Warnings: Slash/Yaoi, AU, twincest, angst, smuttiness, possible WIP

Pairings: Riku/Sora, Roxas/Sora (setting up for a Riku/Sora/Roxas DP sandwich)

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Owned by SquareEnix, Disney, et al.

Summary: They're drunk on lust and caught up in Sora's love-game.


A/N: 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.
::Kisses Like Sweet Liquor::
Part One

Their friends all say that Roxas is the cold one, the cruel one, the one lacking a heart; they don't know Sora like Riku does. Oh, the younger boy isn't cold—far from it, in fact—but he is cruel and he is heartless, only with a sweet smile and a sheepish blush.

The beach party has reached a state of inebriation wherein swimming naked is heralded as a brilliant suggestion—and why hadn't anyone suggested it before?—and, subsequently, a gaggle of whooping and caterwauling youths dash for the pounding surf, leaving behind a trail of discarded swim trunks and bikinis. The party has also reached a level of wanton abandon and decadent debauchery wherein nobody notices Sora crawl into his twin's lap—nobody except Riku. A little apart from the few who have decided to forgo the ocean in favor mock tribal dancing about the bonfire, he watches them sink into each other, lapping at each other's flushed lips with wet pink tongues, slender fingers sliding over sun-loved flesh, and slim hips rocking with the liquid undulations of a restless sea.

Molten heat spreads through the older boy's groin as he gazes through the glare of flames and the wildly flailing bodies that dance in and out of view. This is why Sora is cruel and heartless, but never cold.

The locker rooms should be empty. Everyone should already be heading home. Through the thick clouds of steam and the shower's hot spray he can see them. God. Moving, hips risings and falling, rising and falling, moaning, panting, wet and glistening. Hot. Hot. "Oh, oh! Oh, God. Fuck. Roxas! Roxas!" Rising and falling, riding the slick cock, calling to God, begging for more, slender hand jerking his own hard sex. Riku cannot help but watch, watch Sora fuck himself on his twin's dick. Six years of fantasies crack open and bleed across his mind.

A rush of saliva spills into his mouth, and he chokes back a soft moan as the brothers' lips finally seal together; they feast upon each other, cannibalize their moans and cries, and tumble beyond the light of the bonfire. He can't let them get away. He has to bear witness to this, because Sora wants him to. Cock hard in his swim trunks and limbs trembling with the razor-blade lust only Sora can kindle within him, he crawls after them through a buzz of alcohol and need.

There they are, tangled together, sweat-slick limbs dusted in pale, glittering sand. Away from the raucous shouts of the bonfire-goers and the more distant shrieks of the fools in the water, he can hear them clearly, hear Sora's whimpers and Roxas' broken growls.

Sora rears back, shadowed face transfigured into an expression of sweetest ecstasy, and moves frantically above his brother, rolling his pelvis down, grinding against the hips he straddles, cloth rubbing against cloth, chaffing and tantalizing flesh. Oh God, Riku wants that. Wants to touch and taste and eat that. He has to dig his fingers into the cold, damp sand to keep from grabbing hold of his own cock and jacking it in time with his best friend's fluid rocking and the desperate upward thrusts of his golden-haired twin, but he cannot still the abortive thrusts of his own hips as he fucks the air in his screaming, incandescent need.

There are rules to this intoxicating game, rules made by glistening red lips and delicate, skillful hands.

"Ooh! Oh!" Every time Sora rises, hands splayed against his brother's chest, Roxas digs his fingers in and drags him pack down, sinking in deep, deep, deep, sliding in ("Roxas! More…"), stretching that tight, pink hole about his slick length, deepdeepdeep. Shouldn't be so hot. Dirty and wrong and sick. Very sick. Unbelievably sick—and Riku wishes to be Roxas, wishes to be Sora's brother. Needs to feel the beat of familial blood in his veins. Then he could… Then he could… He chokes back a sob and grabs hold of his own hard, demanding dick through the dampening fabric of his sweats, and he watches them, watches the in-out-in-out-groan-whimper-thrust-Oh of their movements.

