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The pack of wolves close around them, approaching cautiously since Komory’s last kick, although the mare is too hurt and too nervous to be a real threat. Sora holds her rein as best as he can, because if he lets go and Komory bolts, she will be running straight into their maws, but Komory doesn’t understand that. She is in pain and she sees danger and she wants to get away as fast as possible, even with the open wound trailing blood down her flank. Her neighs resounding louder than the growling of the pack.
Komory pulls at the reins again, one second of weakness in which Sora stumbles back and a wolf leaps forward, flared teeth and shining claws aiming for his legs, until Kairi strikes it on the side. The blow sends it barreling against the others, scattering them away if only for a moment. Kairi takes the chance to gain terrain. She stands between Sora and the wolves, the robust fallen branch steady in her hands as she swings it fiercely in front of her. The wolves react by stepping back, but never far. Tentative movements that end with them snipping at the air and recoiling before the branch collides with their snouts.
Their wariness lights up a flame of hope inside his chest, brittle and ephemeral, shattering instantly the moment a wolf manages to catch the branch between its teeth.
“Kairi!”
Sora hooks one arm around her waist and pulls her towards him at the same instant the wood splints under its canines. Had Kairi still been holding it, she would have been dragged into the dirt along with it. That is all Sora can think about as he presses her against his chest, as much of a barrier as he can be with Komory still kicking and neighing at his back.
There is nothing more preventing the pack from ripping them apart; Sora can see the realisation in their hungry, feral eyes.
“Get on Komory and away from here.”
“No!” Kairi’s fingers grip his vest tightly enough to force him to lean forward. “I’m not leaving you!”
And Sora isn’t going to let her stupidly die because she decided that arguing with him was wiser than saving her life, so Sora grabs her by the hips and throws her on Komory’s back. The mare complains and bolts, hitting the rock wall they have been cornered against. Her distress keeps the wolves away, but it won’t last. Sora needs to act as a distraction. Maybe if he runs they will follow him instead of Kairi. Maybe if he throws himself at them they will be too busy devouring him to pursue her. Maybe- Maybe—If he had accepted the others to come with him, they wouldn’t be in this nightmare.
A roar tears through the forest; everything quietens. The birds, the wind, the nearby stream. It’s the first and last warning the pack receives before the white beast descends upon them. Long fangs and curved claws puncturing their flesh. Sora witnesses their blood splatter on the grass, like poppies blooming under the sun.
“Run!” Their saviour commands, crimson dripping down his jaw.
“Sora!” Calls Kairi and her panic breaks him out of his stupor.
Sora gets behind her on Komory as one of the wolves gets thrown against the wall; the crack of its bones snapping sends a shiver down his back.
Then, Kairi spurs Komory onwards, fast and away from danger. And as she manoeuvres through the trees, Sora continues with his head turned away, looking back at the carnage unfolding amidst the thicket. There, where silver fur has started to turn red and the cries sound like howls of pain.
I have to go back, his heart wails, but Komory continues to flee.
The traces of the fight disappear beyond the leaves.
“And you came alone!?”
Sora presses the gauze with admittedly more force than necessary and rejoices when Riku flinches, ears perked upright, wings spread and tail straight. Serves him right!
“You also went out alone.”
“Because I didn’t know it was dangerous!”
“What was I supposed to do?” Riku hisses through his teeth when Sora starts bandaging his arm, yet his tone doesn’t waver as he continues. “Wait there while doing nothing? I’m the fastest, if I hadn’t gone out when I did, you would have been their dinner.”
A big paw seizes his wrist, firm like a shackle and as warm as an embrace. Riku’s eyes, once Sora looks at them, are two pools of concern. Pupils dilated within the seafoam of their irises, an eclipse over the ocean.
“What were you thinking?” He asks, voice soft and pleading.
Sora needs to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth before answering. “I couldn’t let Kairi die.” He sounds less secure than he should. What he did made sense. It was the correct option. The only option. He shouldn’t feel like he is defending a stupid mistake. “She’s our friend and a princess! She has a whole kingdom waiting for her.”
“Her life isn’t more valuable than yours just because she is royalty.”
He shakes his head the same way he shakes Riku’s paw away to carry on wrapping. “I think it’s, yeah.”
“Not here.” Riku looms over him as he says it. Almost a whisper of his deep baritone against his ear. His breath on his forehead. “Not for me.”
Sora tightens the bandages around his forearm. Riku jolts away with a whimper not unlike a dog’s. Sora needs to dodge a sharp swat of his tail; that thing is worse than a whip.
What was his best friend thinking, talking like that? Riku might have been alienated from nobiliary life and all its restrictive etiquette for years, but Sora hasn’t forgotten where he stands in the social hierarchy. Even if he has been living in this castle for almost a decade, being treated like an equal for someone with more titles than his name has letters, Sora is aware of his commoner status. Outside this hidden island amidst the magical mist, no one would bat an eye at the thought of some random nobody sacrificing his life to save a princess. They would even consider it an honour. Say he was lucky to die for such a noble cause. “It should.” He relents his grip on the dressings, finishing them up with a proper knot. Not too loose to fall off, not too tight to rip apart whenever Riku does so much as flex. The Stars know more than one sleeve has been lost to these arms. Sora sighs. “Riku, she could have been the one. I was so sure she was the one.”
Somewhere behind him, the sound of sharpening metal stops.
“You think so too, right Aqua?” Sora turns to look at her, his words on the right side of imploring.
He can’t be the only one who got his hopes up! Kairi, who had welcomed the magic imbued on this island with curious eyes and a fascinated gasp. The girl sent, like many others before her, as a possible future bride but ended up more interested in getting to know the service than in meeting the prince. The princess who enjoyed making jewellery and learning about Destiny Islands’ legends and slept among the flowerbeds in the garden when she found herself missing her homeland.
The only one, from the long list of candidates, whom Riku showed himself to, explaining the full truth behind the mist, the sentient furniture and the increasing urge for the prince to wed. Revealing that it wasn’t the localised spell of some genius mage from the court, it was a curse. The same curse that kept the prince permanently sequestered in the castle that was only supposed to be used for summer escapades, not some lung ailment that needed clean coastal air. And that the King and Queen hadn’t been requesting nubile young women to meet with their son because they wanted him married and with an heir before his critical condition pushed him to an early death, but because the curse required a maiden to fall in love with him to be lifted. The mysterious mist ceaselessly circling the island the walls of the prison keeping everyone cursed from leaving these shores. Were they to venture beyond them, they would lose their conscience and turn into ordinary, lifeless objects. Were Riku the one to abandon the mist, he would become a full beast, losing all rationality to his animal instincts.
And Kairi listened to it all and she nodded as she shed a tear. “And all of you have been cursed for this long?” She asked with nothing but worry and a mesmerised tilt of wonder, like she was proud of them. “To be strong enough to endure this torment… You’re the bravest people I have had the fortune to know.”
It all seemed to go so well, so perfect. Riku even agreed to talk to her in private! Sora almost jumped out of his skin when he heard about it.
Then Kairi said that she wanted to return to Radiant Garden and everything came crashing on him at once. Riku has refused to tell him what it is he said that convinced her to leave when some days ago she seemed content to stay as long as possible. He guesses it must be quite the embarrassing story. Years of isolation and self-deprecation have turned Riku a tad socially awkward; he probably said the wrong thing at the worst time in the rudest way possible and annihilated any change he could have had at wooing Kairi. Sora should never have left them alone.
“Princess Kairi is an extraordinary young lady.” Is what Aqua answers, fidgeting momentarily with the razor used to shave the fur around Riku’s wounds before resuming the sharpening. The metal of her fingers click pleasantly against each other at the movement.
It isn’t that Sora disagrees with the statement, but it sounds too much like a cop-out to be believable. Great. Now Aqua is hiding something from him too. If Terra hadn’t offered to throw Riku’s tattered clothes away after he helped him with the bath, Sora is sure he would have him on his side.
