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Roxas meets Sora at the door of the old mansion with a duffel bag over one shoulder, and Sora blinks at him in confusion, because the texts had just been something about I’d like you to see the place and Just us, in a way that has seriously made him wonder if it’s a date.
“Hey,” Roxas says, and Sora heys back and hugs him promptly. There are a lot of things he’s learned from his little stint with erasing himself from existence, but one of them is that life is too short to not just hug everybody whenever you want to hug them. Roxas makes one of those tiny disgruntled Roxas noises that means he’s taken aback but not annoyed. Then he hugs back, brief but crushing.
Roxas gives fantastic hugs. One of many things Sora has discovered now that they can actually, finally get to know each other, face to face, with their own damn lives. Roxas has, at this point, existed for longer as a free human than as a member of the Organization or a captive in Sora’s heart, and he knows this because he counts every day, because he journals. Roxas is blunt and scrupulously honest and thinks things through more deeply than almost anybody Sora knows. Roxas actually has a pretty long fuse; it’s just that Sora had first met him, in his heart, at the end of it. Roxas is contained but deeply kind and affectionate. Roxas cooks. Roxas hasn’t grown any taller, and seems pretty pleased that Sora has, since it makes them less alike. But he’s filled out a bit, solidifying, which has only made his arms stronger and his hugs better.
Roxas, today, with the duffel bag on his hip, has a strangely thoughtful look in his eye when Sora pulls back and holds him by both shoulders. “What’s up?” Sora asks.
“Is this a bad time for something serious?” Roxas asks in turn, also serious, because he’s like that.
“No,” Sora says automatically. Roxas huffs and nudges his shoulder, and Sora belatedly takes the hint. And smiles sheepishly, and actually thinks about it. “Nah. I’ve got time.” He leans in again for a moment to kiss Roxas’ cheek, because again, life is too short.
Roxas relaxes a touch. And answers that with a kiss on the mouth, brief and chaste. He must really be in some sort of mood, Sora thinks. He’s normally a lot more private than kissing him right in the doorway.
Though Sora realizes, as they walk inside, it’s probably actually just them. The house has that particular quiet of nobody-home. Which doesn’t entirely rule out Xion being somewhere—she’s not as sneaky as Naminé, but she’s close. It’s kind of hard to not know if Axel’s in a space though. And Xion’s big black purse isn’t on the hall tree.
“You gonna tell me what’s up,” Sora says, catching Roxas’ hand, “or is it a surprise?”
“Hm. It’s not that I don’t want to tell you. I just…” Roxas exhales, like he’s holding something heavy, and leads Sora towards the stairs. “It’s kind of crazy,” he says, more quietly.
“Kind of crazy is what I do,” Sora points out, and Roxas laughs softly.
Sora gets a strange wibbly feeling in his gut as they head up to the library. They don’t make much use of the room. How could they when the floor is mostly false? So once he sees the floor is open and Roxas starts leading him down the secret stairs, it’s just sort of a weird inevitability. He’s seeing triple. Coming down here looking for a way into the castle, just before Axel’s death. Coming back up, wobbly-legged and too tall and utterly disoriented, just after he woke up. Coming down here, as Roxas, head pounding with fury and despair, just before—well.
It’s different now. Chunks of the metal paneling have been crowbarred off, revealing bare studs and wiring. There’s a sheet of new drywall hung up like it was a test. They pass the computer bank, now supplemented with comfy chair and a desk covered with notes: that, he knows, Roxas has left untouched, and he’s pretty sure he’s heard that Pence comes in here sometimes to study it. Down the bent hallway, now bare, where the smaller pods once stood. There are neatly cut circles in the floor, like they’d been uninstalled and carried off somewhere else.
But Roxas is heading towards the big room at the end.
Of course he is.
He’s been living on top of it for months, but Sora knows that most of that time, it’s been sealed. Like a feelings monster lurking under his home, unslain.
Sora catches up as Roxas’ pace slows. Roxas is holding his hand way too tight, and he’s probably doing the same to him. They walk through the open door shoulder to shoulder.