"If you come in your hand, I won't touch you," Sora hisses, catching him in the act, catching him off guard, glaring at him from under the damp tangle of his dark hair with glittering eyes. Riku obeys.

Hot, sweet rush. Entwined cries of release. They still, and slowly, like a downed bird, Sora collapses upon Roxas' chest. For long moments they languidly feed from each others lips, and Riku holds back the pounding, molten fury of his denied completion by the slimmest of margins. He's so hard, excruciatingly so. He needs, oh God, he needs…

Hot. Thrust. Pump. Fuck.

Whispering breathless endearments, Sora pulls away from his twin's supine form. Incandescent, electric anticipation bubbles through Riku with effervescent shocks. His stomach clenches and his prick—hard, wanting, wet—strains against the fabric of his swim trunks. It's his turn now. His. His. His.

Sliding through the cavorting shadows and flickering firelight, the boy approaches with the soft scuff-scuff of bare feet upon damp sand.

"Riku."

"Riku." Voracious kiss. Lips. Tongue. Teeth. Humid breaths passing between their fused mouths and slick, dirty fingers curling about his cock.

He looks up at the younger boy, the sinner, the wanton seraph of ardor, and grasps the proffered hand. One harsh tug and Sora falls into his arms, breathless and not the least bit startled. His now. The sex-tangle of burnt-caramel locks and the limbs gritty with sand, all his. Riku's blood surges through his trembling body as he gathers Sora close and sips sultry exhalations from the boy's parted lips.

"Riku."

Sora grips him, delicate hands yanking at his hair and sliding down his back. Scratch-scratch with dull nails down his spine. Wild and abandoned, the boy wraps around him, writhes and judders against him, and groans out desperate little noises, seeking closer contact, fucking his mouth with that sweet, sweet tongue—and Sora uses him as he uses Roxas, riding Riku's body into the sand, shuddering atop him as if there is no cloth between them, as if Riku is hard and deep inside him and Sora's just loving it.

"Riku!"

"Sora!" One last kiss. One last squeeze.

"I love you, Riku."

Aching, liquid heat fills his balls, and he arches upwards, driving his needy, dripping cock against his tormenter. Tension spiraling tighter, tighter, tighter, tighter. God! Yes! Sora!

Release.

Blood-warm come spatters the inside of his swim trunks, sliding down between his legs and pooling in a damp, unpleasant puddle beneath his ass. Riku sinks into the sand, insensate. Gentle fingers trace over the contours of his face and tease the inside of his bottom lip.

God. Fuck. Fuck.

Fu-uck.

With a contented, satiated sigh, Sora rolls off Riku and flops down beside him. Riku ignores the fingertips tracing idle arabesques over his wildly beating heart and the discordant celebration of the ignorant mass of teenage flesh about the bonfire. He watches the one who watches him back: Roxas.

This is Sora's cruelty, and the boy isn't even aware of it.

"Let's have a sleepover, just like we used to," Sora says. Roxas glares, and Riku acquiesces.


Part Two

The bunk beds are gone. Riku remembers those with a bewildered excitement. He remembers sleeping on the top one—Sora's—when he visited and the twins sharing the bottom one. He remembers Sora climbing the attached ladder during the middle of night and snuggling down next to him, thin arms wrapping around him like he was some sort of living stuffed animal. Then his mind turns to the last one, the final sleepover, when the twins were twelve and he thirteen. The strange noises below, the bitten back groans and gasps, the insistent rustling of cloth and the slide of skin on skin, he recalls with groin-tightening clarity. That peculiar, earthy odor that clung to Sora's sweaty flesh as he nuzzled against Riku and slipped one innocent hand down Riku's pajama bottoms afterwards is now all too familiar.

Amniotic and primal. Yeah, he knows what they'd been up to then.

Now there are two twin beds, each pushed to opposite walls, as if in an attempt to set a divide between the twins—a little too late. Only one bed looks like it has been slept in with any regularity. If he tries, he can clearly see them entwined and racked with voluptuous shudders, falling from grace on that one bed, while their doddering grandmother sleeps in the next room, hearing aid turned off.

