Fic post (I know. It's been a while.)
Apr. 3rd, 2007 05:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rahmiSo, I um. I porned. And it is terrible and I could not for the life of me get my character to say any euphanism for penis because I kept seeing his big goofy smile and I would hide it in shame if I hadn't already told Seaica she could read it and laugh at me.
So.
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Characters: Sora, Riku
Pairings: Sora/Riku OT3 Verse
Fic 13: Sun
For once Sora beats Riku into the kitchen. There’s no sense of accomplishment for that though, because now he has to wait for his breakfast. He hoists himself up onto the counter by the waffle iron, scratches his bare chest, and starts to forlornly kick his feet into the wood loudly enough that he hopes it can be heard through the entire house.
Kairi’s not home, which is good, because the sun isn’t even up yet and if he was making this much noise while she was still in bed she’d murder him. He misses having her snore across the bed, but she was taking a “girl’s week with Sophie, Sora. You know, all those stupid girly things you and Riku cringe when I want to do? I’ll see you guys next week,” and he doesn’t miss having Sophie pop up at the most inconvenient times.
Pointing out that Riku had long hair and would probably like spending the week being pampered had earned him a lovely matching set of bruises, one on each shoulder.
“Sora?” Riku’s voice drifts from somewhere outside; he likes to watch the sunrise, Sora knows, so he’s usually the first one up. Sora usually isn’t awake enough to want breakfast until after the sun’s spilling warm light into the kitchen.
“Yeah?” he calls back, drumming his heels against the cabinet in time to the song in his head.
“Stop that.”
“I’m hungry.” He says plaintively and holds back a noise of triumph when he hears shuffling from out back. Riku opens the back door, rolling his eyes even as he walks in grumbling about bottomless pits, and Sora grins at him. “Make me some waffles?”
“Will you quit trying to wake up the neighbors if I do?” Riku sounds genuinely cranky, but he’s like that in the mornings. The first one out of bed, but easily upset until the sun’s come up.
Anyway, Sora already knows that he’s won the argument because Riku’s opening the fridge and pulling milk out, motioning for Sora to grab the flour, baking powder, and salt from the cabinet behind his head. He snatches the oil out of the cabinet while he’s at it, hands over the ingredients when Riku’s done cracking eggs into a bowl he pulls from the drain rack.
It’s when Riku’s mixing the ingredients together that Sora kind of realizes that the other man needs a haircut. He swings his legs while he contemplates the sheer amount of hair that is spilling everywhere when Riku turns to get a whisk, the way it catches in the sleeves of his tank top and brushes the top of his jeans.
Huh. Now that he’s looking at it, all he wants to do is sink his fingers into it. Sora nibbles his lip, sits back on the counter, and throws together a quick plan.
He snags Riku when the he leans over to turn on the waffle iron, yanking and spinning until he’s got the small of Riku’s back pressed up snug to the countertop. Sora scoots forward enough that he can wrap both legs around Riku’s hips; he pushes his heels between Riku’s legs to keep him from getting his balance back and trying to turn.
Riku’s whole body spasm when Sora puts his face into the fall of soft hair and exhales. Sora grins against the back of his neck and slides one hand down to capture the elbow that was going to go for his stomach any minute now.
Riku makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat and bows his back pointedly, but Sora just rides with it, lifting his hips and digging his feet into the side of the cabinet until Riku stops moving again.
“Sora?” Riku says, swallows hard when Sora leans over enough to kiss the point of his shoulder, “What’re you doing?”
Sora hums out a thoughtful noise around Riku’s skin, drags his tongue along the groove of muscle and bone before he lifts his head back up. “I’m kind of thinking that I’ve got you pinned against the counter in the kitchen,” he tells Riku, “What do you think I’m doing?”
There’s a long pause, during which Sora takes shameless advantage of the fact that Riku’s got sensitive skin and drags the calluses on his fingertips over the skin of his inner elbow, then Riku sighs.
“Don’t you dare break the waffle iron again.” He leans back into Sora as he says it though, so Sora maybe doesn’t have to flail around and deny that he ever broke anything in the kitchen.