“After this she will stay for a while longer.” He turns to face Riku, putting on his best begging expression. Puppy eyes and all, even if they don’t work as well as they used to when he was a kid, Riku always caves in anyway. “Maybe you could try again? Dance for one song or two? Smile a bit more for her?”
With an absolute lack of enthusiasm, Riku spreads his lips wide enough to display the entirety of two rows of sharp, bloody, lion teeth. Fangs the length of Sora’s pinky finger and wider than his thumb at the base. Comparisons Sora’s gotten the chance to do many times, more out of his own amusement than to measure how much they grow throughout the year and determine it’s time for some filing. He likes shoving his hands in there just to feel the smooth bone against his fingertips. How it curves and sharpens at the tip. How straight his incisors are. Sometimes he fits his fingers on the space between the molars just because he can and Riku swears he will chop them off, a threat as empty as they come.
“See? A true killer smile.” He says with utter sincerity, awed as always at the sight of those canines. Until his own words catch up to him. “Wait, no-”
“I get what you’re trying to do, Sora.” Dismisses Riku as he accepts a toothbrush from Aqua with paste already on it.
Riku proceeds to meticulously clean his mouth of any blood or wolf remains stuck in there. Seeing as their conversation has been put on pause, Sora decides to collect the unused bandages and medicines from the bed and return them to their place in the bathroom cabinet. Then he does the same with the gauzes, washing them off in the tub with soap and water from a pitcher. His skin smells like citrus afterwards rather than antiseptic.
When he comes back to the bedroom, Riku is spitting out pink foam into a basin held in front of him by Aqua. Sora needs to muffle a laugh by biting the inside of his cheek. Beast body or not, Riku is every bit the spoiled prince; his attendants can’t help but coddle him at every possible chance.
He includes himself among them, of course.
Noticing his presence, Riku scowls. “She almost got mauled by feral wolves this afternoon. The last thing she will want is another big scary beast getting close.”
Now Sora is the one scowling. “You’re not the same as them.”
“Right.” Riku takes the towel from Aqua’s arm to clean his chin. The wet fur there a darker patch of silver than the rest. “They’re just normal animals,” his eyes get lost in the basin. Whatever it is he sees inside sucks the strength out of his posture, ears and tail and wings dropping along with his lips. “I look like something out of a nightmare.”
“Stop that!” The audacity of this guy! Sora stomps towards him and pulls him away from his own reflection. “We have talked about it! You are not a creature out of nightmares who hides in the woods to scare children and eat their innards. You are not a monster from a fairy tale destined to be gutted by some knight in a quest. And you are not an irremediable asshole who deserves to suffer for all eternity in a cold, stone, dark dungeon.” His hands grip tufts of chest fur as he looks up up up at him; he hopes it hurts, he hopes it feels to Riku like Sora has his heart squeezed tight. “Right now, what you are, is a whiny reckless baby!”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Pipes up Aqua, clearly scandalised going by the racket of her plating.
Sora snaps his head in her direction. “No, Aqua, he needs to hear it or he will be a broody mess for a week straight.”
“I guess…”
A little chuckle surprised the both of them, turning to look at Riku and the small, secretive curve of his lips.
Fondness curls his own mouth into a grin. “See? Is it that hard to smile a little?”
“It’s hard not to with such a clown around.”
“Ha ha, very funny.” Sora pushes him away playfully. Riku doesn’t even stagger backwards, the ripped bastard. “When all of this ends you better hire me as court jester.”
“I think ‘royal advisor’ would suit you more.” Aqua says with a chuckle of her own. One of those laughs that echoes inside her chest plate and makes it sound like there are three of her cackling at once.
“Really?”
Aqua hums for a moment, emptying the basin through the window. Riku’s room is so high up they don’t get to hear the water splattering on the ground. “Riku will reign best with you by his side, Sora.”
The sudden compliment sparks a flame within his ribcage. It licks up his throat and lits up his face in what he knows is a stupidly giddy grin. The one on Riku’s face when he looks at him, though, carries nothing but fondness. His eyes sad in the way they almost always are these days, like he is mourning something that isn’t dead yet, but Sora has learnt to read between the lines of misery turning his friend into a tragic painting. He agrees with Aqua, perhaps in more ways than Sora is aware of and the thought brings an early summer to his soul.
Although, that’s probably the less crazy thing currently going on in his life. There is much to take care of in the present before they can start formulating a future.
Aqua wipes her polished hands on the towel. At this hour, with the sun more than set beyond the horizon, the candles lighting the chamber cover her dark metal in honeyed gold. It looks a lot like Terra’s in the same way that Terra turns fine silver under the moonlight. Two sets of armour meant to complement each other, with Ven as a mix of their designs: light where Aqua is dark, dark where Terra is light. Perfect balance.
“I will be standing guard outside your door tonight. In case you-”
“No need!” Sora proclaims, hopping onto the bed. The bedding receives him without protest. “I will be staying here to prevent him from picking at his bandages.”
Riku huffs at his remark but softens his tone when he agrees. Wings down and tail swaying lethargically behind him as he walks her to the door. “Today has been quite hectic Aqua, you deserve some rest too.”
Her helmet lacks any features to emote accordingly; however, after years of interacting with the trio of armours, Sora has mastered the ability to interpret their silences. One shift of their posture here, one tilt of their head there. The quiet rumbling of an almost-voice inside a hollow chest.
Right now, what Sora is able to translate from the sudden drop of her shoulder pieces is that Aqua has finally relaxed. She always remains on guard the longest after an incident happens.
“As long as Sora is with you—”
“I am!”
“—then there’s nothing for me to worry about.”
The slight wobbling in Riku’s tail is a lot harder to decipher.
“Tell the same to the others. For the foreseeable future Sora will be everyone’s personal butler.”
“Hey!” Sora throws one pillow at him.
After exhaling a pathetic puff at hitting one of Riku’s wings, the improvised projectile falls unceremoniously to the floor. The other two don’t bother to acknowledge it besides a quick flick of Riku’s left ear and Aqua’s quiet chuckle against her palm. She still makes the gesture despite having no mouth to cover; Sora finds the habit reassuringly human.
“As you wish, Master Riku.”
With a bow (more pantomime than protocolary at this point) Aqua says her farewells and exits the room, casting one last glance in their direction that Sora knows would be accompanied by a sweet smile did she still have a mouth.
The room appears much smaller after she is gone. A common occurrence since Sora can remember. Being alone together with Riku turns the space, no matter how big, into something intimate. The perfect place for telling secrets. It happened back then, when they were kids gazing up into the sky in the middle of the night—Riku’s explanations about the world crafting a whole universe of possibilities in Sora’s mind—and Sora felt like he could stretch his arm to grab a star. And it’s happening now, with Sora basking in Riku’s warmth from across the room.
His fingers itch with the urge to thread through his mane. The same light that cast Aqua in gold is forming a halo around Riku’s silhouette. Horns shining like embers in the hearth. As much as Riku calls himself a monster, in moments like these all Sora can compare him to is an angel—those depicted in the library’s ancient tomes, with the yellowish pages and drawings in decoloured ink. The angels with multiple wings, animal heads and blazing fire for a heart. The ones adorned with golden inscribed rings. Bearers of both glory and decadence—maybe the white, holy bull from that even more ancient myth too. Where a young maiden got enraptured by the shine of his gold horns and snow-like glow and fell victim to the whims of a god.
Riku’s horns aren’t made of any precious metal—even if they share the same radiance under the candlelight as he crouches down—but they enthral him still. Sora wonders if this is how that girl felt when she got on the bull’s back and questions what it says of him that he is so ready to jump into Riku’s bed, wishing to recreate the tale.
The pillow that Riku throws hits him square in the face. Retribution, Sora guesses, for his previous attack.
“Make room for me.”
They both know it’s not necessary: the bed is absurdly huge, with pillows both longer and wider than Sora. If he were to roll from one side to the other, it would take his body three spins and a half to complete the journey. He is sure of it because he did, in fact, test the distance the day they brought the bedframe and the mattress after Riku broke the previous one during his last growth spurt. Everything on it, from the sheets to the quilt, had been specially commissioned to fit his laughable proportions. Sora still remembers the carpenter and merchant’s dumbfounded faces upon placing his order.