The place looks kinda like a bomb had gone off. Possibly a Roxas-shaped bomb. There’s torn-out white paneling everywhere, and the big flower pod itself has been yanked out by the roots. Parts of it lie smashed or warped in the corner; parts of it have already been dragged away.
Sora takes it in and exhales. Then turns to Roxas with a smile that might be a little kooky. “I think I like what you’ve done with the place.”
Roxas huffs a laugh. “Yeah?”
“You want a hand with the rest or something?”
“I wouldn’t say no.” Roxas finally pries his hand free of Sora’s—that takes effort on both their parts—and wanders into the center of the room. “I’ve been doing a lot of it myself, but it’s killing my back. Later, though.”
“Have you guys figured out what you want to do with it?” It really is a lot of space. Sora’s still not entirely sure how it even fits into the mansion.
Roxas shrugs. “Mostly we just want the space back. And I needed to smash some things. I’m pretty sure Axel wants to turn it into a sex dungeon, and I’m not sure me and Xion are going to get around to stopping him.”
Sora snort-laughs. “Of course he does.”
“I was kind of thinking game room—“
“But it could be multi-purpose,” Sora finishes with him, almost in unison, as both of them do their best Axel impression. And then laughs as Roxas rolls his eyes. Accidentally saying the same thing is rare, at least. Impressions make it better. “Oh my god. Is he going to start trying to throw sex parties or something.”
“Probably. I’ll worry about whether that’s a good idea after I figure out hard points or whatever the hell he wants in here.”
Sora’s struck with a sudden realization. “Cuddle parties though! We could all use those.”
“You’re helping us move the couch in, then.” Roxas has been doing a slow circuit of the room as they’ve been talking, like he’s warming up for something, and when he finally turns back to face Sora, he’s standing slap-bang where the pod had been, hand tight on the strap of his duffel bag. “Sora, I…”
“Yeah?” Sora drifts closer. “Kind of crazy, you said?”
He squares his shoulders. There’s a dusting of pink on his cheeks. “I want to be with you. Here.”
Sora stops breathing for a moment, and maybe his heart does a flip-flop or grows a size in his chest or something, because it aches tremendously, bittersweet. He’s halfway to putting his hand over Roxas’ heart before he even realizes it. “You sure?”
“I’ve been thinking about it all week,” Roxas says, and mirrors him, hand to heart. “I don’t know. Be with you or at least make out a lot or something. It feels right. Resetting, somehow.” He hesitates. “Maybe something will go—weird, in my head, at some point, but…”
“You can always tap out.”
“Same to you, you know,” Roxas says, pressing his fingertips gently into Sora’s sternum.
“I’m not,” Sora starts to say, and then he can’t really continue. Not under Roxas’ steady gaze, not with all these feelings rattling inside him. Roxas does not let him get away with putting on a happy face when he doesn’t mean it. It’s been kind of infuriating—and embarrassingly good for him. “Yeah,” he says, quieter. “Okay.” He swallows. “I love you, you know.”
Roxas goes still for one tiny moment, eyes widening. They’ve said it before, one raw conversation to put words on the profound peace that had grown between them, but they don’t say it often. “Sap,” he says, small and fond. “I love you,” and he closes his hand in Sora’s jacket and pulls him in.
The duffel thumps to the ground as they kiss.
Sora can feel his heart rabbiting away, and he hadn’t even realized how nervous he was until it fades, slow. Roxas kisses methodically, thoroughly, teasing his lips between his, long and slow before he even goes deep. What had he been afraid of? That if they touched again, here, they’d somehow merge again? One horrid flash of light to undo what they’d worked so hard for? Silly. He knows that wouldn’t be possible now, not unless Roxas’ body died and he chose to give Sora his heart again. He makes some noise of adoration into the kiss and runs a hand through Roxas’ hair, down his cheek. He’s solid. He’s real.
