Warnings: Slash/Yaoi, non-con/ambiguous-consent, gender-bending/cross-dressing, angst, dark themes, possibly disturbing content, AU
Rating: Mature (hard R)
Disclaimer: Owned by SquareEnix, Disney, et al.
Summary: Sora in a skirt has Riku seeing red.
A/N: On LiveJournal mangos w paopus told the author it was time for some smut, and the author always takes up challenges.
A/N2: Be forewarned—this is a peculiar child of a peculiar brain. Whether the reader may find anything worthy of approbation, the author cannot say—except that she hopes the reader will show enough human respect and dignity to refrain from sacrificing her upon the alter of the reader's indignation. Thank you most kindly for your time and for, if you may be so inclined, a memento of your visit in the form of a review. The author is, as always, the humble and pitiable servant of your entertainment.
:Lollipop Baby Boy:
The spit-shiny treat tumbles from between glossy, candy-stained lips and cracks apart into two uneven halves upon the dirty asphalt. The fuller half rocks back and forth, anchored in place by the white cardboard stick, while the smaller skitters away to rest with glistening brilliance against the wheel of a large blue dumpster. Sora stumbles, ankles threatening to turn as he struggles to maintain his balance in the wake of the rough shove into the dingy alleyway. The white-wash stucco wall of the nearest building rushes towards his startled face, but at the last moment he manages to angle his body away and take the brunt of the impact with his shoulder. Flesh, muscle and bone slam into the unyielding surface. A moment of perfect stillness… then sensation.
Vein-bursting pain slices up through his shoulder and lodges with throbbing intensity at the base of his skull. A guttural cry passes his parted lips, sticky and red from the lost lollipop, and tears prickle along the lower curve of his lapis lazuli eyes. Damn, but that really hurt, he thinks with a fluttery nausea that does nothing to ameliorate the pulses of agony radiating up from his shoulder.
"Dammit, Riku!" he says, turning until he is resting with his back against the wall. He clutches the wounded joint and glares balefully through a spiked fringe of burnt-caramel brown bangs. Is this fear that twists his innards into sickening, Gordian knots?
"Are you teasing me? Is this some sort of prank?" the other boy demands, chest heaving with some barely restrained urge for violence.
There. That's why Sora should be afraid: rage—true, soul-deep rage, the kind that tears down worlds and rives lives—seethes within the luminous fires of Riku's electric aqua eyes, trembles within his blood-fled fists and tense shoulders. Something animal and cruel twists that familiar smirk into a dangerous sneer.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Sora says through gritted teeth as he moves away from the wall, still massaging the bruised shoulder. A rather disquieting numbness seems to be replacing the pulsing agony in his shoulder. All Riku's fault for reacting--overreacting—like this.
Riku takes a deliberate step forward; Sora flinches and nibbles unconsciously on the inside of his bottom lip. He has never seen his best friend so pissed off—and over what? Sora's outfit? Kairi's newest social engineering project?
Costume check: Kairi's school uniform skirt, blue plaid, modified with several frothy, white layers of petticoats; cobweb-delicate opaque silk thigh-highs; sky blue satin band garters with organza edging and bows, and tiny silver bells; chunky-heeled black platform mary janes; white button down blouse from the selfsame uniform, now modified for a definite lack of breasts; finally, blue plaid time of the same material as the skirt.
All of these are innocent enough on their own—or on someone else—but not now, not on Sora. Brutal double-standard, totally.
"Yes, you do. Don't lie. Not to me, Sora. I know everything about you, and I know when you lie."
The hand that clamps down upon his throat, thumb and forefinger digging up under the angles of his jaw, aborts his floundering, ineffectual denial. He knows what Riku's problem is, but he doesn't understand the "why" of it.
Riku likes Sora, but Sora likes girls—and he told Riku that not too long ago. Now they pretend ignorance of that mutually embarrassing confession. Just like before. Only friends. Best friends.
"Don't. Lie. To. Me." Riku adds pressure until true terror begins to bleed across the younger boy's visage and breathless panic sends his young neck into needy convulsions, Adam's apple bobbing desperately against the implacable heel of the older boy's strong hand. Then Riku relents—the intensity of his grip eases—but he does not remove the hand. The tremulous, bird-like fear wings up into Sora's heart as he barely brings himself to maintain eye contact. Why does Riku always have to be taller, stronger, scarier?
"I'm just—just helping Kairi."
"Please, Sora, I need your help for my summer cultural studies class, and no one else will do it." Hands together, she bows in entreaty. Sora can see down her blouse.