Like in any such cases, Sora excused it as “another one of the prince’s bizarre requests”, which gained him sympathetic smiles, a pat on the back from both of them and no more questions. That justification works for almost all situations; Sora has tested it throughout the years with increasingly weird demands, obtaining, without fault, the same result: complete and easy acceptance. Perhaps half of that compliance comes from their eagerness to get ahold of the munny pouch he carries each time he goes to town, but if that keeps the townsfolk from coming up with theories regarding what in hell is going on in the prince’s private island, then he won’t complain about the grabby hands.
The man he buys the oils and soaps for Riku’s fur from, though, has been giving him odd looks for some time now. At first—all those years ago, the month after the curse was cast—Sora explained that Riku had bought a pair of purebred horses and wanted nothing but the best products to treat their manes, which wasn’t something to think twice about. Rich kid wanting fancy things for his fancy horses. It was a good coverup story. However, Riku kept getting bigger and with his increment in size came an increment in hair that brought along an increment in their need for grooming supplies. And Sora might have been lying to everyone for half a decade, but he wasn’t a natural. So, when the questioning remarks started, Sora simply stated: “He keeps on buying more! It’s crazy there! Horses everywhere.”
It was an absurd thing to say (he cringes at the memory even now), but it got the guy off his back for the time being. That is, until someone talks to the local farmers and realises that Sora isn’t purchasing enough grain to feed the supposed horse army. How much munny will be necessary to silence them then? He isn’t good at calculating—well, anything.
“What got you thinking this hard?”
“Maths.”
Riku’s laugh is hearty and rich in the way it only gets when they are alone, teeth bared and tail swaying to and fro. An hypnotic motion, a beckoning, an invitation. If only…
“Why would you be thinking about maths now?”
Instead of answering, Sora shrugs and grabs one of Riku’s wings to spread over himself. Even with Riku laying prone in the middle of the enormous bed the tips still hang outside the mattress.
“Are you using the new hair oil?” He asks, making himself comfortable under the red membrane. It’s softer than it looks, velvety to the touch and always at the perfect temperature for being cuddled. Being October, it’s technically autumn, but Destiny Islands only knows the cold by the same methods it knows snow: stories told by visitors from beyond the shore.
“Terra applied it, I think?” Riku’s wings twitch. There is also poultice smeared over the bitten scales; it makes them smell like freshly cut garden weeds. “There was a lot of blood to clean, we used half the bottles.”
Sora groans, already grieving his next visit to the marketplace and the suspicious seller. At least Riku’s plushness makes it worthwhile. His fur, when Sora shimmies close to his side, is soft as silk against his cheek. The fragrance of flowers and nuts fills his head like cotton. Despite taking on his father’s role as gardener, Sora has never been able to identify the essences properly; he just knows that the products are expensive as hell and make Riku smell luxurious.
“Stop sniffing.”
Sora throws one arm over his back, right under the base of his wings, and buries his face in his ribs, sniffling obnoxiously loud.
“Sora!”
A paw half the size of his head pushes him away without much strength. A playful touch. Sora laughs and his mouth fills with hair. Sacrifices, sacrifices.
“Keep it up and I’m kicking you out.”
“Sure.” Sora says, smug tone and all. Riku never follows through with his threats.
Mindful of the bandages, Sora drags himself higher until his head rests on the same pillow as Riku’s, whose arm now slacks over him, not really touching even if Sora feels his warmth through his thin shirt. It’s ridiculous at times how careful Riku is with him, how scared he seems of his own flesh. He can understand his caution while handling the porcelain teacups or slowly passing the pages in a book, but this is Sora they are talking about. His body isn’t ceramic or glass; he isn’t one of the servants turned silverware. He can stand a scratch or two. He isn’t going to crumble under the pressure of his hold.
Sora wouldn’t mind a rougher touch.
Seafoam eyes blink drowsily at him. Not that Sora can blame Riku for it. With the fighting and the medicine his limbs must feel akin to lead, his form another walking armour within the castle. They should sleep, really. Everything has been accounted for: Sora ate something quick after checking that Meow Wow was safe and sound in the stables alongside Komory; he bathed, put on his nightwear and assured Kairi he was okay before going to Riku’s room. The candles remain lit, however, Riku prefers it this way.
Once, almost two years into the curse, Sora asked him if he was afraid of the dark. The question remains unanswered.
“You’ll be twenty next month.”
His eyes turn half-lidded. The fondness in them hitches Sora’s breath. “And I already told you I don’t need a present.”
“This isn’t about presents or parties.” He fists the sheets under them. “The curse will become permanent on your twenty-first birthday and the others will…” There are knots forming inside his guts, one for each of the truths he isn’t brave enough to confront. The thought of silent, lifeless corridors stings his heart. “Next month we will only have one year left to break it.”
His concern is met with silence. When Sora lifts his gaze from the bedding to Riku, he finds his expression undecipherable. It twists something deep inside his chest to not be able to read him. To know that Riku doesn’t want him to read him. Betrayal is bitter, bitter venom in his tongue.
“I know.” Is all he says, like it’s a fact of life, like it’s inevitable, like there is nothing to be done about it.
“Then why are you letting her go?!” He grabs fistfuls of hair from whatever part is near, his fingers shaking like he wishes he could shake some sense into him. This stupid, stubborn, spoiled prince who would rather doom them all than believe he has a chance. “Kairi is perfect.” His voice cracks with an emotion he can’t quite identify. It’s raw and bleeding, too tender to touch. “She didn’t freak out when she saw you.”
She was accordingly surprised and understandably guarded, but, beyond that, she appeared profoundly sympathetic. Of course she didn’t react with joyful somersaults around the ballroom at the realisation that she was brought to be the one falling in love with Riku to break the curse (not that anyone had expected her to). The task of saving so many lives was a heavy burden to push onto someone’s shoulders this abruptly, even if that someone was a princess.
“So just because she didn’t run the moment she saw me, I should trap her here?”
“It’s not trap-”
“You heard her yourself; she is going home.”
“You could have convinced her to stay! You didn’t even try!” Sora pushes himself up on his arms to glare down at him. “You just gave up!”
“What did you think would happen if she stayed?” His wings flare up, his tail coiled akin to a scorpion’s stinger. “That she would miraculously fall in love with me?” Riku gets on his knees and, when his hands gesticulate towards himself, they are heavy with ridicule and ire. “Haven’t you seen me?!”
“Here we go again.” Sora rolls his eyes so hard his head follows the movement. Then he proceeds to lament in the most horrible, disrespectful and aggravating imitation of Riku’s voice he is capable of. “Oh, I’m Riku and I’m soooooo terrible-looking. With my cool dragon wings and my shiny horns. My fur is too silky, my fangs are too white, my eyes too aquamarine.” He puts the back of one hand against his forehead and the other clutching at his chest for good measure. “Who could ever love a prince with this much bulging muscle?” He drops the act to glower at him. “That’s how you sound.”
Riku returns the glare, arms crossed, ears starting to lower. “Sora.”
“Don’t ‘Sora’ me!” He has had enough of it, this helpless attitude, this hopeless pessimism. It’s like he doesn’t want to go on anymore and the thought alone drowns him in misery. “Kairi wasn’t afraid! She was okay with staying! Until you two talked and—What did you even tell her?!”
“That she had to leave.”
Somewhere in the hallway a grandfather clock announces midnight with twelve sombre chimes. Sora senses each one of them reverberating within his bones. Slowly, methodically, they stoke the inferno rising to his throat.
He explodes. “Are you crazy?! Why would you do that?!”
“Because I wanted Kairi to take you with her.”
Sora splutter at the sheer stupidity.
“You wanted her to-” He shakes his head No, again and again until his brain is a ricocheting marble inside his skull. “And you thought I would agree?!”
When Riku answers “You should,” his voice is solemn and levelled, a royal decree expected to be obeyed, never questioned. He wouldn’t look less authoritative on a throne than he does now, sitting on his haunches over wrinkled sheets, his horns akin to a crown.