“Crazy time,” Sora whispers against Roxas’ lips, between kisses, and Roxas huffs. The kind of noise that might get him a hair yank on most days—a nice friendly one, sure—but now it’s just a hand sliding down his back, pressing them close.
“Yeah,” Roxas breathes. “Crazy time.”
The duffel bag, it turns out, contains a thick blanket, and washcloths, and lube, and a bottle of water, and a bag of snacks, because Roxas is the sort of person who is strategic about fucking on the floor of a construction site. They’ve gotten pretty much naked between kisses and caresses, except for the thing where Roxas keeps his socks on during sex like a dork, and even then Roxas has shivered from time to time as he’s bared to the cool basement air. Blanket laid out, kneeling face to face, all wrapped up in each other. Roxas can make out contentedly for ages, so they’ve barely even stopped kissing.
It’s Sora, finally starting to relax despite the enormity of the moment, who first slides a hand down, wrapping it lazily around both their dicks. That feels right, he thinks vaguely, inasmuch as he ever thinks about this sort of thing. Symmetrical.
It’s Roxas who pulls out of the kiss enough to meet Sora’s eye and say, voice low and a little rough, “I want you to take me.”
Again, maybe, Sora stops breathing. His fingers trace Roxas’ cheekbone. The corner of his mouth. His face is warm, his lips well kissed. “You sure?” he asks again, feeling a little stupid, but how could he not ask?
“Does it ever bother you,” Roxas wonders aloud, in lieu of answering, “when people call sex ‘becoming one’?”
Sora blinks slowly. “Y’know, it had never occurred to me, but it bothers me now.”
“Don’t let me tell you what to think,” Roxas huffs, and nips his ear.
“But you’re right,” Sora says, a bit plaintive. He hasn’t bothered to move his hand around their cocks. He’s not even particularly stroking, just holding them together for now, warm and close. “It’s connecting. It’s feeling everything about another person. And then you’re still both you, just together…” He trails off in something like wonder. Roxas is here. The curve of his neck, the strong line of his jaw, the warmth of his body. The way he tilts his head in affection. His pupils are blown wide, and he looks at Sora with—
It rolls through their residual connection, enough to make Sora sway on his knees. Trust. Trust that Sora can take him apart, right here where he’d ceased to exist, and that he’ll still be here, whole and strong. He isn’t doing this because he’s a part of Sora. He’s doing this because he isn’t.
Sora frames his face in his hands like he’s holding a whole world, because sometimes he’s just kind of in awe of this guy. Roxas curls a hand over one of his. “Yeah, I think I get it,” Sora whispers, and Roxas gently and inexorably turns his hand so he can kiss his palm.
And then their legs shift, and he’s bending Roxas to the floor, and Roxas is letting him. And groaning as he settles, rolling his shoulders, and Sora watches in fascination as all those little muscles shift. “You good?” he asks.
“I meant it about my back. No, this is great, actually.”
“Well, maybe this’ll help in more ways than one.” Sora’s on his hands and knees now, caging Roxas in with his few extra inches of height. And then he settles his weight low on Roxas’ hips. He isn’t entirely sure how mean Roxas wants him to be. Not very, he hopes, because it’s probably going to be hard for him to muster. In general, with him, and especially now. But overwhelming, maybe? He slides a hand down Roxas’ bare arm, feeling all the close-packed muscle there, then pauses at his wrist like it’s a question.
Roxas nods even as he catches him by the necklace with his free hand, pulling him down.
They kiss again, deeper, as Sora pins one of his hands softly to the floor. As he traces the lines of his neck and the bob of his throat with the other. He knows how he likes it by now. Gentle on his face and head, firm on his body. Roxas opens for the kiss, shivering in a way that Sora trusts is pleasant, and Sora licks his way deep into his mouth, earning a subliminal moan. It’s only when he starts to go boneless, lost in the moment, draping himself full-body over him, that there’s a shove at his shoulder.
“Let me breathe,” Roxas mutters.
