing on the third and final step that leads from the garden to the patio and is, obviously, very proud of coming up with the idea. If Riku wasn’t already madly in love, this is the kind of thing that would make him fall for him.
“Sora…” He hides a chuckle behind his hand, hoping to also cover his blush.
“It’s your fault for being this tall.” Sora sulks, but he is also smiling. Riku loves him so much.
Then, Sora takes his hands and puts them on his hips; Riku goes stiff.
“I like when you touch me.”
Riku doesn’t have time to obsess over it before Sora’s lips are on his, devouring him keenly. He is keeping him close by his cheeks and Riku leans into his palm. The angle is different from before; the kiss feels deeper, more intense. Now they are chest against chest, heat building up between them at the rhythm of their hearts. Something tugs at his and Riku realises that it’s the Dream Eater link, throbbing with desire. Sora is calling for him, even if he doesn’t realise, and it has Riku purring, his hands moving to his waist, up his back.
The hoodie’s fabric is soft and, under it, Sora is warm and lithe, Riku can trace the contour of his shoulder blades and Sora shivers, sucking Riku’s tongue into his mouth and pulling an embarrassingly eager noise out of him. That makes Riku painfully aware of how exposed they are, out in the open, perfectly visible from any of the mansion’s multiple windows. Heathcliff could be watching from one of them.
“Sora-” it comes out in a moan, uttered against Sora’s lips. They are so close that talking feels like a kiss, but Sora doesn’t allow him to continue. He licks into his mouth like he is hungry and Riku’s knees wobble; Sora’s want, his passion, his obvious urge for more turn Riku’s thoughts into static, his mind is fuzzy and everything feels too hot. However, he isn’t into being spied on by a hypercompetent butler. “Sora, listen-”
“Not yet.” He begs, sounding as desperate as Riku feels. The link loops itself around Riku’s heart and it squeezes like it fears separation; it longs for connection, a litany of more more more more more that echoes inside his ribcage and guides his next move.
Breaking the kiss to take a gulp of air, Riku lowers his hands to Sora’s thighs and hauls him up. Sora yelps, but locks his legs around his waist and, soon, he is muffling a giggle on his neck, lips wet on his skin. Riku is burning to be kissed there, to have Sora’s teeth marking him.
His wish comes true immediately after, as he is walking to the closest tree he sees. Sora starts sucking where his neck meets his shoulder and Riku struggles to keep them straight. It doesn’t help either that his pants are getting too tight; he needs to pull himself together.
By the time Riku has Sora pressed against the tree’s bark, both of them hidden from view, Sora has already left a damp line of kisses connecting his shoulders, where his hands rest.
“I like this better.” He says, thumbing at his shirt’s collar. The image of Sora ripping it off him assaults his mind and Riku groans.
The next time they lean into each other, Sora is smiling too much for it to be a proper kiss and that makes it better. Sora’s happiness is Riku’s goal. He has been dreaming about kissing this smile for years.
“Another round,” Sora proposes as he peppers Riku’s face with kisses, hands carding through his hair, “and you hold me up just like this if I win.”
Riku doesn’t decline.
To surprise of both of them, Riku is the winner of their third match. So, he finds himself torn about what to ask for.
After acting rather clumsy during the competition, Sora is fiddling with his necklace, waiting for Riku to decide with a look that leaves no doubt about what he is craving. It’s one of the options Riku is contemplating: to continue where they left it. A kiss that will lead into another and another until their lips hurt and their hands wander to where they are aching to be touched.
The other option is to demand Sora never ask for a kiss again. To forget it even happened and continue in the path Destiny drafted for him, right by Kairi’s side. This is merely a slip-up, after all, some innocent experimentation on Sora’s side. He is curious (and horny) and Riku is near and willing; he is convenient.
“Riku?” His name being called shakes him off his haze. Sora is giving him a smile that is as timid as it’s daring. “If you can’t decide, I have some suggestions.”
No…, whispers the voice of reason in his head. Sora would never do that to you.
He would never use Riku like this, even if Riku wanted him to. Sora is honest and noble and too aware of the importance of love in all its forms. Inexperience might be guiding his actions and overzealousness may be clouding his judgement, but he would never act upon feelings he isn’t sure of. Life has shown him, time and time again, the damage caused by those who played with people’s hearts and he swore to never be one of them.