The twins leave him to take a shower, he waits, looking around the room and seeing nothing, mind filled with white static—what are they doing in there?—and then it's his turn. What are they up to? What are they doing to each other when he's out of the room? Sora, sweet, tactile, cruel creature that he is, cannot stay still for long, cannot remain in his own private sphere of existence. He must invade the spheres of others; he must touch and taste, so, so very innocent and unabashed, then blushing and awkward. The boyish lines of his body are an invitation to all, and his smile is always as welcoming as it is self-effacing.

You can touch me. You can taste me. You can hold me down. You can open me up.

And Riku wants to. God, does he want to. He wants to move inside Sora, slip into the boy's nubile body and curl up around Sora's sanguine heart.

Now, showered and dressed in borrowed boxers, several sizes too small, hair wet and skin damp from a rushed toweling off, the unpainted wood door before his eyes, he stands outside the twins' room. He can hear some island insect whirring out a desultory tune through the open window at the end of the short hallway. He presses his ear to the door, listening for… for… but only silence greets him through the thin wood. The insect drones on. He touches the brass door handle, wrapping his fingers around the cool metal, and takes a deep breath. Sweat gathers in the creases of his palms.

The handle obeys the will of his hand and the door eases open before him on murmuring hinges. The spiced musk of the Twins' sanctuary, their lingering olfactory presence of bare skin and sweat, rushes into his nostrils, as if he has buried his nose in the fragrant, tender swatch of skin behind one of their ears and inhaled. Sora and Roxas, mingled together even here, but he can pick out Sora's scent easily from his brother's. Sora's is warmer, comforting, intoxicating, like mulled wine. Roxas' is crisper, more metallic, like crushed grass and razor blades.

He steps into the room, heart pulsing at the back of his mouth, stomach clenching with ecstatic shudders, and shivers as a cool drop of water slides down the back of his neck like a flirtatious finger.

The twins, sitting side by side, gilded in the buttery glow of the bedside lamp, the only light on, wait for him on one of the beds. A rosy flush pinks Sora's cheeks as he sits with his head nestled against Roxas' shoulder. Sora smiles at him—bright, unapologetically affectionate—and Roxas stares at the floor, hunching into himself, face a study of neutrality. Both are more or less dressed for sleep, having, apparently, split a single set of sleeping clothes between themselves: Sora wears the overly large blue-green button-down shirt and Roxas the matching drawstring pants.

Sora shifts, drawing the bedclothes over his bare legs, and tucks in closer to his twin. His lapis lazuli eyes never waver from Riku's.

Covered, but still tantalizing, accessible.

A thick, potent anticipation fills his belly and melts into his groin. His half-hard cock ripens against the front of his too-tight boxers, straining against the soft, worn cotton, rubbing against fabric that has cupped Sora. Have the twins rutted against each other when Sora was wearing these? He clenches his thighs and ass. Shit. God. Pre-come spreads in a damp patch across the front, and Sora is watching, smiling ingenuously.

"Sweet dreams, Riku," Sora says, tugging the bedclothes up further about his brother and himself. Roxas cuts Riku a cold glare and reaches over to snap off the lamp.

Darkness.

Riku's stomach lurches and sinks; nauseating disappoint assails him. A half-formed fantasy of merged, entwined flesh and dripping sweat dissolves.

Sora is the essence of cruelty.


Part Three

The little boy has been following him around all day, all week, smiling and laughing at nothing. He tells the kid to do something and the kid does. Get me a soda. The boy gets it. Buy me salt-sea ice cream. The boy runs back with the treat, sticky blue melting over his small hand. Where's his brother? They're usually together, playing in their own little corner of the playground, of the beach, bright, sparkling voices winging up and over everyone else. They always look happy, well, the darker haired one does. The other one never really smiles, at least he doesn't at anyone but his brother.

Twins. Always together, Roxas and Sora, but not today. Not for the past week. Now it's Riku and Sora, the younger one always a step behind or racing ahead.

Come on, Riku. I want to show you something!


The younger boy shows him all the secrets of the islands. Riku shows him how to use a sword. The boy gives him smiles as bright and shiny as Christmas presents.

Where's the other one?