“Ah, sorry—”
“It’s good.” He shivers again as Sora picks himself up, leaning more weight into the hand on his wrist. His eyes are a little wide. He maybe looks like a guy about to crest the hill of a roller coaster, but Roxas is self-possessed, self-aware, easy to trust in this. “Just let me breathe.”
“Yeah,” Sora says, smiling down at him, and Roxas relaxes, giving him a small smile in return. Sora bends his head back down, kissing his throat, his chest. He lets himself get lost in him, hands and mouth all over his stunning body. There’s blood under his skin and a heart pounding in his chest, and Sora can’t help pressing an ear over it in delight. Roxas is melting slowly under his hands, sometimes arching into them. He’s pretty quiet most of the time. It’s all in his body when he’s enjoying things, the way he moves, and Sora likes to think he’s gotten good at reading it.
He runs a hand down one of Roxas’ thighs to press his leg up, and Roxas lets him, taking deep easy breaths. His eyes have been half-closed, in a pleasant haze, but they open as Sora reaches for the lube, and he settles into a strange sort of focus. This is important to him, after all. Sora still kinda feels like he’s following him, even like this, feeling his way into the most tender corners of him as he beckons him deeper. He gives his cock a few teasing, well-lubed strokes, just to earn a gasp, and then slides further down, exploring.
This has gone the other way the couple of times they’ve done it. When they aren’t simply blowing each other or jerking each other off, that is. Anal takes a lot of prep, and Sora’s not known for his patience. But Roxas likes being in control, and Sora likes giving that to him, and also he fucks like a landslide. It’s hard to argue with can’t-walk-legs-goo, especially when it comes with Roxas cuddles. Still, he’s fingered him during a blowjob more than once, so this isn’t entirely new.
Roxas is maybe not as relaxed as he could be, but Sora doesn’t see a need to rush. He lets his finger circle, coaxing, until he dips in just a touch. Then again, until Roxas is starting to shiver. “‘Nough teasing,” he mutters, and Sora smiles, and slides that finger in, nice and slow. Roxas moans, quiet. His fingers tangle in the blanket, and he’s holding himself a little tight again. Sora rearranges himself, kneeling so he can get his free hand all over Roxas, petting him just how he likes—maybe that’s helping?
“I think,” Roxas starts.
“Yeah?”
“I think I need to not be staring at the ceiling.”
“Gotcha,” Sora says. “Staring at the ceiling is kinda awkward, yeah,” and then they’re rearranging again, Roxas rolling sort of on his side with one leg hiked up and both his arms clutching Sora’s legs. His face is in his thigh, and it’s there that he relaxes enough for two fingers as Sora kneads his hair. It’s also there that he starts to shake, fingers digging hard into Sora’s skin. “You okay?” Sora asks softly, keeping two fingers buried in him.
“Yeah. Keep going. I’m just.” His voice cracks on a moan as Sora moves again. “Getting in my head.”
Sora tightens his grip, pulling a gentle handful of hair, and Roxas shudders. “Breathe,” he murmurs, still feeling his way forward. “Just feel me. I got you.” He drags blunt nails down Roxas’ arm, testing, and Roxas clutches his leg like he’s going to leave bruises—not that Sora minds—and nods, small, silent.
Right, Sora remembers, there’s the thing where his upper back is kind of hypersensitive to lighter touch. He lets his nails wander there, and Roxas shudders again, harder. Says, very small, muffled by Sora’s leg, “Fuck.”
“Oh, yeah,” Sora croons. “Just feel me.” And he starts working him up in earnest. Walking fingertips, tracing nails, drawing idle patterns feather-light. Such little things, and Roxas shakes and keens and comes undone, ears reddening where he can see them under his hair. It’s downright surreal seeing him this vulnerable. And hearing him this noisy, especially once he gets a third finger into him. He’s not shouty, but there’s this steady stream of little gasps and moans, and at some point he lets go of Sora to scrabble one hand in the blanket, like he’s trying to hold onto where he is and what he’s doing amidst all this sensation. “I’ve got you,” Sora says again. “Roxas,” and there’s a gasp at his name, like that’s important. “You’re real. I couldn’t be doing this if you weren’t real.”