And Riku might be his prince, but he is foremost his friend, his best friend, and Sora isn’t about to let himself be ordered around by a friend who is dumb enough to believe that Sora would abandon him. He thought that he would run away! That he would leave everyone behind to suffer! No. No! Not in a million years. Not even after a million curses. Who does he take Sora for?!
Does he think so little of his love?
“It’s for your own good. The situation has been hopeless since the start, Sora. The curse will never break.”
“You don’t know that!” He yells and he swears the candlelight glows brighter as if agreeing with his anger. This rightful fury, all-encompassing, sets his skin ablaze with the same flames he feels licking at the back of his teeth after every word. He could spit fire and it wouldn’t surprise him. “Have you ever tried to break it? How many girls has it been, Riku? Because I stopped counting after we reached fifty! More than fifty girls have come here and you didn’t speak with a single one! And the first time you do, it’s to tell her to leave?! Do you even care about-”
The next thing he knows is that he is on his back, a paw on each side of his head as Riku cages him against the mattress. He is boring his gaze on his, lustrous seafoam gems burning under furrowed brows, the creases in them so pronounced they erase any humanity from his features. Ears flattened against his head and fur standing on end, raised through his forehead and the curve down his back. His lips have been pulled back over red gums to fully show his teeth, sharp as daggers, deadly strong. His spread wings framing the very frightening picture in black and red, like fire and night devouring the moon. And as Sora takes it all in, hot feral puffs of breath hitting his face, the image of the wolf lunging at him flashes behind his eyes.
A shiver of excitement shocks his spine.
“I’m a monster.” Riku snarls, as if that were enough explanation.
Not for Sora.
“Show me, then.” He lifts his head as much as he is capable of; their foreheads would have knocked together if not for Riku pulling back. The coward. Sora almost wants to laugh. As always, he is all bark and no bite. “Scare me away. Make me want to leave.”
One second settles into another. His challenge hanging into the air between them, like lightning after hitting a tree. The silence that follows crepitates with its own kind of energy. It raises goosebumps on Sora’s skin. An implicit I dare you that has been ingrained into their tones after nearly two decades of friendly and not-so-friendly competition. They both are the most obstinate jerk the other knows. Sora won’t relent, not without a fight. Neither will Riku.
That’s most likely the reason why he descends upon him, mouth open, to close his teeth around his throat, just above where his silver chain rests. Because the curse has taken many things away from Riku, but not even half a decade of isolation in an unfamiliar body has stripped him of his pride. A spoiled prince through and through, stubborn even in his drive to continue acting the part of the tortured soul. Sora would take his aggression more seriously if the firm pressure of those molars didn’t feel like a pat on the shoulder. Riku isn’t even using his fangs.
What a gentle monster, Sora mocks in his thoughts, sure that his face reflects it too.
Hence, Sora brings one hand to Riku’s chin, the other to the bridge of his short snout and starts pushing his jaw closed. As expected, a gurgled, confused sound (so much like a dog’s) comes from within Riku’s throat; Sora feels the muscles resisting to budge under his fingers, refusing to move a smidge.
“Come on, big guy, chop up.” He taunts, pressing harder.
Nonetheless, the more strength Sora applies, the stiller Riku stays, the tips of his canines barely indenting Sora’s jugular. Another gargling noise escapes him and, this time, it comes with droplets of saliva falling on his skin and the sudden flick of a tongue before Riku reels back completely, his mouth snapping shut with a loud clack, like that of a nutcracker.
“Sora, that was dangerous!”
“Wasn’t that the point?” He asks between pants, a smug smile stretching his lips so wide pinpricks of pain sting his cheeks. “You can’t even bite me. You’re not a monster, you’re a puppy.”
Something like lightning strikes again; it causes Riku’s eyes to spark and his shoulders to square. Sora recognises that tell; he has grown up beside it. Because it’s the same posture Riku had the first time they jumped from the highest cliff into the sea. It’s the determined look that appeared on his face when Sora convinced him to try flying after a growth spurt turned his wings big enough to support his weight. It’s the intense gaze of unwavering resolve that schools his expression into confidence whenever he is going to do something he knows is irremediably stupid and is ready to accept the consequences.
Sora wonders, once again, if he had that face too the day he ignored his caretaker’s warnings to befriend the gardener’s son.
Mmm… Riku ends up doing some pretty dumb things whenever Sora is involved, doesn’t he?
Like crashing their lips together as if it were some kind of punishment. Dumb, stupid, asshole Riku. Spoiled, petty, bossy prince. Beautiful moron that owns his heart. Sora can’t believe he resorted to this. He can’t believe he finally gets to have this.
Riku’s tongue has pried Sora’s lips open, intruding with the force of a battering ram. Demanding and claiming. A whirlpool in constant motion. Going deeper and deeper until he tickles the back of his throat and Sora half chokes in a gasp. His arms rush to latch around his neck.
Sora has felt Riku’s tongue with his fingers before; Riku even licked him as a joke once or twice, always in jest, always lighthearted play between friends. But none of that prepared him for what it is to have that tongue against his, hot and wet and blissfully long, flexible as it bends around Sora’s when he returns the kiss.
Then, Riku is the one half-choking on a puzzled chirp. Cute, so cute. Laughter bubbles up in his stomach, an incipient and very inconvenient guffaw. He wants to keep kissing Riku, he wants to kiss him forever. Sucking on his slippery tongue and scratching it with his teeth, his hands sunk in that impossibly soft mane of silver threads.
However much munny has been spent on it has been absolutely worth it. It parts easily under his fingers, no knots to be found as he caresses the expanse of his shoulders, muscles taut under the fur. Sora kneads them, greedily and without shame. Such a fine back. Such a fine prince. There are even traces of blood left on the underside of his tongue. He tries to clean them away with his own.
A difficult task to complete with Riku breaking the kiss. When Sora opens his eyes, ready to give him a piece of his mind, he finds Riku blinking confusedly at him. A beautiful sight, really, with those clear eyes wide open and mouth heaving, mane a mess that got entangled in his horns. He looks like he saw a shooting star for the first time and can’t quite believe how a part of the sky can simply fall.
“You aren’t supposed to be enjoying this.”
“Tough luck.”
Starting a new kiss is as easy as hooking his finger around one of Riku’s bottom fangs and yanking him closer. This time he is the one slipping his tongue into a hot mouth, rediscovering the texture of his teeth and how much sharper they feel now than against his fingertips. These canines that Sora saw tore apart a pack of wolves just some hours ago, yet were incapable of pricking his bare throat.
A wave of heat coils low in his stomach, sirupy affection mingling with something he only allowed himself to feel behind closed doors, in his bed, in his dreams. Colourful fantasies now plain in comparison to the consuming warmth enveloping him. Riku keeping himself up with his wings so his paws are free and so, they cup the curve of his ribs, encompassing nearly his whole ribcage. The realisation makes him fall short of breath.
He needs his shirt gone immediately.
“Sora.”
It’s his name, but it isn’t a calling. There is no question, no reprimand, only awe. Fondness. Sora understands it because he is the same; he likes the shape of Riku’s name. How it rings like a little bell announcing the start of a new day.
“Riku.” He returns and a smile forms around the syllables.
He isn’t sure who initiates the next kiss, not that he cares when the result is still a spark setting loose fireworks within his head. Thinking feels like an abstract concept at the moment, too tiresome and inconsequential to bother entertaining. Sora has his hands gripping Riku’s biceps, while one of his paws has slid between the bed and his body to fit itself against the arch of his back, the other tracing a path up his chest, across his neck and alongside his jaw, before burying itself in his hair. And that’s all Sora wants to focus on. The faint feeling of Riku’s claws on his skin like a cheeky tease.
Okay, he’s had enough.
Putting one hand on Riku’s chest—and isn’t that a nice place for it to be?—Sora pushes him enough to start wriggling out of his shirt without elbowing him in the face. Not that he thinks Riku would get hurt by it, but it’s the thought that counts and Sora is trying to maintain the mood.
“You look like a worm.”