“I’m too graceful to break anything,” he says instead. Riku’s snort turns into something a little lower when Sora slips his hand from bare arm to lower belly and strokes the worn cotton of his tank top in firm circles. He does it again, using just his nails, and Riku doesn’t even pretend not to moan under his breath.
His hips hitch up on their own, rubbing once, twice, against Riku‘s back before he can stop himself; that noise does stuff to him.
Embarrassing stuff. Riku was going to make fun of him in a minute if he didn’t say something first. “You’re really, really easy, you know that?” he asks right as he feels him take a long breath. He rakes his teeth across Riku’s shoulder again, just because he can, and laughs when Riku mutters something nasty at him.
A hard pinch to the top of his thigh has him yelping and shoving his hand up Riku’s shirt in revenge a second later. Riku’s hand flattens on his leg, grips and tightens as Sora hikes his shirt up enough to get at bare skin with his mouth, and Sora spares a grateful thought for long shorts.
Then he rubs one palm across one of Riku’s nipples and curls the fingers of his free hand in the long spill of hair rubbing against his face and chest.
He gives Riku a minute to realize what he’s going to do, to stop him if he wants, and then Sora fists the hand in his hair and pulls. It’s hard enough to snap Riku’s head to the side, but not hard enough to really hurt, which is the fine line you have to tread with Riku sometimes. Enough to get him to do what you want to do, but not too much, because then his eyes go dark and distant and scared.
The first time it happened, Sora had ended up with a black eye and Riku almost hyperventilating in the bathroom while Kairi wavered between crying and trying to calm the both of them down, clutching a blanket to her chest the entire time. He knows it’s got something to do with the Xehanort’s Heartless, maybe even with the Nobodies in general, but he’s never been able to pry it out of Riku.
If he could kill them again, he probably would, just on principle.
“Okay?” he asks before he does anything else. He leaves his palm on Riku’s chest, feels the way his heart beat starts to calm down from the sudden furious beat of flight or fight, and tries very hard to keep from trailing his mouth across the newly revealed nape of his neck.
Riku reaches up and back, loosens Sora’s fist a little and bows his head, checking. “Yeah,” he says, “It’s fine. Okay.”
Thank God. Sora slants his mouth across the back of Riku’s neck, biting and sucking while he’s there, and tightens his legs in preparation for… yeah. That. Riku bucks almost immediately, plants the heels of his hands on the countertop to either side of Sora’s legs and arches his back, tries to twist into him; he’d have stopped if he hadn’t asked Riku about that particular reaction months ago.
“Okay?” he asks again anyway. Riku makes a noise in the back of his throat that means “Yes, yes, fuck, stop asking, Sora, keep doing that,” in Riku language (if Riku actually talked during sex, anyway), so he lowers his mouth right against Riku’s hairline and bites hard enough to leave little indents when he lifts off.
Riku keens, rubs the entire length of his body against both Sora and the counter as Sora trails his tongue from the marks to the junction of his neck and shoulder. Sora shudders back into him, rubs his chest against the fabric on Riku’s back before he remembers that it might feel a little better to have skin on skin contact.
He pulls his hand from underneath Riku’s shirt and shushes Riku when he lets out a little surprised, unhappy sound, “Gimme a sec,” he mutters and then helplessly stutters his hips against Riku’s back when he responds by hunching over and pushing, “Riku…! Come on, lemme…”
Sora lets go of Riku’s hair before he can give into the temptation to just rub off against a tank top and tries to pin Riku still long enough to tangle his fingers into the hem of his shirt.
The feel of hair falling against his skin makes him shiver and make some really embarrassing high pitched noise, but he figures the noise Riku makes when he accidentally rubs one calf against his crotch makes them just about even. Besides, with Riku’s hand clamping down on his leg and keeping it there, he has a free moment to actually yank Riku’s shirt up like he’d wanted to in the first place.
“Arm up,” he tells Riku a minute later, resting his hot face against Riku’s hair. He enjoys the way it slithers and then sticks to his own sweaty skin, the way it slowly starts to darken into gunmetal grey as it absorbs the liquid, and says again, “Arm up, Riku, come on, come on…”
Riku grinds down into his leg for a second more, making Sora twitch and grind against his back in turn, before he lifts the arm that he was using to steady himself against the counter and Sora’s free to jerk the shirt off one arm and bunch it up on Riku’s shoulder.