It’s nonsense, but it might be perfect, because Roxas is kissing his leg. Then biting it. Then turning his head a little, and Sora can see his hazy eyes, pupils blown wide, in a sweaty mess of blond spikes. “Damn it, Sora. Do it. I’m ready.”
“Yeah,” Sora says, and then it’s more rearranging, heart pounding as he tries to not lose momentum. Lubing up, and there’s no questioning whether his dick’s ready to go, not after seeing Roxas come apart like that. “Yeah. I’m going to fuck you so deep you’ll never be anything but real again.” It’s nonsense, spilling out, yet still Roxas gasps audibly. He’s on his back again—they’re both moving in that direction, like neither of them needed to ask. He’s leaning up on his elbows a little, flushed, powerful legs spread, and for a moment, Sora can only stare at him in awe. He’s splendid. How lucky is he, to get to see him like this?
Gravity, and their hearts, and the peace between them that they’ve given name to—everything pulls them together. Sora cradles Roxas’ face in his not-messy hand as he gets himself lined up, then slides it down to wrap gently around Roxas’ throat as he sinks home. Home; he could make a home in Roxas if he had to. Roxas’ hand curls over his even as his mouth falls open in bliss, fussing but not fighting. “I know,” Sora whispers. “I’ll always let you breathe. I promise.”
Roxas exhales, a bone-deep shudder, like he’s opening up all the way down to the depths of his heart. And lets go, trusting his hand at his throat. Sora gets his legs locked underneath him right, folding him tight—he’s pretty flexible for a strong guy. And he leans enough of his weight on his other arm to keep his promise, and presses their bodies close, and kisses him, still holding him gently. Perfect. He doesn’t have the leverage to fuck him particularly hard like this, but he’s deep like he promised, slow and coaxing, and Roxas is moaning into his mouth on every stroke. He’s got his arms tight around Sora, nails digging in, and Sora hopes he leaves marks. He should. He should leave his mark on the world, on Sora’s body, everywhere he wants.
Time stops mattering, more or less. Sora tries to keep a steady pace, to keep Roxas here as long as he needs, but pleasure builds regardless. Roxas is slick and hot around his cock and leaves scrapes down his back, and Sora practically purrs with satisfaction as he eats up his moans. He only breaks off the kiss to murmur Roxas’ name—like an affirmation, like a mantra—and then Roxas all but whines until he kisses him again.
Somewhere in there, one of Roxas’ hands leaves him, sliding between their bodies to find his own cock. “You want me to,” Sora starts to ask between kisses.
“No, this is good,” Roxas breathes. “This is good. Don’t let me go.”
“Okay,” Sora says, and eats him up again. Roxas is moaning even louder, more than he ever thought he’d hear from him. He can feel the tension building now, Roxas’ thighs clamping tight around him, his breath coming fast, and he just pours all his love down on him and wills himself to hold on.
On the brink, keening, Roxas tugs gently at Sora’s hair. “Let me see you,” he gasps, and then it’s yes, Roxas, Roxas, still with his hand on his throat, until he comes. Hard, back arching, with a shout that echoes round the room. It’s glorious. Sora’s never gotten to see him come quite like this, splayed open and wrung out, and he drinks it in, entranced. Roxas doesn’t even break eye contact except when they’re squeezed shut as spasms with pleasure.
“Roxas,” Sora babbles. “You’re real. You’re here. You’re safe.” Maybe the same thing again and again as Roxas comes down, eases off with his hand—but he’s still clamped tight around Sora, not letting him go, even as he shudders with overstimulation. Roxas nods, melting, soaking it up. “I love you,” Sora adds in a gasp, and Roxas smiles, surprisingly wide, meltingly fond.
“I’m yours,” Roxas says, and Sora’s whole brain stutters. “Right now. Come on.”