"When will you realize that she will never see you as a prospective boyfriend? You will always be the guy-friend she can push into humiliating himself because he is such a 'nice guy.' That's what you are: the nice guy, not the boyfriend. Not the lover. Not for her. All the helping in the world equates to nothing."
The hand tightens again and drives him back into the stucco wall; even when that angry, merciless grip falls away, those terrible, hungry eyes pinion him in place; the radiating heat of the hard body before him calls forth a responding warmth from deep within Sora's belly. The will to defy—that intrinsic component of his personality, his self—evanesces, leaving him paralyzed like a small, hapless fledgling in the face of a serpent's rapacious gaze. A singularly disquieting, poisonously sweet urge to yield to the ineluctable devouring wells up within the core of his being. Bare your throat. Close your eyes. It will all be over in a heartbeat.
It can't be! Riku is wrong. He has to be—because—because, if he isn't, then Sora will have to face the truth… and do something about it. Yet, as long as he keeps his heart closed and his eyes averted, he can live on with this broken-wing hope slowly hemorrhaging in the cage of his ribs. She will see me. It'll be just like the… the books and the movies. It has to be that way!
"Riku…" Impotent supplicating fills that single word, the name of the contained violence before him. Hope severed, bleeding, wailing.
"I won't let her use you anymore. I won't allow you to be her pet," Riku breathes as he releases the younger boy and leans in, hands now braced against the wall to either side of Sora. "You keep running and running and running after her. Poor blind baby."
The fear sinks low, falls past Sora's navel and melts—and spreads with a slick, aching heat through his abdomen… his groin. One heartbeat in his chest; one heartbeat in his shoulder; and one between his trembling, sweat-dewed thighs.
Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat.
A warm flush rises through his nubile young body and blooms in sanguine roses in each cheek, then spills down the column of his throat, past the opened neck of the pristine white blouse. Riku's eyes release Sora's from their caged intensity to follow the dark surge of hot color. Those selfsame eyes darken as the pupils dilate and swallow up the electric aqua until only a thin ring of the resplendent color remains in each. Animal eyes. Predator eyes.
Sora forgets the pain in his shoulder, forgets how to breathe, when his best friend raises his eyes again, slowly following the same blushing path as before, but now in reverse: chest, neck, lips, cheeks, and eyes.
Closing in. Filling his sight. His world.
Sora turns his head, pressing his heated cheek against the impersonal coolness of the stucco, and stutters out a weak, "I told you I like girls." Riku's mouth glances off of Sora's jaw line and comes to rest against the shell of his left ear. The older boy's hot, humid breaths feather along the delicate curve and slip into the canal, urging Sora onto dark awareness—knowledge.
The Fall. The Loss.
"You like girls, Sora? How do you know?"
Riku bites the trapped boy's lobe with sharp teeth and then laves away the small hurt with his warm, wet tongue. A shudder—bone-deep and liquid, pulsing, dizzying—slides ruthlessly through Sora's body as that slick muscle traces the whorls of his captive ear. Dipping in. Swirling about. Hot. Hot. Wet. Wet.
His denial becomes another juddering gasp. His hips jerk. His cheek scrapes against the textured wall.
No. No. No.
"Have you ever kissed one?" Riku asks with terrifying tenderness, hands moving from the building to cup the younger boy's hip and nape. "Tasted her moans in your mouth, felt them sliding like spiced-honey across your tongue, sucked them down until she can't breathe?" The hand upon his hip glides downwards, beneath the short skirt and petticoats, to curl about one pert, silk-covered buttock. The older boy purrs. The long fingers clench, and Riku purloins Sora's first kiss.
Sora's startled squeal passes into Riku's mouth and dies away. Ignoring the lingering pain in his shoulder, Sora squirms, twists and wiggles until he manages to break free of his best friend's demanding advances. He has to get away! Oh, God, he has to! He shoves Riku aside and darts towards the mouth of the alley, towards the red-gold of the slowly fading afternoon waiting only a few meters away. Run! Run! Run!
He stumbles, demanding more than his precarious balance can handle; his ankle turns; he cries out; the ground rushes towards his face even as his arms flail out to arrest his fall; his eyes squeeze closed. This is going to hurt, he thinks. Damn these heels.
"I can't believe I'm doing this. Riku will never let me live this down."
"Equality in fashion is the newest battlefield in the war for gender equality, Sora. A guy should be able to wear a skirt or dress without it being considered humiliating, just as a woman today can wear pants or shorts without censure. Anyone who gives you a hard time is just an unenlightened atavist and not worth your attention. Simple as that."
"Sure. Fine. Whatever."