Such inconsideration for his romantic efforts. Sora throws the shirt at his face. It gets stuck hanging from his horns, covering him like a veil.
“You look—” he starts, playful anger colouring his tone. He has a retort ready to fire, but then his eyes drift south, to the planes and curves of the body above him. A pristine silver sculpture. Maybe he should get rid of his pants too; they are starting to suffocate him. “—good.”
When Riku lifts the shirt away from his eyes, what Sora expects to see in them is a cocky gleam under an arched eyebrow, a smirk already plastered on those kiss-swollen lips.
Instead, what occupies his gaze is something tender. His features softened into quiet reverie. “You really think that, don’t you?”
Sora gulps his; throat is parched while his mouth can’t help but salivate like a starved man in front of a banquet. But isn’t that what he is right now? After years of restraint, not allowing his desire even a crumb of relief, isn’t this the same as feasting on forbidden fruit?
Maybe Sora should stop reading those stories about angels.
There is nothing sinful here.
Except, maybe, the way in which Riku scoops him up in his arms, holding Sora tight against him—like the action takes him no effort, as if Sora were a weightless doll he could swing around and squeeze and-and- God—because that allows him to clasp his legs around that muscular waist and throw his arms around those broad shoulders and now his torso is engulfed in warmth. Each breath he takes rubs his skin on Riku’s fur, velvety bliss turned to touch. And the urge is too much; it’s been far too long. He has been good enough.
Sora will allow himself a little sinning as a treat.
The first drag of his clothed erection against Riku’s abs feels like liquid ecstasy being poured directly into his stomach. His body tenses and relaxes at once, keening Yes! and whining More! as he buries his face against Riku’s neck. Moving is easy like this, with his hands grabbing fistfuls of hair and his talons digging into Riku’s back, being kept close by his arms. He is driving himself mad on the friction; his nipples tingle at being brushed by the fur, the contact overwhelming and still insufficient. Too soft, too silky for what he needs, for what he feels he will die without.
Then, the world around him topples over, taking Sora along with it. When he is able to reorient his dazed mind, he finds himself on top of a reclining Riku, sprawled on the sheets under him, wings laid on the bed in all their length. Beautiful and lewd in a graceful manner that puts a smile on his lips, because of course Riku manages to pull off ‘dignified and horny’. Sora wasn’t expecting anything different. Nor does he dwell on it when his pants are on the way. There will be time to drool over the fallen angel between his thighs once he gets rid of his underwear.
“You’re so eager.” Comes his voice, low and enticing, much too full of wonder to be teasing.
“Why do you still sound surprised?” Sora asks, kicking his clothes far, far away from the two of them. On account of how turned on Sora is right now, he would be happy not seeing them again. Who invented clothes anyway? Evil people no doubt, completely joyless villains with no respect for young men wanting to hump their sex god of a best friend. “I’ve always been impatient when it comes to you.”
He knows Riku’s breath hitches by the stutter of his chest under his hands. It convinces him to slow down, if only a bit. Maybe he is going too fast. After all, they never talked about this or something remotely similar to this. Why would they? With young ladies coming and going and the whole castle trying to make them feel as welcomed as possible, it wasn’t like Sora could express how jealous he was of what they came here to accomplish, how he would take their place in a heartbeat. And Riku, well, Riku didn’t talk about the curse unless it was to bemoan its existence.
Sora always assumed Riku would be in this position with one of them once it was all said and done. The writing on the wall was practically a mural. He was just the helper, the errant boy, the run-of-the-mill servant with nothing to his name but the fact that he wasn’t in the castle when the curse was cast, so he remained as human as everyone should be. There is truly nothing special about him. He simply stayed around. Where is the merit in that? Anyone would have done the same. The people in the castle are his friends. Riku is his best friend. You don’t abandon the people you care about.
You don’t abandon the one your heart sings for.
Because when Sora thinks about love, he thinks about Riku. Because once he realised, two years into the curse, he couldn’t remember a moment when he didn’t feel in love with him. Because Sora loved Riku when he was a sweet little kid that enjoyed talking in riddles, coming up with imaginary monsters in the caves around the island and always had his back. Because he loved him as a snarky little shit complaining that the archipelago was too small for his dreams. And because he loves him now, animalistic and noble and melancholic and gentle and rude beyond belief towards those he doesn’t have patience to deal with. So pretty, still, in Sora’s eyes. As beautiful as everyone said he would grow up to be, back when they were children chasing each other on the beach.
Their relationship feels like that from time to time, a twisted game of tag. Sora pursues and Riku runs. And the position they are in might mean that Sora has won. That he finally sprinted fast enough or that Riku let himself be caught. He isn’t sure which one he prefers.
It doesn’t seem like Riku gets much of anything from this.
No! No. No thinking tonight. Sora already told himself he would relish in the moment. Thinking is forbidden. Thinking is the boner-killer. Thinking is for people who aren’t naked on top of their best friend and with their hearts about to break free of their ribcages.
It doesn’t matter if Sora knows he isn’t much of anything. Not handsome. Not ugly. Just enough to not make people look twice at him (Honestly, after half a decade of cohabiting with faceless armours and furniture with painted eyes and carved mouths, sometimes he gets weirded out at his own reflection. So fleshy, so wrong). Because Riku kissed him first. Even if it wasn’t how Sora imagined it in his most delirious daydreams. It happened. It is happening. That has to mean something.
Please, let it mean something.
If he dares to question what they are doing, Sora will come up with a hundred reasons why they shouldn’t and he will proceed to jump out the window.
As long as Riku doesn’t appear disgusted they are fine. Sora swears the moment Riku shows the smallest sign of discomfort he will stop. Whatever happens next will be deserved, be it banishment or execution. He will even hold the guillotine rope himself.
(Historical novels will probably also be added to his no-more-reading list.)
For now, Riku is staring at him wide-eyed, mouth open enough for his tongue to peek out in a teasing pink reminder of where Sora’s lips should be. He wastes no time in reuniting them, passing his tongue over Riku’s bottom lip in a playful Hi! It’s me again! Let me in! that gets understood immediately, going by how quick Riku is at pressing them together with a paw on his back and the other on the nape of his neck.
As always, Riku is unfairly skilled at something he has no business being good at. He is guiding the kiss like they have done this a thousand times, rather than having their first half an hour ago. His fingers know the perfect amount of pressure to light up Sora’s nerves under the tips of his claws. Tilting his head at the perfect angle for the kiss to be deliciously deep. It leaves Sora shaking in barely contained enthusiasm, but also free to grab Riku’s shoulders and use them as leverage to rut against his abs.
The thing is, Riku is covered in fur and while most of it is fairly short, with the exception of his mane and chest, the silver hair covering his stomach is long enough to hide any definition his body could have. But now—oh my fucking God—now he is feeling every inch of immaculately hard muscle against his dick. Every jut and curve concealed beneath the exceptionally soft fur.
Sora slips away from the kiss to be able to breathe. Or at least try. His body is moving on its own and it’s impossible to concentrate on anything but the friction, the tickling feeling of the fur growing wetter under his precum as it sticks to his skin.
Vaguely, he notices something wrapping around her left ankle, but it’s like hearing someone move on the floor above. Riku focuses him again on what matters with a kiss to his temple, then his cheek, then a nip to his ear that has Sora moaning his name and thrusting faster, so desperate for him.
His insides coil tight and hotly, like coal in the fireplace, ready to burst up in flames. It would be a blissful ending. Sora already sees heaven’s golden gates when he moves his hips at the perfect angle for the head of his cock to glide across the valley of Riku’s abdomen. He is tethering on the edge; there, just right there, enjoying every second of this funambulism act that ends with Riku’s teeth on his neck pushing him towards the abyss.
The feeling of free fall engulfs him, his body weightless and too heavy to move. Riku could tell him that his bones have been liquified and he wouldn’t doubt him, but that perhaps would have more to do with Sora blindly trusting anything he says. He is that far gone. He is in pure bliss. He could cross the sea, running to the town and back. He wants to go to sleep. He wants to keep doing this until his dick falls off. He needs to kiss Riku immediately. If Riku stops leaving lovebites on his clavicle he is going to die.