Contagious, the adults whisper, had to tape up his hands so he wouldn't scratch. What will Sora do without his brother? They might as well have been conjoined with all the time they spend together. The poor child must be so lonely…

A soft, sandy hand slips into his. He looks down into pellucid eyes and experiences the pain of a fleshless wound. That voice—airy and full of refracting light—speaks to him, includes him, moves into him; it doesn't pass over his head or pass him by. It's his.

Kiss me.

The boy laughs and shakes his head.

Only families do that, Riku. You're silly.

The hand sliding the foreskin up and down his slick cock-shaft is anything but innocent.

Riku jerks, muscles straining against the sudden onslaught of sensation, and heaves out a distressed groan. Soft lips ghost over his cheek as a warm body snuggles closer. God. Fuck. The hand squeezes, jacking him too slowly to let him come, but fast enough to keep him excruciatingly hard. The elastic waist of the boxers has been shoved down far enough to free his dick, but not his balls. Impromptu cockring.

"Sora…"

The boy hums gently and releases him. Riku's cock bobs forlornly in the humid night air, dripping translucent pearls of fluid onto his flat stomach. Panting, sweating, muscles rigid and burning, Riku shudders against the mused bedclothes and blindly reaches through the smothering darkness for Sora. His fingertips graze resilient, yielding flesh, and Sora remains in place on his side, allowing Riku to explore the subtle curves and indents of his body through the nightshirt, then under the nightshirt. Riku nuzzles into the curve of the boy's fragrant neck and pulls him closer, closer, scrabbling across silken flesh for purchase. He humps his hips against Sora's, cock dragging against the soft nap of the cotton fabric, exquisite friction.

Not enough. Not nearly enough. He can't get close enough. Can't feel enough.

A hot rivulet of sweat streaks down the side of his face as he grapples with the pliant, yielding body curled about him. Thrusting a leg between the boy's, he grasps Sora's pert ass and rocks against him, forcing that supple young body to move with him. Fuck.

"Riku!" The boy clenches his thighs about Riku's aggressive leg and undulates against him, wildly grabbing at his hair and shoulders. "So good. Riku."

Drowning in the musk of their concupiscence, Riku takes the mewled words from Sora with harsh, lacerating kisses. Mine. Mine, Goddamnit. His balls draw up and slick fluid leaks steadily from his adamantine dick. The shirt slips aside and it's bare cock against bare cock. Wet. Burning. Holy…

Sora jerks away, gasping and laughing. Riku lunges after him. Fuck no. This is not how it's going to end. No way in hell. Fucking tease.

"Not that way," Sora says, somehow managing to evade Riku's hands while remaining on the narrow bed. "You want more, don't you?"

More…?

His brain stalls, his thoughts drop dead in their tacks, but his cock seems to know; it jerks against his belly, foreskin tight about the engorged shaft.

Sora tells him to scoot up against the headboard, and he does, peering through the darkness to where Sora straddles his thighs, firm ass resting upon his knees. Then delicate fingers trail up his dripping length, swirling meditatively about the flushed head. Sora sighs appreciatively into Riku's ear and trembles. Riku shudders against the padded board against his back and arches into the touch. The fingers leave and he can hear Sora searching for something atop the bedside table. Foil tears and the fingers are back, this time rolling a blunting barrier down Riku's cock.

"What…?"

"Precaution. You've fucked girls bareback, Riku," Sora whispers regretfully. "You shouldn't have done that. I can't stand thinking about the people you've been with. I wasn't ready then. You should have waited for me."

"Fuck you. What about…?"

"Roxas was never a choice."

And then Sora's mouth is upon his.


End (maybe)
Q&A: Will there be a Part Four? Probably. Will there be lots of hot sex in Part Four? Oh yes, if there is a Part Four, and there will be double penetration. Will there be more than just four sections? Probably. Same pairing/threesome? The author will be shaking it up with Axel, if she get to further parts. Will the hot sex and future chapters be posted at FanFiction . net? Sadly, due to the rating restrictions on the site, the answer to that is no to the sex, though some of the tamer sections might find their way here; however, the truly smutty parts will only be posted to the author's LiveJournal (links to it can be found on the author's page) and, perhaps, AF . net. Please feel free to request an email update for future parts.