"Don't sulk, and sit up straighter. It's like you're trying to hide. This won't work if people can't see you. I have to record their reactions. Stop squirming. Honestly, I don't see what the big deal is. It's just a skirt."
"Yeah, well, there are some ventilation issues—if you know what I mean… Oh God, there's Riku. Don't look! Kairi—Hey, don't wave at him. No—You—You. I can't believe you did that. Somebody kill me please."
"Don't be a
drama queen. Hey, Riku!"
The air in his lungs whooshes out as strong arms snake around his waist, internal organs squish together, and a sickening jolt of nausea works up into the back of his throat in a small, acrid surge. Both hands and knees slam into the pitted ground, and he just knows that Kairi's thigh highs are ruined. The jolt of the impact travels up into his hips, and his shoulder twinges in empathy. There is no escape from the arms or the hard body pressed up along his back, ass to groin—and—and is that…? Is that what he thinks it is? Pressed up against him, unmistakable through the layers of clothing…
"No more running. No more playing around." Hands everywhere, sliding, pinching. Up beneath his shirt—buttons strain, the threads pop, ping ping ping ping, cool air, shiver—down to his belly, fingers playing with the elastic waist of the skirt, just barely dipping below.
"Tell me, if you like girls so much, why are you fixated on the one you'll never have? There are plenty of other girls who'd like to give you what you want, but you don't even notice them, do you?" Cool fingertips gently circle one pink aureole, adroitly coaxing the tender young nipple into a tight peak as the hot-breath words shiver into his ear. Sora shakes his head and digs his nails into the dirty asphalt. He wiggles within the unrelenting hold, scuffing up the new leather of his shoes as he struggles for purchase in this awkward position.
"It's almost like you don't want to get with a girl. Have you ever heard of sublimation, Sora? No? That's okay." The hand at his waist drifts away, following the narrow curve of Sora's hip, and slides over the soft material of the skirt to palm the sensitive flesh of the Sora's inner thigh, then higher, one finger flicking with the briefest of exploratory touches against his silk-clothed penis. "Jesus, she even has you in panties," Riku mumbles against his ear, "and you're still not her boyfriend?
"So you like girls, but you've never kissed one, never touched her here"—the fingers pinch his nipple—"never felt her heart beat beneath you palm, felt how she softens and flushes."
Sora jerks against the hand upon his chest and the fingers that twist and pinch his nipples until they're tight and oversensitive. His hips buck back and, yes, that pressing hardness is exactly what he thinks—is terrified to acknowledge, though—it is. Riku issues a guttural sigh as the younger boy's pert ass moves against him in involuntary motions, and Sora can feel the noise vibrate where Riku's chest presses against his back. Oh, God. Ah, no! The younger boy whimpers as molten heat takes hold of his groin and sends ribbons of tension trembling down through his belly. He likes girls. He does. He does. This—This isn't what it seems like… His body… Oh! Oh! Oh!
"What about here?" Riku asks as he firmly presses the heel of his palm against Sora's burgeoning erection. Twin gasps burn the air as Sora bucks against the pressure. "Yeah, here. Ever touched one here? Felt her slickness? Her heat? Girls get so wet, Sora, dripping, you can't imagine. And you can just slide right up into them. Sometimes, though, a girl can be too tight and you have to work her open. Boys don't get wet the same way, but, yeah, can you feel that? They still get slick. It's so they can fuck the girls."
"Oh, God," Sora chokes out as Riku's curls his fingers down around Sora's balls and begins an electrifying rocking motion with his hand, massaging the tightening sack while keeping pressure against Sora's hard cock. Hot pre-come dampens his panties around the flushed tip of his cock, causing the filmy material to stick and cling as Riku drags his palm against it.
"But you don't fuck girls, Sora, so why are you getting wet? Why's your dick so hard? Are you imagining a girl is doing this to you? Perhaps Kairi? But does she have this?" The older boy humps his pelvis against his smaller companion, boldly shoving the hardness behind the zipper teeth against the smaller boy's ass. "That's me, Sora, and I am no girl. Don't forget that."
Harsh pants and wet, mewling groans fall from Sora's mouth as he squeezes his lapis lazuli eyes shut and scratches against the asphalt. Riku continues to move against him, dry fucking him in this horrible alleyway, rough ground scrapping his knees raw and bloody, as the sun begins to sink into the dazzling ocean. Beads of sweat drip from the tips of his bangs and splatter down between his white-knuckled hands. He can smell both of them, the scent of their exertion heavy and rich in the summer air, filling up his nose, his brain. Feverish senses. He's so hot. Burning. Oh, oh, oh.