Loving Riku is so fun.
At the end, it’s Riku who takes the decision of what to do next, because he flips Sora over (like a pancake, Sora compares in his post-orgasm stupified mind) and drags him higher on his chest until he can prop his chin on his shoulder and cross his arms over his midsection. His wings follow not long after, enveloping Sora in a cocoon of furry limbs and velvety membranes washed in the fragrance of herbal remedies.
After taking a few deep breaths and with his brain marginally more lucid, Sora realises that the ‘thing’ he felt around his ankle is actually Riku’s thin tail and that it had lopped itself from his talon to right under his left knee. Not that Sora will complain about it. Briefly, he wonders what it would be like to have it squeezing his-
“Wait,” Riku’s arms and wings fall away without a fight, maybe a little too fast. Sora kisses him on the tip of his nose (it’s cool and slightly damp, adorable) to dispel any brooding thoughts before sitting up to inspect the damage. “Ah… I made a mess. Sorry.”
Even among Riku’s fair fur, his cum stands out like a sore thumb, especially over the dark patch probably left by his sweat. No wonder Sora felt about to combust; he was apparently sweating buckets. What a way to desecrate the prince.
Sora’s next thought is that he should go take a towel. Which promptly gets overshadowed when his eyes trail lower than the white stains he is guilty of.
There are no words for the emotion assaulting his coherence at the sight of what’s going on in Riku’s pants.
“Riku-” He lets out in a voice unrecognisable to even himself. “Your-”
Sora gives up on his vocabulary.
Riku grabs his hand before he can reach for it.
“It’s okay.” The speed at which the words rush out of his mouth catches Sora by surprise. He can’t remember the last time Riku sounded (or appeared) this flustered. “There is no need.”
If Riku were still in his old body, Sora has no doubt he would be blushing down to his neck. An intense, glowing scarlet painting his cheeks. He was strangely pale back then for a kid who spent so much time playing under the sun with him.
“Riku,” he gesticulates in his pants' general direction, “that looks painful.”
“It doesn’t hurt.”
“You remember I have a dick too, right? I know this must hurt!”
“Not like mine.” It’s whispered rather than stated. A shy little remark carrying too much resentment for this to be a question of decorum. Riku isn’t even able to look at him as he adds, looking small with his hunched shoulders, droopy ears and bangs casting shadows on his eyes. “Yours is nothing like mine.”
Okay. Sora lets the information settle in his head, sitting beside the memories of Riku hissing at him the first time he proposed to help with the bath and the many, many occasions he refused to change in front of him afterwards. To be honest, Sora assumed he was self-conscious about his new body and wanted to save face, not that he was keeping a weapon of mass destruction from him.
“Are you bragging?” He taunts, hands on his hips and everything, a posture borrowed by the man currently trying (more like failing) to imitate a turtle. “Oh, I’m Riku and my dick is soooooooo-”
A paw covers his mouth. Experience has proved that licking it will lead to him spitting in a basin for ten minutes and dealing with stray hairs between his teeth for the rest of the week. So Sora decides to have mercy on his future self and choose the easier option of gently removing Riku’s hand.
“I want to make you feel good, Riku.”
His cute, white ears perk up, standing at attention in Sora’s direction, even with Riku still casting his gaze to the bedding. A squeeze to his leg makes Sora look down and he coos internally at the way his tail is wiggling up his thigh. “You don’t have to.”
Stupid, dumb, cute Riku. Still so insecure.
Crawling closer, he leans his head down so his eyes meet ethereal teal. “I want to.” He assures in the most honest, confident voice he is capable of. He hopes it’s enough. Riku can be so infuriatingly determined to deny himself pleasure.
This time, though, there is an expectant shine to his eyes as he agrees by pecking Sora on the lips. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Sora grins, then hops to rid Riku of his pants. (If it weren’t because he is mostly sure the person who invented clothes is already dead, he would put them on his hit list) And what springs out of them once he tugs it past Riku’s thighs is- It’s—Well, it’s something Sora didn’t know he needed until it almost hit him in the face.
His jaw feels about to disconnect from his skull.
“Riku!” Sora grips his shoulder and starts shaking him, panicked, excited, aroused. “It’s- Riku!”
“I know.” Riku sighs before he pulls his pants the rest of the way. The bandages wrapped around his legs help to sober him up.
“I want it inside me.”
“No.”
Sora’s outraged gasp surprises even him. He wasn’t aware he could sound this offended and, judging by the amused-yet-chiding grimace Riku is directing at him, he must also look the part of the pearl-clutching noble lady at the opera. But, to be fair, this is the worst thing to ever happen to him. To be denied this key to paradise.
“No?!”
“No.”
“Why not?!”
“Because it’s wider than your arm.”
Great. Riku is using his irritated ‘why are you making me explain something this obvious, dumbass’ and that irritates Sora too, mainly because Riku is right and he has no retort to that. If he thinks about it with his brain instead of his half-hard, valiant, reckless dick, it doesn’t seem very wise to try to stick something that wide and almost as long as his forearm into a hole that hasn’t had anything bigger than his fingers inside. Especially with all the… extra bits dotting its surface.
Nevertheless, Sora is a resolutive person, so instead of wallowing in self-pity over the marvels Destiny is so cruelly depriving him of, he coils one hand around the middle (the ridges have an interesting texture) and angles it towards his open mouth.
On the next instant Sora is back on the mattress, being kept down by a paw flattened on his chest, right under the silver crown of his necklace. The fact that so little effort is enough to immobilise him twists his guts into butterfly loops.
“Sora!” Riku admonishes even if Sora can see rivulets of lust dilating his pupils. “You can’t do that either.”
The frustrated whine reverberates throughout his whole ribcage. Was he really that horrible in his previous life that he must be punished with such harshness in this one? “Why not?”
“Because” The pronunciation is careful, deliberate, like a predator huddling behind a bush, “it’s wider than your arm. Do you-” Riku shakes his head, his ears flicking along with it. “You can’t fit your fist in your mouth, can you?”
Sora raises a clenched fist to his face. It gets instantly pinned down by Riku’s free paw.
“You can’t.” He answers, deadpan.
“But-” But he has to do something for him! Sora could use his hands, sure, but that wouldn’t be nearly as good as anything Riku has made him feel. What other option is there? He wouldn’t forgive himself if Riku walked out of this with the short end of the stick.
An idea pops into his head; he is a genius.
“Like this then!” Sora scrambles to get on his stomach, Riku’s paws and tail abandoning his skin. It’s a regretful but necessary loss. At least, Sora hopes it’s once he gets on his arms and knees and slides one hand through his clamped thighs, making a grabbing motion to illustrate his point. “Would this work?”
No immediate response follows. The silence is stifling, slowly dripping one second into the other until it hits him that he is practically presenting himself doggy-style to his best friend, who is a prince, his prince. Maybe it’s too unsightly? Riku gets nitpicky over the weirdest things sometimes and Sora hasn’t the slightest clue what his opinion on this stuff is. He could find it unbecoming, shameful for someone to offer themselves so readily. After all, he just refused to have Sora’s mouth anywhere close to his groin. Ugh. Sora ruined this, didn’t he? And when everything was going so well too.
But Riku let Sora rut and come all over his stomach! One would think that would give him some leeway to be outwardly randy.
Any half-formed thought of his crumbles under the hulking form swallowing him whole. Wings forming a canopy to hide the room from him. “Yes.” Sora hears panted over the crown of his head. The voice is unfamiliar in its ardor, the animalistic rasp that pushes it closer to a growl. “Yes, this will work.” Strong arms close around his waist to push him against a soft body. His knees end up hovering slightly over the bed. “Sora,” it comes out in a purr, “Sora.” There is something hard and hot as heated metal in the forge poking at the back of his thighs. “Are you sure you want this, Sora?”