It’s harder getting his pants pulled down far enough, but the first slide of slick skin is bliss. Riku stills, turns his head and raises his eyebrow; Sora’s still got his face buried in Riku’s hair, but he doesn’t have to see to know he’s laughing at him, the bastard.
“Shut up,” he mumbles at him and punctuates it by digging his calf into the hard ridge it’s leaning against. Riku makes a noise, somewhere slightly higher than his usual noises, but it’s shivery sweet, and that just about does it for Sora.
And then it’s just hot skin and sweat and Sora getting a mouthful of hair and skin when he comes all over Riku’s back.
There’s a long few minutes in which he’s vaguely aware that he’s got his arms slung around Riku’s waist and he’s basically lying in his own semen, but that’s pretty high on his “I can ignore that” list. Less high on that list is the fact that Riku’s still rocking against him, growling low under his breath, and Sora rouses enough to tilt his head to the side and peak around Riku’s shoulder.
Yeah, that sort of looks like it’s still a problem, his fuzzy brain decides. It takes another moment for problem to click with “hey, I can solve that!”, then he snakes a hand free from the death grip he’s got on the arc of Riku’s hip and shoves Riku’s own hand away.
He turns his face back into Riku’s skin and mouths his way from shoulder to neck again, pausing only long enough to brush sweat-damp hair out of the way with his cheek. There’s something a little heavier than sweat making the strands gummy, and Riku’s going to kill him when he realizes that, but Sora’s pretty happy to just spread his legs wider and rub for right now.
There’s a tempting stretch of skin right by his mouth that he’s sucking marks into, feeling his brains slowly oozing back in, when Riku surprises him almost into biting a whole lot harder than he means to by talking.
“Sora,” Riku hisses, and it sounds dirty and kind of shocking; Riku’s vocal habits during sex consist almost entirely of grunts and moans, “If you make,” a shuddering breath, “Me come in my pants I’m going to, fuck, spit in your breakfast.”
“Picky,” Sora huffs into the back of his neck but obligingly trails his other hand from Riku’s stomach to his pants and uses it to shove them down as far as he can from his position. He wriggles forward a little, pulls most of Riku’s weight back into him, and goes back to stroking.
Sora’s actually the only one of their little trio who goes blank and sleepy after an orgasm. It’s totally unfair, but Riku just gets a little more comfortable in his skin and Kairi starts bursting with energy while he’s left feeling stupid for a good fifteen minutes afterwards.
So it takes Riku physically batting his hand away before he realizes that, yes, it’s now covered in something warm. Huh.
Riku’s raking his hair back over his shoulder when Sora finally manages to shake off his drowsiness; he prudently scoots back a little, out of Riku’s range of motion. It only takes a second for Riku to realize that there’s something weighing it down and then he’s spinning around and caging Sora with his arms.
“You didn’t,” he says, somewhat incredulously, and Sora would quite happily tell him he didn’t if he thought Riku would believe that.
“You, ah, might want to go take a shower,” Sora says weakly. He takes a deep breath, stops, scratches the back of his head. He tries to look anywhere but at the vibrant marks he can see peeking over the side of Riku’s neck, along the hard line of his shoulder, but his gaze feels like it’s permanently fused there. Riku’s going to kill him. “And, um, you might want to wear your hair down for the next few days, Riku.”
There’s a slight pause, long enough that Sora’s a little afraid that Riku‘s going to decide to smack him on the back of his head, before he sighs and says, “You’re such an idiot.” Riku leans his forehead against Sora’s own and closes his eyes. “Quit leaving hickeys all over the place.”
“Okay.” Sora smoothes his mostly clean hand down Riku’s back and pulls a face that Riku misses because there’s stickiness there too. He tilts his face towards Riku, catches his mouth in a slow, easy kiss, and wipes both hands on the seat of his pants.
He’s expecting the swat to his head so he just takes it and laughs. “What?! You’re going to take a shower anyway!”
“Idiot.” Riku’s smiling as he says it though, and leaning into him heavily enough that Sora’s glad there are cabinets behind him, so he figures he wins either way.