What does this mean, then? Sora kissed him, liked it enough to fight for the chance of a second one and now is silently pleading for a third. What is Riku supposed to do? This isn’t what he had planned; he never thought it possible outside of his fantasies. But his lips now know the feeling of Sora’s warmth, his taste, and he knows the kind of noises that he makes when he has his hands tight around his waist and how his pants for air feel against his mouth and the sharp sting of his teeth on his collarbone.
Whatever Riku chooses, what will happen after that? Can they go back to normal? What does normal even look like to them? What would the others think? What would Kairi say? Is this the same as betraying her again? They haven’t had a proper conversation in so long; Riku has no clue how she would take the news. Is there even news to deliver? Do they have to tell this to their friends? Tell them what exactly? What is this? What does Sora want out of this? What does Riku want out of this? Too many things, oh he wants so much; he can’t even think about all of them at once. Does he deserve them, though? Has he gained the privilege to want and take and delight? Does he want-
“Riku?”
“I want takoyaki.” He blurts, surprising himself. When Sora stares at him in silence, he adds: “Homemade.”
“Oh...” The smile has disappeared from his face, although a shallow imitation is making a weak attempt at forming. “Yeah, I-I can do that.”
Riku nods and clenches his fists, hoping Sora won’t notice.
A glimmer of hope returns to his eyes, shier than before, but just as expectant. He inches closer to him, looking at him through his eyelashes in an unpractised flirt that’s all the more charming for it. “That’s all you want?”
“Yes.”
The hopefulness dims until it fades, like a star flicking out and vanishing into space. “I’m going to-” Sora gestures vaguely with his hands until he points with his thumb to the mansion at his back, “ask Heathcliff for the ingredients. I think he has a grocery guy that brings his orders in fifteen minutes.”
“Sure.” Says Riku.
“Great.” Says Sora.
Stars, this is awkward.
Predictably (because the butler seems to possess his own kind of magic), Heathcliff takes a look at Sora’s shopping list and returns it to him, saying: “You will find everything you need in the kitchen.” ‘Everything’ meaning not only the ingredients (fresh octopus included), but also the takoyaki plate, picks and basting brush.
“This is the fancy stuff.” Comments Sora, clearly in awe and Riku caught Heathcliff puffing out like a peacock out of the corner of his eye.
While Sora mixes the flour, eggs, milk and water in the bowl, the butler appears at the kitchen door with a fire extinguisher at the ready, which says a lot about the gang’s precious attempts at cooking anything. He stays on guard through the whole process of oiling the plate and pouring the batter; however, Heathcliff seems to recognise Sora’s expertise once he starts adding the octopus, tenkasu and shoga. So, by the time Sora is sprinkling the green onion, Riku is the sole spectator of his culinary expertise.
He loves watching Sora cook; he is concentrated in a way he is only in battle and still clearly enjoying himself. His movements are determined, knowing exactly the whens and wheres and hows of the process. Frenzied yet calm, there is no doubt why Sora chose to work at Le Grand Bistrot instead of training during his first month back. It puts his mind at ease and, as Sora told him himself, makes him feel useful beyond his capability to wield a keyblade.
“First batch ready to go!” A plate full of magnificent takoyaki balls is presented to him and its smell makes him salivate. “Second one will be done soon.”
“One is enough, I only won once.”
At that, Sora stops cutting the octopus’ arm and Riku fears he should have shut up.
“I know, but I also got more than what we agreed on.” His tone is uncannily levelled, too controlled. Sora is measuring his words with care and that has Riku on edge. “So, it’s okay.”
It’s technically true, yet Riku isn’t comfortable letting Sora believe it. Especially when he is saying it like he took advantage of him.
“Is that why?”
Riku stares at his back; Sora is eerily still. “Why what?”
“Why you don’t want to kiss me again.”
Oh. “Sora-”
“If it’s because I was too clingy, I get it! I know, I’m sorry, I went overboard. I took too much, I was too much, but I-”
“Sora, you weren’t too much.”
Silence fills the kitchen; it feels like a claw around Riku’s throat. He can’t see Sora’s face from the table, but his shoulders are tense, his whole posture defensive.
“Then… Am I a bad kisser?”
Stars, how could Sora think that after everything?
Riku gets up from the chair. “No, Sora- Look, it isn’t you, it’s me.”
“Don’t break up with me, I didn’t even ask you out yet.”
Yet. So he was planning to, sometime soon, probably today. Or, at least, that was his intention until Riku ruined it. He is so fucked.
“Sora,” his steps on the marble floor resonate throughout the room and Sora turns to face him, expression dull and eyes hurt. Riku is at a loss, he simply knows that he can’t let Sora think that there is something wrong with him. Riku is the one with the problems, he is the one that ruins every chance at happiness. “I’m a mess.”