“I’m yours,” Sora says, even as he fumbles into motion, pushing off his hand so he can get a grip on Roxas’ thigh and start fucking him again, harder, in earnest. Roxas shouts, rattling with sensation, but urges him on again, come on, and there’s distance between them like this, but Roxas is halfway to closing it, catching him by the thick chain of his necklace. Sora’s hand still hasn’t left his throat—that feels right, he doesn’t want to—it’s not like this is going to take long anyway—
Take me, Roxas had said, and now, eyes locked with his, groaning almost like he’s in pain, he says, “Let go.”
And then Sora’s coming, and Roxas takes that too, clenching around him like he’s carrying him through it.
And then it’s over, and their fingers interlace, and they’re still here.
Roxas flops out flat on his back in the afterglow with no interest in moving, and Sora puts him back together with hugs and kisses, with sips of water and a gentle wipedown, with hands and lips and love. He spoons up on his side, arm and leg thrown over him, and Roxas curls an arm around him, turns to nuzzle his forehead. They’ve each done the you all right and the yes and the good, and now Sora basks in skin-warm contact. His mind rolls in circles. Back and back again to—to this. That Roxas had let him do this, had enjoyed this, had scrawled free-hearted surrender over this place where the worst day of his life had—well, second worst. Maybe third. Roxas has had a lot of really bad days.
His mind rolls and rolls, around Roxas and the merging and seeing him step out and bloom again, and then he’s realizing, slow and huge and kind of dreadful…
“I don’t think I’ve ever said,” Sora breathes. “Because everything around it was so horrible. But I should have. I should have…”
“What’re you on about?” Roxas asks softly, fingers curling on the nape of his neck.
“Thank you,” Sora says, with all his heart, and maybe his eyes are stinging. “I couldn’t have woken up without you. Even if we both kinda hate how it happened—you gave me your life. How could I not be grateful?”
Roxas’ hand tightens, not cruelly, and he pulls, drawing Sora in until his forehead’s right over the steady beat of his heart. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, long enough that Sora’s starting to worry that he’s put his foot in his mouth, and when he does speak, his voice is rough. “I could say that you don’t owe me. ‘Cause you woke me back up in turn. Or because you made it worth it. Or because it wasn’t your fault.” Rougher still. “I’ve already told you that you make a good other. But no one ever…” He tugs at Sora’s hair, lifting his head, and looks deep into his eyes, almost pleading. He’s crying a little, maybe. “No one ever—said that. No one thanked me.”
Sora shudders with heartache, full-body, and shoves his other arm under his back, wrapping him up as tight as he dares, because he can’t bear not to. Roxas doesn’t mind. Maybe more than that, because he’s hugging back, rib-grindingly hard in the best possible way. Sora doesn’t mind not breathing. “I should’ve said it earlier,” he croaks, and Roxas shushes him and rocks him gently. They’re cheek to cheek, chests pressed together, and still they’re two. They’re two.
They stay like that a long while, all clinging. Long enough to roll up in the blanket because Sora’s getting cold, for Roxas to tease him about being a tender tropical flower, for snacks. But neither of them can handle inaction forever, and finally Sora’s slipping free and sitting up to stretch enormously.
“Hey,” Roxas says, ruffling fingers idly through Sora’s hair. He grins and leans into it like a cat. “Thank you. For this.”
“Come out how you wanted?”
“Sure did.” Roxas smiles, small, and kisses him on the cheek, and gets up, not bothering to put on any clothes. He picks his way sockfoot across the torn-up floor towards the battered remnants of the pod in the corner. At a flick of his finger, a dark portal opens behind it. “Wanna come help?”
Sora fishes his jacket out of the clothes pile and slings it on, then follows, gingerly barefoot. He takes a moment to pat one sleek white-steel petal. “Thanks for keeping me alive,” he tells it, like his mom sometimes says to things when she’s decluttering. “But I’m real glad I don’t need you anymore.”
Roxas looks at him for a moment, thoughtful. Sora nods, grins, and puts his shoulder into it. “One, two, shove,” Roxas calls, and so it goes. Tipping into darkness, winked out, gone.