The sun’s fully up by the time they get around to showering.
Sora never does get his waffles.
Pet me? *unhappy face*
So.
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Characters: Sora, Riku
Pairings: Sora/Riku OT3 Verse
Fic 13: Sun
For once Sora beats Riku into the kitchen. There’s no sense of accomplishment for that though, because now he has to wait for his breakfast. He hoists himself up onto the counter by the waffle iron, scratches his bare chest, and starts to forlornly kick his feet into the wood loudly enough that he hopes it can be heard through the entire house.
Kairi’s not home, which is good, because the sun isn’t even up yet and if he was making this much noise while she was still in bed she’d murder him. He misses having her snore across the bed, but she was taking a “girl’s week with Sophie, Sora. You know, all those stupid girly things you and Riku cringe when I want to do? I’ll see you guys next week,” and he doesn’t miss having Sophie pop up at the most inconvenient times.
Pointing out that Riku had long hair and would probably like spending the week being pampered had earned him a lovely matching set of bruises, one on each shoulder.
“Sora?” Riku’s voice drifts from somewhere outside; he likes to watch the sunrise, Sora knows, so he’s usually the first one up. Sora usually isn’t awake enough to want breakfast until after the sun’s spilling warm light into the kitchen.
“Yeah?” he calls back, drumming his heels against the cabinet in time to the song in his head.
“Stop that.”
“I’m hungry.” He says plaintively and holds back a noise of triumph when he hears shuffling from out back. Riku opens the back door, rolling his eyes even as he walks in grumbling about bottomless pits, and Sora grins at him. “Make me some waffles?”
“Will you quit trying to wake up the neighbors if I do?” Riku sounds genuinely cranky, but he’s like that in the mornings. The first one out of bed, but easily upset until the sun’s come up.
Anyway, Sora already knows that he’s won the argument because Riku’s opening the fridge and pulling milk out, motioning for Sora to grab the flour, baking powder, and salt from the cabinet behind his head. He snatches the oil out of the cabinet while he’s at it, hands over the ingredients when Riku’s done cracking eggs into a bowl he pulls from the drain rack.
It’s when Riku’s mixing the ingredients together that Sora kind of realizes that the other man needs a haircut. He swings his legs while he contemplates the sheer amount of hair that is spilling everywhere when Riku turns to get a whisk, the way it catches in the sleeves of his tank top and brushes the top of his jeans.
Huh. Now that he’s looking at it, all he wants to do is sink his fingers into it. Sora nibbles his lip, sits back on the counter, and throws together a quick plan.
He snags Riku when the he leans over to turn on the waffle iron, yanking and spinning until he’s got the small of Riku’s back pressed up snug to the countertop. Sora scoots forward enough that he can wrap both legs around Riku’s hips; he pushes his heels between Riku’s legs to keep him from getting his balance back and trying to turn.
Riku’s whole body spasm when Sora puts his face into the fall of soft hair and exhales. Sora grins against the back of his neck and slides one hand down to capture the elbow that was going to go for his stomach any minute now.
Riku makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat and bows his back pointedly, but Sora just rides with it, lifting his hips and digging his feet into the side of the cabinet until Riku stops moving again.
“Sora?” Riku says, swallows hard when Sora leans over enough to kiss the point of his shoulder, “What’re you doing?”
Sora hums out a thoughtful noise around Riku’s skin, drags his tongue along the groove of muscle and bone before he lifts his head back up. “I’m kind of thinking that I’ve got you pinned against the counter in the kitchen,” he tells Riku, “What do you think I’m doing?”
There’s a long pause, during which Sora takes shameless advantage of the fact that Riku’s got sensitive skin and drags the calluses on his fingertips over the skin of his inner elbow, then Riku sighs.
“Don’t you dare break the waffle iron again.” He leans back into Sora as he says it though, so Sora maybe doesn’t have to flail around and deny that he ever broke anything in the kitchen.
“I’m too graceful to break anything,” he says instead. Riku’s snort turns into something a little lower when Sora slips his hand from bare arm to lower belly and strokes the worn cotton of his tank top in firm circles. He does it again, using just his nails, and Riku doesn’t even pretend not to moan under his breath.