His fingernails are gripping the sheets so hard it’s a mystery how they haven’t torn yet. “Yes!” He says mid-nod. “Yes, yes, yes, Riku, please-”
The first thrust slides Riku’s cock right between his thighs, expelling all the air from Sora’s lungs as well as the strength from his arms. He fumbles with his weight until the second thrust puts him on his elbows, his head tucked under Riku’s chin. Then comes the thirst and the fourth and the fifth and by the sixth Sora is too gone to keep himself from melting. The glide of their bodies against each other burns a brand along his arched spine. Silky fur and built muscle becoming all he knows, all he is capable of sensing. Velvet on his skin. Floral fragrance on his nose. Purring on his ears, against his shoulder blades, so deep his bones rattle under its vibrant cadence.
Each push slicks Sora’s balls with the length of his cock and soon his thighs are the same, whether with sweat or precum Sora doesn’t know and he can’t care less when the ramming of Riku’s hips turns faster and the slide of wet flesh between wet skin produces a squelching sound so obscene it’s difficult to believe it comes from them. That they could even compose a song like this. Moan over mewl to the background of feral purring and a creaking bedframe.
Sora is breathing through his mouth; it’s the only way he can get oxygen into his chest and even like this it feels too little, the air too torrid, too charged with sex to be breathable. The taste of herbal paste has started to form on his tongue, a bitter sting made delicious by the sweet friction of Riku’s dick teasing his own. It’s the insinuation of a touch. The promise of what could be. What drives men to drown themselves in the sea. Amidst the onslaught to his senses Sora remembers to clasp his legs as close together as possible and he gets rewarded with the acute feeling of ridges and barbs forcing their way across his thighs.
On the periphery of his vision he catches a glimpse of twitching black and when he turns his head to fully face it, he discovers Riku’s tail thumping at the mattress. His mouth starts salivating before the idea even forms in his head.
He traps it with clumsy fingers and, above him, Riku shivers. The moan that follows is guttural enough to be from a bear.
The tail is thin and feels strangely cartilaginous, nothing Sora isn’t familiar with, nor is the heartshaped end, with its filed-down tip to dull the edge. It’s a reminder (one of many others) that Riku has spent years making himself as unthreatening as possible. So sweet, his dear prince. So considerate. Such a worrywart.
Sora shoves it into his mouth and, this time, Riku roars like a lion. So fucking hot.
He plays with it like he wishes he could with the scorching shaft carving its way between his legs. Licking and sucking at it, enjoying how it wiggles against his tongue. It spasms as if electrocuted and Sora nips it with his teeth. He likes having it in his mouth; he likes how it moves, how smooth its surface is, more scale than skin.
Judging by how Riku is mindlessly grinding against him, he must love it as much as he does. Good. This is how things should go. Mutual pleasure, thorough understanding and unyielding confidence in the fact that what they are doing is wanted. Sora has wanted it for so long it ached. It left a void that’s finally being filled. Each thrust of their hips, each brush of fur against his spine and each moaned attempt at his name breathed on his temple are drops of love poured into his parched self.
By the time Riku becomes a tense long line above him, his tail staying rigid between Sora’s lips, he is overflowing with it, to the point that he barely registers the splash of something wet and sticky on his chest. Sora is wet and sticky himself; what’s one fluid more? Besides, one glance at whatever is going on between his thighs shows him that most of it fell on the sheets.
It also shows him that Riku’s dick is painfully red, harder than before and that the base spreading his legs apart has swollen to the size of a fist or an apple or a grapefruit. The longer he stares, the larger it gets. His thighs are shaking against it; it’s like it has its own heartbeat.
Then, Riku is falling. For a second Sora fears he is going to be crushed under all that lax bulking mass, but Riku flips over at the last second, carrying Sora like he did before, so he lands on his broad chest, away from both the cum and the funny sweat stains in the vague shape of their bodies. Cleaning this particular sheet is going to be a nightmare. His knuckles are already grieving all the scrubbing.
There are more urgent matters at hand, though.
After taking Riku’s limp tail out of his mouth, Sora points profusely at the standing red mast. “Riku, what’s that?”
“No touching.” With him sounding this breathless, it comes out as a plea. “It’s a knot.”
“A what now?”
“Monster dick thing, I guess.” He so helpfully clarifies. Sora would complain if Riku looking utterly wretched and decomposed under him didn’t fill him with pride. There is a little voice inside his heart clamouring I did this! It was me! Me and no one else! Me! Me! Me! He could ride this high for weeks. “It will go down on its own.”
For some reason that’s difficult to believe. At least, Sora doesn’t think that leaving alone something this red, this bulging and this erect will end up well. Like uncovering an untreated wound, it will only lead to infection and pain. Something tells him that this ‘knot’ shouldn’t be exposed right now either, that its ideal place would be tucked away in a wet, tight pocket of warmth. A closer inspection, though, reveals that the barbs that had so pliantly stayed soft are now sharp little spines covering the length of Riku’s cock.
Yeah, Sora accepts his defeat. This thing would have destroyed his rectum.
“So this is… normal? It always happens?”
“Not always,” even with him still heaving lightly, his words carry a flirty undertone when he adds, “only when I’m really into it.”
Oh. Sora allows himself a haughty smile. This one, too, he learnt from him. “So you were really into me.”
He presents Riku with his best attempt at bedroom eyes, fluttering eyelashes included. What he gets in exchange is a heartfelt laugh with twitching ears and a tail curling around his waist.
“I’m really into you,” now it’s Riku’s turn with the bedroom eyes. Sora hasn’t seen his own, but they stand no chance against his, searing seafoam gems staring directly into his heart. “Let me prove how much.”
The tail yanks him into the pillows, where Sora sits as disconcerted as he is, blatantly aware of his dick aching for attention as it drips precum into his bellybutton. The whole ordeal with the knot might have distracted his head, but it sure didn’t decrease his desire.
“You said you weren’t afraid of my teeth, right?” Riku, the smug bastard, flicks his strawberry pink tongue over his canines—Oh, so he knows what his fangs do to Sora. The jerk.
“Why? Gonna bite me again?” Exposing his neck is as easy as tilting his head to the side and fiddling with his necklace. Two can play this game. “Think you have it in you now?”
Sora isn’t ready for the dive Riku does towards his groin.
“Maybe later. I have” that damned tongue wets his lips, one inch away from his despairing dick, “other plans now.”
Then Riku opens his mouth like Sora guesses snakes do before swallowing a whole rat and his hands shoot to his horns, wrapping his fingers around their curves as he holds on for dear life.
What follows next is only the beginning to the rest of their night.
Sora had heard about the so-called ‘morning after regrets’, but he had (perhaps naively) thought of them as an intense post-nut clarity that hit harder for being delayed.
How wrong he was; this is nothing like feeling a bit guilty after jerking off to the mental image of your best friend licking cream off his thumb. This is soul-crushing sorrow hitting him square on the chest at the break of dawn before spitting on his face for good measure. Just… God, what was he thinking?
It should have never happened. Sora should have stopped, but noooo he was a horny, needy mess and he had to listen to his fucking dick, because dicks were oh so famous for helping people make good choices.
A sob tries to break free, so Sora covers his mouth. His hands are shaking, but it’s all he has. If he moves any more, Riku might wake up and then this will turn ten times worse because they will have to talk and Sora will cry and Riku will feel bad and the last thing he wants is for Riku to think this is his fault. He does that with too many things already, assuming he is the cause for every inconvenience occurring in the castle. This can’t be added to that ever-growing list. The curse is heavy enough of a burden and this- this-
This is Sora’s doing; it’s all him. He was stupid and cocky and so desperate for a piece of the love he had been craving for years. Did Riku want to do anything that happened yesterday? An accusing voice in his head shouts that he was merely indulging him. A love born out of pity. Or worse, duty. Poor little Sora, trapped on this island despite being human. Riku probably justified it in his mind as returning a favour. Helping Sora in exchange for Sora’s services. After all, Riku’s original plan was for Sora to finally leave. If the wolves hadn’t attacked, Riku would have got rid of him.
The worst is that Sora knew. Sora knew that Riku was trying to scare him away by kissing him. He simply… ran with it. Seized the opportunity with both hands and a grip of steel.