“You make a good other too, you know,” Sora says, catching Roxas’ pinky in his.
Roxas exhales and shoulder-bumps him, affectionate. “Only because you don’t know how to take care of yourself.”
“Where’d you put it?” Sora asks, waving at the portal as they step back from the edge.
“Gummispace,” Roxas says with a shrug. “Figured it wouldn’t bother anyone, and I’ve heard there’s a lot of junk floating out there.”
Sora grins. “Hey, maybe someday a cool gummi block’ll grow inside it.”
Roxas squints at him in doubt. “Is that how it works?” He bends to pick up one of the floor panels, tosses it in, and then winces and shakes out his fingers. “Nope, doing the rest of this later when I’m wearing gloves.”
“Yeah, that’s why you find them in rubble sometimes when you blast it open. Gummi material kinda congeals in there over time. Like random goo in your sink, except, y’know, good.” He scratches his cheek.
“Weird. I’m sticking to portals.” Roxas closes that one with a thought.
“Nah, you should come flying with me someday. It’s fun! You can go real fast.” Roxas does, in fact, look tempted as Sora starts digging through their mess. He seems to stand a little taller as he stretches and takes a long drink of water. Like some weight’s been lifted. “Where the heck is my other sock?” Sora whines.
“How would I know?” Roxas grumbles. “That’s why I don’t take them off. I don’t remember giving birth to you.” Sora bursts out laughing at that, because that is, technically, kinda the other way around, and he does remember it, more or less. He has been informed that he should maybe, possibly, have second thoughts about stabbing himself, but he really can’t argue with the results. Kairi back and two more really cool people? “Stay for dinner?” Roxas asks, and Sora grins.
“How could I turn that down?”
“You can’t,” Roxas says, just a little smug, and ducks in for a kiss before he starts getting dressed. “Also afterwards I might be convinced to bring you back down here and fuck your brains out.”
“Oh neeuuu,” Sora says, bouncing a little as he gets his pants on. “Do not throw me in that briar patch.”
“Did you get that from Kairi,” Roxas mutters. “That sounds like you got that from Kairi.”
“I don’t kiss and tell,” Sora says airily.
“Really.” Roxas has pulled his long-sleeved shirt back on, soft and cozy but well-fitted, and Sora likes the way it clings to his chest so much that he has to put his arms back around him for a moment. Roxas snorts and touches noses.
“Fine. I only kiss and tell with permission.” Roxas peels him off so they can finish getting dressed. “What’re you making?” Sora asks.
“Take a guess,” Roxas says with a shrug, abandoning the sex supplies and heading for the door. Which means, Sora thinks, he might really make good on the second round.
“Well, you were planning to have me over, so…” Sora scratches his cheek. “Paella?” he guesses, hopeful.
“Do I look like I have time for paella? I’m too busy getting fucked.” And Sora’s laugh echoes around the empty room as Roxas hits the lights.
“Hamburgers?”
“It’s not grilling weather.” Roxas taps the wall with his fingertips as they walk back towards the stairs, like he’s tracing how much work he still has to do. “Man, I wonder how hard it would be to get a normal staircase in here.”
Sora scratches his chin. “Maybe you can reprogram the floor so only half of it opens? Then you could actually use your library.”
“Would be nice to have a quiet place to sit,” Roxas says, and Sora catches his hand as they walk up the stairs. He’s not disoriented from a year asleep, too-tall and achey-kneed and more alone than he knew. They’re finally together in the right way. “Chicken long rice,” Roxas says, finally, and Sora gasps in delight. “That I got from Kairi. The recipe, I mean.”
“Oh hell yes,” Sora says as Roxas closes up the floor.
“But you’re my sous. Assuming you can do it without me steering you by your hair.”
“Hey, I’m learning, I’m learning. You should see my knife skills! Taptaptaptaptap.” He gestures with his hand, and Roxas laughs as they trot down the foyer stairs to the kitchen.
Together. As they should be.