Riku lays in the dark of her room, thumb swiping across the dimly illuminated screen of her gummiphone. Her other arm is above her head, idly playing with her hair as she flips through all the pictures and messages Sora's sent her during her travels. Even when the pictures themselves are out of focus and the lighting is limited you can barely see a thing, Riku treasures each and every one. Each picture, each message, is a small glimpse into Sora’s life while she’s away. As much as they make her lovesick they also instill a measure of calm in Riku’s heart at the people who love and fight and protect her best friend when Riku isn’t able to. Flicking through, the messages and photos seem endless and Riku’s beyond grateful to have proof of Sora’s wellbeing at her fingertips, proof beyond the connection of their hearts.
She knows how lonely Sora can get, how disconnected she sometimes feels from her friends while she’s saving the world for the umpteenth time. While Riku can never rival the multitude of pictures and messages Sora sends, she tries her best to reciprocate. It isn’t a truly selfless act either since a single message she sends often results in rapidfire excitement filled responses. Riku reads them all once, twice, over and over with a hand over her mouth to smother her giddy smile.
Sora is thoughtful and kind, her attention cherished and held close. Riku’s heart swells with every new notification, every little scrap she can cling to that prove she’s in Sora’s thoughts.
None of their friends get the amount of pictures and messages that Riku does. A fact she’d discovered over breakfast one morning when her phone had buzzed incessantly with a series of photos from Sora in Neverland. Axel had scooped it from the table, thin eyebrows inching higher up his forehead with every new notification.
“Nice to see our hero is alive,” he flipped the phone around in his hand, held it out for Riku while shoveling oatmeal into his mouth.
Riku took it with a frown, scrolled through the dozens of messages and quickly fired off a response, “What do you mean?”
Axel bobbed his head from side to side, chewed for an obnoxiously long time before swallowing. He took a large swallow of his orange juice, grimaced and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, “None of us have heard from Sora in over a week.”
She stared at Axel, dumbfounded, as he resumed eating and only came to at the buzz in her palm. A shaky picture of Sora with the camera faced toward her, laughing as Donald pinwheeled through the air behind her filled up the screen. Riku bit the inside of her cheek hard to keep from smiling, heart tripping over itself as Sora grinned up at her and her alone from across the universe.
Now, laying in bed scrolling through countless pictures only she has been privy to, her heart isn't faring much better. It’s beating erratically, hitching thumps against her rib cage, and her teeth are clamped on her bottom lip as she studies the picture of Sora she'd received during dinner that night.
Sora is in the Caribbean on a routine patrol but Riku knows it’s one of Sora’s favorite worlds, has been fortunate to hear her many stories of swashbuckling adventure and battles on the high seas. Sora never gets the details of a story in order but she tells them with such feeling, such infectious enthusiasm that Riku can close her eyes and see everything perfectly.
The picture Sora sent tonight though has Riku shifting against her sheets, belly warm and tight. She's just outside the Port Royal docks, climbing up onto a gigantic weathered ship in dark high waisted trousers and a cream colored blouse rolled up to her elbows. The sun is behind her, lines her in gold, and Riku can see with a heavy twisting ache, the curves of her body through the thin material of her shirt. Can see her small waist and the barely visible curve of her breast, and without thinking Riku's hand is already drifting.
She wonders who took the photo, wants to shake their hand because they’ve captured Sora perfectly, immortalized the cheeky grin thrown over her shoulder. Her cheeks are covered in freckles, more than were there the last time she saw her, and Riku's thumb hovers above the curve of her cheek on the screen. Riku finally slides her hand beneath the covers, follows the path her eyes make across Sora's body. She skims her nails across her breast before cupping and squeezing, almost feels linen and sun warm skin instead, her shaky breaths loud in the stillness of her room.
In the moments she allowed herself, she thought of the noises Sora might make. How she might whine into Riku's mouth as they kissed, heartbeat hammering against Riku's palm as she touches her breasts, skin soft and pliant and so warm. How easily she'd fit in her hands. Her palm runs down her chest, over the trembling muscles of her stomach, and her eyes are slightly dry and stinging from keeping them open, unblinking as she burns the picture into her memory. She knows, without a doubt, that she could wrap her hands around Sora's waist. That her fingertips would touch, overlap even.
The thought of having all that light caught between her hands has her keening quietly, hand dipping below the band of her panties and twitching to a halt at her pubic hair. There’s something that catches her eye, something new. She brings the phone closer, thinks there's something just beneath the underside of Sora's arm, almost blocked out from view entirely. She zooms in as best she can one handed, the other mindlessly twisting the hair beneath her hand, and she lets out a punched out grunt when she finally unravels what it is.
In the photo, barely discernible through the shirt and backlighting, is Sora's nipple glinting with gold.
Riku grips her pubic hair painfully, tries to stop herself from coming but she can feel the ache get hotter and stronger and she's wetter than she's ever been from that revelation. Her hand is trapped uncomfortably beneath the material of her panties, knuckles cramping. Riku will regret it later but she doesn't have the patience or coordination right now to take them off after seeing-
Resting her phone over her heart, she wriggles her hand beneath the covers to join the other and rips her panties apart along the seams, lifts the blankets and tosses them onto the floor. She scrambles to pick the phone up again, sighs in pleasure and relief that the photo is right where she left off. She finally slips her hand all the way down, past slick damp pubic hair, hand shaking around the phone when she brushes across her clit. She digs her elbow into the mattress to steady her hand and zooms the picture back out. Takes in that cheeky grin in a whole new light.