His hips hitch up on their own, rubbing once, twice, against Riku‘s back before he can stop himself; that noise does stuff to him.
Embarrassing stuff. Riku was going to make fun of him in a minute if he didn’t say something first. “You’re really, really easy, you know that?” he asks right as he feels him take a long breath. He rakes his teeth across Riku’s shoulder again, just because he can, and laughs when Riku mutters something nasty at him.
A hard pinch to the top of his thigh has him yelping and shoving his hand up Riku’s shirt in revenge a second later. Riku’s hand flattens on his leg, grips and tightens as Sora hikes his shirt up enough to get at bare skin with his mouth, and Sora spares a grateful thought for long shorts.
Then he rubs one palm across one of Riku’s nipples and curls the fingers of his free hand in the long spill of hair rubbing against his face and chest.
He gives Riku a minute to realize what he’s going to do, to stop him if he wants, and then Sora fists the hand in his hair and pulls. It’s hard enough to snap Riku’s head to the side, but not hard enough to really hurt, which is the fine line you have to tread with Riku sometimes. Enough to get him to do what you want to do, but not too much, because then his eyes go dark and distant and scared.
The first time it happened, Sora had ended up with a black eye and Riku almost hyperventilating in the bathroom while Kairi wavered between crying and trying to calm the both of them down, clutching a blanket to her chest the entire time. He knows it’s got something to do with the Xehanort’s Heartless, maybe even with the Nobodies in general, but he’s never been able to pry it out of Riku.
If he could kill them again, he probably would, just on principle.
“Okay?” he asks before he does anything else. He leaves his palm on Riku’s chest, feels the way his heart beat starts to calm down from the sudden furious beat of flight or fight, and tries very hard to keep from trailing his mouth across the newly revealed nape of his neck.
Riku reaches up and back, loosens Sora’s fist a little and bows his head, checking. “Yeah,” he says, “It’s fine. Okay.”
Thank God. Sora slants his mouth across the back of Riku’s neck, biting and sucking while he’s there, and tightens his legs in preparation for… yeah. That. Riku bucks almost immediately, plants the heels of his hands on the countertop to either side of Sora’s legs and arches his back, tries to twist into him; he’d have stopped if he hadn’t asked Riku about that particular reaction months ago.
“Okay?” he asks again anyway. Riku makes a noise in the back of his throat that means “Yes, yes, fuck, stop asking, Sora, keep doing that,” in Riku language (if Riku actually talked during sex, anyway), so he lowers his mouth right against Riku’s hairline and bites hard enough to leave little indents when he lifts off.
Riku keens, rubs the entire length of his body against both Sora and the counter as Sora trails his tongue from the marks to the junction of his neck and shoulder. Sora shudders back into him, rubs his chest against the fabric on Riku’s back before he remembers that it might feel a little better to have skin on skin contact.
He pulls his hand from underneath Riku’s shirt and shushes Riku when he lets out a little surprised, unhappy sound, “Gimme a sec,” he mutters and then helplessly stutters his hips against Riku’s back when he responds by hunching over and pushing, “Riku…! Come on, lemme…”
Sora lets go of Riku’s hair before he can give into the temptation to just rub off against a tank top and tries to pin Riku still long enough to tangle his fingers into the hem of his shirt.
The feel of hair falling against his skin makes him shiver and make some really embarrassing high pitched noise, but he figures the noise Riku makes when he accidentally rubs one calf against his crotch makes them just about even. Besides, with Riku’s hand clamping down on his leg and keeping it there, he has a free moment to actually yank Riku’s shirt up like he’d wanted to in the first place.
“Arm up,” he tells Riku a minute later, resting his hot face against Riku’s hair. He enjoys the way it slithers and then sticks to his own sweaty skin, the way it slowly starts to darken into gunmetal grey as it absorbs the liquid, and says again, “Arm up, Riku, come on, come on…”
Riku grinds down into his leg for a second more, making Sora twitch and grind against his back in turn, before he lifts the arm that he was using to steady himself against the counter and Sora’s free to jerk the shirt off one arm and bunch it up on Riku’s shoulder.