What is he going to do now? Can he stay in the castle after this? He doesn’t want to go, no matter what; his heart would stay here with its enchanted inhabitants and precious prince. Sora would roam the world as a husk, tormented by the memory of what he lost. His brooding could rival Riku’s. What a pathetic excuse of an existence.
Or exactly what he deserves.
Sora shuts his eyes tightly to prevent the tears.
Next to him, the mattress dips. Oh no. Please don’t.
“Sora?”
He keeps his back to him, still as a statue and as quiet as the mice living under the kitchen.
The blunt end of a claw traces the line of his spine. One long path from his tailbone to his neck that raises goosebumps in his arms. How much he wishes he could enjoy it. How much he wishes he could feel warm and giddy when Riku drags him into his arms. Sora should tell him it isn’t necessary. He understands, there is no need to maintain the act.
“Sora, are you crying?”
Sora buries his face in the closest pillow. A futile effort taking into account the night prior showed how easy Sora is to manhandle. Riku only needs to nudge his shoulder to make him roll onto his back and away from his cover.
Aghast seafoam eyes stare back at him.
“Sora, what happened? Are you in pain?” His paws fret over his body, hoovering, never touching. “Where does it hurt?”
Where doesn’t it hurt?
“It’s nothing, Riku.” He pushes those caring paws away. His heart squeezes at the feeling of that soft fur against his fingertips. This could be his last time holding these hands. “It’s me, I-” Another sob constricts his throat. “I was so stupid.”
At his words Riku recoils. Sora doesn’t dare to watch what expression is on his face.
“I’m sorry,” he says, it’s the least he can offer him, “for yesterday for- for making you- do those things.”
“Hey,” suddenly he is scooped up and left hanging, Riku holding him with paws around his ribs. The gaze he directs at him is confused yet clear. So noble. “You didn’t force me to do anything.” Riku sits back on his haunches and brings Sora along with him, perching him sideways across his thighs. “Why are you saying that?”
His answer is ripped from his chest, bloody and beating like an agonising heart. “Because it was wrong.” Under him, Riku goes tense. Even his tail becomes rigid, coiling as it is around the both of them. “I took advantage of you.”
“And how exactly did you manage that, halfpint?”
Sora shoves him in the chest, the gesture as playful as it’s instinctual.
The paw cupping the jut of his hip grounds him. It’s ridiculous, really, how much comfort he continues allowing himself to feel. “You’re… too kind.”
“And that’s a problem because…”
“Because I love you.”
His vision blurs at the admission, tears he can’t drop grouping in his eyes.
But then he is being lifted again, this time to be eye level with Riku and Sora’s breath hitches, heart skipping a beat at what he recognises in the depth of their irises. Black pools filled with secrets and now sweet nothings.
“I love you too, Sora.” Riku is beaming and it’s such a wondrous sight. His gaze tender and his features soft. His ears are up and flicking briefly. His wings twitching in half-attempted flaps. Tail coiled around Sora’s waist. Horns reflecting the light of the raising sun.
And that’s exactly the problem.
He raises his hands to cradle Riku’s face. The fur is faintly damp as all things are at dawn. “But you are still cursed.”
That was what Sora had spent years not trying to think about. Because the day he realised he was in love with his best friend, he waited with bated breath for a sign that the curse would recede, only for the next day to come without a single change. It’s what Sora was so hellbent in not thinking about when they kissed and why he shut his brain off when they continued beyond it, slipping from one mistake into another until the night became inexcusable.
Because Sora loved him, but Riku remained cursed.
Sora loved him, but Riku did not.
“And I’ll always be cursed.” Riku pronounces his usual lament. With the exception that, this time, Sora considers there might be some truth to it. Because if Sora loves Riku and Riku loves him back, but the curse hasn’t been dispelled, then… He has no idea what’s going on. “It was never meant to be broken.”
“I don’t get it.” Riku’s eyes are solemn and that only confuses him more; it looks like he is about to deliver a ceremonial discourse.
“The curse isn’t a trial I need to overcome or about a lesson I have to learn,” his voice turns bitter, his gaze downcast. His ears are tucked to the side, as if rejecting the conversation at all. “It’s petty retribution.”
Sora guides his head to face him. “Retribution for what?”
“For rejecting her.”
His hands fall from his jaw. What?
“The day of the storm that… witch appeared from nowhere. She said that she would grant me the honour of being her fiancé and that I should be thankful to have caught her eye. I thought she was just some crazy woman who had broken into the castle and I refused her offer, obviously.” Riku scoffs, clicking his tongue. His eyes are, once again, not looking at him. “She was really offended at first, but then she got this smile and…” his mouth closes in a shaky line before muttering, “she said guys like me were monsters who needed to be taught good taste.”
This is nothing like the story he has been told.
“The impossible half of the curse wasn’t for a girl to fall in love with me. It was me falling in love with one.” He rests his forehead on his. The act feels sacred, intimate in the way a confessional is when an afflicted soul confesses a sin. Sora’s heart stutters at it. “I already loved you back then, Sora.”
Another different kind of tears blur his vision; Sora blinks them away. It wouldn’t do to cry right now, not with his chest so filled with blooming roses. A spring of his own sprouting between his ribs, petals unfurling around the bliss pulling his lips into a smile. The good type, the wide type, the goofy too-many-teeth type.
Then reality catches up to him and not even his lovesick heart can ignore it.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“And erase any hope the others could have about being normal again?” Riku pulls apart to shake his head. His defeated tone wilts the garden within his ribcage. “I couldn’t do that to them.”
“You shouldn’t have to.” Anger sharpens his words. They cut his tongue as they go, stumbling and falling over each other as the room turns crimson red. “This is- This is awful!” He wants to scream it to the world. To let everyone know the true crime. To make her pay. “That’s just cruel!”
“Tell me about it.”
“I’m going to find that witch.” Sora jumps off him, leaving the bed in rushed, frantic steps. The floor is pleasantly cold under his feet, indignant fury is consuming him. He doesn’t remember ever feeling this willing to kill. “I’m going to find her and she is going to reverse the curse if she wants to keep her head connected to her neck!”
His murder plan, though, meets an early end when one of Riku’s wings pushes him into his lap and then he is too busy appreciating Riku’s claws on his hips to do much thinking about which sword from the armoury would be more threatening.
“And how do you intend to do that, Avenger of the Naked Ass?”
The anger dissolves under Riku’s wandering paws as easily as it flared up. A caress down his chest, a squeeze to his thigh, a kiss on the back of his ear… As far as distractions go, this is a pretty good one. But even if Sora understands what his goal is, he is serious about the threat.
Because it’s one thing for an enchantress to cast a spell that can only be lifted by the dance of two hearts learning to look past appearances to fall in love with one another—Sora could accept that, he found it romantic even at the start. Something not too hard to accomplish with the right people to help along the way—but it’s another very different one for a sadistic witch to punish Riku for the crimes of not throwing himself at her feet and daring to fall for a boy.
She tortured Riku for being in love with him. She still is. Every minute of every day, with her accursed countdown and her withering rose. A noose tightening around the throats of every servant in the castle with each petal lost.
“I’ll have to go with Kairi.”
He has made up his mind.
“I’ll find the witch” Sora gets on his knees, holding Riku's face as he swears, “and I’ll come back to you.”
The promise is sealed with a kiss, deep and heartfelt, warm under the awakening morning. A world that raises with a delighted sigh to the melody of their hearts, beating as one, separated only by skin and bone. So close. So madly in love. How ruthless of Destiny to take the forbidden fruit away after his first bite.
Their breaking apart feels like a harsh goodbye.
“Don’t keep us waiting too long.” Riku whispers and then he is kissing him again and it feels like a Hello. Glad to have you back. Don’t leave me again.
Sora passes his arms around Riku’s neck as they fall into the bed. Amidst the rumpled sheets and their combined essences, his body tingles with last night’s memories. An unsaid oath on their own.
“I don’t want to learn how to miss you.”
What a greedy prince. Sora is going to have his hands full once he returns.