Riku always figured Sora would be the death of her but she never thought it would be because of a piercing of all things. Riku's soaked and she knows the sheets under her are going to be too when she's done, but she coats her fingers in slick anyway and starts a slow, toe curling rhythm over her clit.
Did Sora get a matching set of piercings?
Air rushes out of her nose and she gasps a lungful back in, hips jerking at the image of Sora's nipples highlighted in gold, in light, just like the rest of her. Riku could place her in her lap, hands cupping her rib cage, thumbs flicking and teasing over them until Sora was a whining, squirming mess.
The next time they cross paths, will she be able to see them?
Sora usually doesn't wear a bra, much to Riku's delight and despair, so the chance of her piercings pressing up against the material of her shirt, being visible, are very, very high. Riku hurriedly plants her feet in the mattress, rocks her hips in a stuttering, overwhelmed counterpoint to her stroking fingers and she clamps her mouth down on a loud, shaky moan. She's always wanted to taste Sora, dreamt about it for years, and now she has to, gets to, factor in the flavor of metal too.
She wonders if Sora's nipples would be sensitive, lets out a desperate hissing whine at the thought that they already were and this new accessory just made it sharper.
Riku pants wetly at the image of Sora with her top hanging from her trousers, face bright red as her pretty swollen nipples are played with, lavished with kisses and sucks and bites. Riku's close just thinking about it, wonders if Sora would be too, just from being teased. She imagines Sora spread out on her lap, thighs straining to reach across Riku's legs, leaning up as much as she can into Riku's mouth on her breast. Her hands would be in Riku's hair, flexing and tugging as Riku cups and pushes up on her breast, sucks on her nipple, tongue flicking and toying with the piercing.
Sora's always in motion and this would be no different. She'd rock into the air, desperately seeking friction, legs flexing and squeezing against Riku’s hips. Riku can never deny her anything so she would unbutton her trousers, pull them down as much as she could over the spread of her hips and thighs, and she would slide her hand inside.
Sora sometimes doesn't wear panties. Riku can always tell, heart heavy with want, because there's no line visible through her pants. And she can tell, looking at the photo, that Sora isn't wearing any then either.
In her fantasy, mouth full of Sora, her hand slides easily to that wet heat. She imagines the seat of Sora's trousers are soaked with her arousal, proof of how she feels, how Riku makes her feel. That has Riku gripping the phone tighter, the plastic and metal creaking.
Sora always runs hot, has to have the window of her room cracked no matter what time of year, and she would feel even hotter against Riku’s fingertips. Wet and trembling at the first brush across her clit, whines dripping from her mouth and rumbling against Riku’s swollen lips pressed to her chest. Riku dips inside Sora’s cunt, chokes as her own spreads open against her fingers. They move inside easily, inside both of them, and Riku cries out at the same time as Sora at the first thrust. Cunt fluttering and clenching as Sora drags Riku’s mouth off her breast in the fantasy and joins it with hers.
Sora pulls her mouth open with a thumb on her chin, lick her way inside, pushes every moan and whimper rushing past her lips into Riku. She keeps her eyes open and holds Riku’s face gently as she rocks on her fingers, arches her back to rub her breasts against Riku.
And Riku would hold Sora, always wants to hold her, as she fingers her open. Steadies her through the shivers and the desperate rolls of her hips for more. She can almost feel the sweat damp skin of her back as her muscles work to grind and arch into her, the way their skin would stick together with sweat. She can hear her fingers moving inside Sora, the sound of her body moving slickly inside of her best friend, the love of her life, and it has her sobbing up at the ceiling, phone falling from her hand onto the bed next to her.
She hesitates for a second, listens to the sound of her fingers thrusting before coming to a decision.
Trembling, she covers her eyes with her free hand. It’s just her imagination, and a year's worth of practice, but she can see Sora better. Her flush is brighter, her eyes darker, and her lips shining as she licks along Riku’s mouth.
Riku’s hand tightens across her eyes as her fingers press deeper, chest rising and falling rapidly as Sora tilts Riku's head in her hands and slides their mouths together tighter, presses her tongue deeper, and every brush of their lips has Riku's thighs trembling, toes curling in the sheets. Riku rips her fingers out of her own cunt and rubs achingly slow across her clit, the tension coiling tighter in her belly, damp lashes caught between her cheeks and her palm.
Sora, tight and burning around Riku's fingers, pulls away with a breathless smile, eyes heavy lidded and soft. She tucks a piece of hair behind Riku's ear, thumb tracing the shell and down along the curve of her cheek. Her eyes flick across Riku’s face before drooping shut as she nuzzles her nose against Riku's with a pleased sigh.
Riku comes with tears leaking from beneath her hand, lips pressed tightly together to cage the sobs in her throat as she shakes apart.
When the shivers have subsided and her heart has mellowed, she lifts her hand from her face and blinks dazedly up at the ceiling. Moonlight filters through her curtains and she lazily tracks the interplay of light and shadow above her head.
She's startled by a low buzz and she pats around blindly for her dropped phone. Picking it up with squinted eyes, she slowly adjusts to the influx of light and her heart skips.
miss you. wish you were here.
A fresh wave of tears crests down her cheeks but she types back me too before locking her phone. The room is dark but she can see her reflection in the blackened screen, can see the gentle curve of her lips, the pink eyes.
She falls asleep moments later clutching her phone tightly to her heart.