The hand on his chest leaves. Where did it go…?
The sound of a zipper being undone trips into his ears and sends his frenetic pulse into a dizzying spike. Then he can feel it. Feel Riku, larger than Sora, but just as wet, just as hard. Now only a thin barrier of silk protects Sora's virginity…
The moist, blunt cockhead presses into him through the fabric of the panties, just barely poking inside the sensitive, clenching ring of muscle of his sphincter—and a deeper panic assails Sora. He isn't made for this! He's a boy! And Riku hasn't even pushed aside the panties, just presses the fabric in, the silk surprisingly rough against such delicate tissues.
"Wait. Riku—" His tongue feels too large for his own mouth, smothering his protests in incoherency.
The older boy shushes him and whispers, "Don't worry. It's not time for that yet. You're not ready."
Riku shifts his hips and his cock slides up, riding the channel between Sora's buttocks—and the noises the older boy makes! Liquid grunts and soft curses scald the younger boy's ear as his best friend undulates against his ass, rocking him into the ground, jerking him off through his silk panties. Everything is humid and wet, pre-come and sweat.
Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat.
Riku's other hand glides down between Sora's trembling thighs, past the hand already working the young boy towards the inevitable release, and harshly massages his perineum with two adroit fingers. Sora chokes on a flood of saliva and jerks against the sudden throbbing burst of unadulterated sensation. What—What is that—?
"Just a little bit more. Come on. Just a little more."
Sora shakes his head against Riku's husky cajoling, but his body has been riding the edge of ecstasy for too long. Grinding into the hands, into the thick cock sliding against his cleft, Sora struggles against the honeyed wires of orgasm and fails. The sweet, asphyxiating tension judders through his young body, draws his balls tight against his dick, and flows from him in a maddening burst of rapture, saturating the silk panties.
This isn't how it's supposed… to be…
His muscles melt in the afterglow of forced pleasure and he sags within the cage of his best friend's arms. Still the other moves against him, using his slumped body for the satisfaction of the other's concupiscence. Still his body rocks with the frantic rutting, this mockery of an intimate act.
A steady drip-drip of warmth runs down his inner thighs and dries in tacky ribbons upon his smooth flesh. Riku's heavy weight crushes him down to the asphalt as the older boy pants against the younger boy's ear. Sora feels dirty. Soiled. Imbrued and Imbued.
I'm never going to get this outfit clean, he thinks in a moment of hysterical detachment. Never. Never. Never. Nevernevernevernevernever.
Dirty. Dirty. Dirty.
Dirty little boy on his knees in an alleyway.
His panties are soaked and stained with their mingled ejaculate, and the slick, wet silk wraps around his flaccid penis like a waiting fist. Oh… God…
Riku slowly, reluctantly pulls away, but Sora cannot bring himself to break his posture of obscene supplication, body still bent in the debased curve forced by Riku's momentary satiation-induced collapse. Everything aches now: body, mind and heart. The boy is bleeding from more places than just his awkward knees.
"How… How could you?" Sora asks in a raw, broken-wing voice. How dare he? His best friend? Best friends don't… they don't do this sort of thing. Do they?
Riku tenderly gathers Sora close, tucking the younger boy's head against his hard chest, and rocks him with sweet gentleness. Hands that hurt to heal?
"I love you. That's reason enough," Riku says, stroking Sora's mussed hair back from his damp forehead. "If you're a good boy—my good boy—I'll let you have a little more. If you're naughty, I'll give you more than you can handle."
The author would beg your further indulgence to quickly thank all those wonderful people who have been so encouraging with her previous stories. As of the publication of this short story, she would like to express her deep gratitude towards the following people, all of whom have been so wonderfully generous in their sentiments: "Goblin Market" – pokezejello,syntic,juumou,darkriku01, Leeness,serenity denied,ViciousWing,Hitori-Hoshi,piewolvesandsuch,xSakura,MoonGoddessKonoko,Riku's-Kitsune-Mate,Kyrene once Blood Roses,SilentSniper,LovelessRitsuka,The Glass Slipper; "Prince of a Flower Crown" – angel-yuripa,SilentSniper,Ryuxin00, Shi no Yume, Akira, xiamei,StormDarkblade, Gold Silk,serenity denied,yamisukui,Kyrene once Blood Roses. Specific thanks go out to the wonderful serenity denied, Kyrene once Blood Roses, and SilentSniper for taking the time to read and review both of the author's previous stories. This author is both humbled and thrilled beyond the capacity of human language to have encountered so many exquisitely kind individuals on her literary journey. Thank you all!