It’s harder getting his pants pulled down far enough, but the first slide of slick skin is bliss. Riku stills, turns his head and raises his eyebrow; Sora’s still got his face buried in Riku’s hair, but he doesn’t have to see to know he’s laughing at him, the bastard.
“Shut up,” he mumbles at him and punctuates it by digging his calf into the hard ridge it’s leaning against. Riku makes a noise, somewhere slightly higher than his usual noises, but it’s shivery sweet, and that just about does it for Sora.
And then it’s just hot skin and sweat and Sora getting a mouthful of hair and skin when he comes all over Riku’s back.
There’s a long few minutes in which he’s vaguely aware that he’s got his arms slung around Riku’s waist and he’s basically lying in his own semen, but that’s pretty high on his “I can ignore that” list. Less high on that list is the fact that Riku’s still rocking against him, growling low under his breath, and Sora rouses enough to tilt his head to the side and peak around Riku’s shoulder.
Yeah, that sort of looks like it’s still a problem, his fuzzy brain decides. It takes another moment for problem to click with “hey, I can solve that!”, then he snakes a hand free from the death grip he’s got on the arc of Riku’s hip and shoves Riku’s own hand away.
He turns his face back into Riku’s skin and mouths his way from shoulder to neck again, pausing only long enough to brush sweat-damp hair out of the way with his cheek. There’s something a little heavier than sweat making the strands gummy, and Riku’s going to kill him when he realizes that, but Sora’s pretty happy to just spread his legs wider and rub for right now.
There’s a tempting stretch of skin right by his mouth that he’s sucking marks into, feeling his brains slowly oozing back in, when Riku surprises him almost into biting a whole lot harder than he means to by talking.
“Sora,” Riku hisses, and it sounds dirty and kind of shocking; Riku’s vocal habits during sex consist almost entirely of grunts and moans, “If you make,” a shuddering breath, “Me come in my pants I’m going to, fuck, spit in your breakfast.”
“Picky,” Sora huffs into the back of his neck but obligingly trails his other hand from Riku’s stomach to his pants and uses it to shove them down as far as he can from his position. He wriggles forward a little, pulls most of Riku’s weight back into him, and goes back to stroking.
Sora’s actually the only one of their little trio who goes blank and sleepy after an orgasm. It’s totally unfair, but Riku just gets a little more comfortable in his skin and Kairi starts bursting with energy while he’s left feeling stupid for a good fifteen minutes afterwards.
So it takes Riku physically batting his hand away before he realizes that, yes, it’s now covered in something warm. Huh.
Riku’s raking his hair back over his shoulder when Sora finally manages to shake off his drowsiness; he prudently scoots back a little, out of Riku’s range of motion. It only takes a second for Riku to realize that there’s something weighing it down and then he’s spinning around and caging Sora with his arms.
“You didn’t,” he says, somewhat incredulously, and Sora would quite happily tell him he didn’t if he thought Riku would believe that.
“You, ah, might want to go take a shower,” Sora says weakly. He takes a deep breath, stops, scratches the back of his head. He tries to look anywhere but at the vibrant marks he can see peeking over the side of Riku’s neck, along the hard line of his shoulder, but his gaze feels like it’s permanently fused there. Riku’s going to kill him. “And, um, you might want to wear your hair down for the next few days, Riku.”
There’s a slight pause, long enough that Sora’s a little afraid that Riku‘s going to decide to smack him on the back of his head, before he sighs and says, “You’re such an idiot.” Riku leans his forehead against Sora’s own and closes his eyes. “Quit leaving hickeys all over the place.”
“Okay.” Sora smoothes his mostly clean hand down Riku’s back and pulls a face that Riku misses because there’s stickiness there too. He tilts his face towards Riku, catches his mouth in a slow, easy kiss, and wipes both hands on the seat of his pants.
He’s expecting the swat to his head so he just takes it and laughs. “What?! You’re going to take a shower anyway!”
“Idiot.” Riku’s smiling as he says it though, and leaning into him heavily enough that Sora’s glad there are cabinets behind him, so he figures he wins either way.
The sun’s fully up by the time they get around to showering.
Sora never does get his waffles.
Pet me? *unhappy face*