Sora lifts one eyebrow, which, fair enough. If only Riku knew how to explain half a decade of repression and self-flagellation. Suffocating his feelings has always been the easier option.
“You don’t deserve me. No, not in that way.” He rushes to say at Sora’s outraged scowl. “You deserve better than me, Sora. Someone who won’t give you as much trouble.” Someone like Kairi, he doesn’t say, but he doesn’t need to. “What I did in Quadratum- That was impulsive and stupid, I should have waited until Kai-”
His rumbling dies against Sora’s finger, pressed firmly to his lips. “Don’t call kissing me stupid.” There is no bite to his words, just an undeserved fondness that spreads to his gaze, soft and blue and perfect. “And stop talking about dumb things like deserving or not or whatever.”
That single finger turns into a whole hand cupping his jaw, thumb caressing the apple of his cheek as it flushes red. All the arguments he had come up with crumble into nothing, a bunch of dust that gets blown away by Sora’s care. It catches him by surprise each time, the fact that Sora likes to touch him as much as he enjoys Riku touching him.
“You are thinking too much about the wrong thing again.” Sora chastises, all sweet affection. “No one but you could have woken me up, Riku.” Riku’s breath hitches when Sora thumbs at his bottom lip, outlining it and leaving his mouth aghast. It smells of takoyaki and spices and Riku aches to discover if it tastes like it too. “The love in ‘true love kisses’ needs to be requited for curses to break.”
Then, his mind goes blank. Being hit by Thundaga would have been less damaging to his brain.
“Let me guess, you had no idea.”
“First time hearing it.”
Sora bursts out in laughter and Riku throws his head back and groans, guttural and loud and, hopefully, dramatic enough to express his misery.
“That still doesn’t change the fact that-”
“No! None of that!” Sora buries his head in his chest, hugging him tightly. “I love you, you love me and I’m going to kiss you silly.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
The gaze Sora directs at him, chin resting on his sternum, is a dangerous one. It boils his blood with the same fire that trails up his back when Sora sneaks under his jacket and presses fingers over his spine. Riku is left fisting his red hoodie, biting his lip because the Dream Eater sigil is sensitive and he doesn’t know how to say it without revealing that he wants Sora to trace the emblem with his tongue.
“I will show you a good time, alright.” Then, his teeth are on his neck and Riku gasps. Sora kisses his Adam’s apple and laps at the length of his throat, then closes his lips around the start of his shoulder and sucks. All the while, his fingers drag down his back and Riku has no doubt that he is feeling the raised edges of the scars through his shirt.
“Who taught you how to be such a flirt?” He asks between heavy breaths.
Sora chuckles, low and boyish, before whispering hotly to his ear. “Strelitzia’s favourite telenovela.”
Now it’s Riku’s turn to laugh and Sora joins in; he is leaning all his weight on him, so Riku holds him as close as possible. Stars, he loves him so much, he is overflowing with it. The worst part of himself is nagging at him to let go and run, to remind Sora how awful he is inside. The rest of him, though, is encouraging him to do more, to kiss Sora’s forehead and cheeks and cute nose and warm lips.
He is about to do just that when the characteristic sound of a gigantic door being closed echoes through the whole mansion and multiple voices follow after.
“It smells amazing!” Comes Fred’s unmistakable yowl. “Heathcliff, what’ve you been cooking?”
“It was not me, Master Frederick. The kitchen is currently being occupied by Sora; he is making takoyaki.”
“Aww, Sora is cooking?” That sounds like Honey Lemon.
“And quite skilfully, may I add.”
“Takoyaki!?” That’s Fred again.
Riku exchanges glances with Sora and he can’t help but laugh at his blatant pout.
“They are your friends.” He whispers, trying with all his might to not giggle and falling spectacularly.
“I know.” Sora sounds so affronted.
“We came here to see them.”
“I know.” He groans against his chest. “But we were having a moment.”
“SCRUMPTIOUS OCTOPUS BALLS HERE COMES FREDZILLA!”
“The moment was slaughtered by Fredzilla.” He guides him away until they are at a proper, not suspicious, distance.
One second later, when Fred jumps into the room, Sora points at him and yells: “No takoyaki for you!”
It has been a while since Riku last saw a man fall to his knees with the deep despair and raw agony that Fred displays as he screams a long “Noooooooo” to the ceiling and starts sobbing onto the marble floor.