Like and Unlike

He doesn't quite know how it happened.

They'd been fighting; swords and magic, darkness and cards. The mansion and its gates loomed behind them, the trees like a cage circling them in. Every time Riku broke through the other broke back, identical down to their outfits—gifts from the dark that they've both mastered. It's terrifying, every move, every flip, every roll the only thing keeping either of them from meeting their end on the other's blade.

Riku didn't really want to fight him. His own life and identity matter, but the frantic eyes, the intensity of the other's pain brings him no joy. This isn't a competition he signed up for, where the winner's existence is validated by the outcome of a single fight. He doesn't think the replica signed up for it either. He's combative, but of course he is. He wants to live, and Riku's existence is a rope around his neck. 

How much of a choice did either of them have in this? Can he blame the replica for what was built into him, how he was born—made? He's clearly not happy about it now he's been around for more than a minute.

Still they clash, the force of two near identical-souls meeting sending shock waves through the air. They are so like yet unlike, even down to how they hold their blades. Yet a boy born on an island, a boy built in a laboratory—are they really that comparable in the end? Even the memories the replica has have been altered, further shaped by what he is, what he knows, what he's been through, what he's done. 

No matter how alike we are I know nothing of what he feels. Yet somehow...the pain is familiar. I don't know what it is, but I know what it's like.

He knows, but he still doesn't know how they end up as they do. Maybe it was inevitable.

The replica screams and lunges, Soul Eater narrowly missing Riku's gut. Instead their bodies connect, hit the ground and roll, cards scattering and legs tangling. Their swords are lost in the attack, but they choose to wrestle instead of calling them back. Shrouded in the same darkness, Riku can only tell which limbs are his by the pain that echoes through them, but the longer they fight the more the other Riku's cries start to feel like his own, pain shared. 

He wants to be chosen. He wants to be the one to protect, to fight, to see the world. He wants to be loved and wanted and needed. He wants to be special, to feel like he's someone worthwhile. He wants his life to mean something.

Riku knows this. He knows it all. For all their differences this is the same; the tender place deep inside full of terrible contradictions. I am protector, adventurer, hero and master. I am a worthy role model to my friends. I am aching, lonely, desiring, needy. I want to follow my heart wherever it goes. 

He can't say which parts are wrong. Perhaps good and evil come from both. The same is likely true of the other, their key difference found in what they fear.

I want to believe my heart is more than darkness. He wants to believe his is more than a lie.

Looking into his eyes—intense, burning, aching—Riku wonders. We want to believe we are more than we are, to know we are better than what we see in ourselves.

There is a desire too, to be loved in a way they cannot be by those who use them. To be valued for more than darkness. To be valued for more than one's use as a tool—and yet, to have neither of those parts denied as what made them who they are now.

To live loved, without denial.

This recognition is what makes Riku hesitate when he finally gets the other to be still. He's hugging him because it's the only way to stop him, but still there's something else, something stirring when they're panting, forehead against forehead, eyes on each other. They're pressed together, closer than close.

What goes on in their minds is unique, yet still they come to the same conclusion.

So maybe Riku does know how it happened, just a little, when the hand pinning the other rises to his cheeks, thumb caressing heated skin. When the replica's hands come up to touch him, sliding around the back of his neck, the small of his back, dragging him down.

Their lips meet, soft. They shift, move against each other until their bodies fit together, slotting into place like pieces of a puzzle, head's tilting and tongues touching. It's warm and wet, and Riku has to pull back to laugh when they both surge forward then immediately surrender, baiting the other to dominate.

He thinks the other Riku might try just to prove he's different, but he doesn't. Instead there's stillness, quiet.

"I..."

"It's okay," Riku says, "I don't think being similar makes us the same."

"Well of course you can say that. You're not a replica."

"You're right, but I'm me, and you're you, and I think I get as much a say in whether or not we're the same as you do."

The other Riku softens then, some wall inside him crumbling. The words can't heal what others have done to him. That's okay. They can't do everything for each other after all.

Yet still...

"You don't understand what it's like to be me," the replica murmurs, "but you understand something not so unlike it huh?"

"Yeah," Riku says, "and I know exactly what someone not so unlike me needs."

The other Riku shudders—or maybe it's Riku that's shaking like a leaf. Their bodies feel like they're melding, twin suits of darkness no barrier at all. Their hands seek out all those familiar places and Riku knows immediately that their bodies are alike. Deep down perhaps there are differences, one flesh and the other puppet, yet he can't say which is better and neither seems that unlike on the surface anyhow.

How alike though? He wonders, hand sliding down the other's cheek to his neck, thumb pressing. It's something he tried on himself once, alone in his bedroom. There'd been feelings he couldn't deal with, things he didn't want to think about. Riku never liked to touch himself, felt dirty and weak and embarrassed. He'd set up a mirror a couple of times just to see if he could convince himself there was some beauty to be found in his vulnerability.

All he can remember is disgust.

Yet as he rubs that spot on the replica's neck and grinds his knee between the other's legs, something tightens in his stomach. There is nothing but heat as he watches the way the replica's legs tremble, the way he tilts into the thumb rubbing circles on that sensitive spot, his crotch pressing hard against Riku's knee.

The disgust he turns inward is absent when he takes in the pleasure on this Riku's face.

Then the other's eyes flash and the roles change. He grabs Riku and pulls him down, presses his chest against his mouth. Riku feels as much as hears him whisper, "Take it off."

His stomach flips, but he finds enough snark in him to mutter, "You first."

He thinks he'll be ignored, but then there's noise—the flash of darkness disintegrating. A glance down reveals the other Riku bare beneath him; a trick of their dark state allowing them to recall their clothes or abandon them entirely. Cheeks pink, Riku keeps his unspoken promise.

There's nothing about his body his replica wouldn't know. In some ways that's a comfort, but in others it just makes the knot in his stomach tighter.

The other Riku is gentle at first, just soft open-mouthed kisses and a warm tongue running over his nipple. Riku massages the other with his own hand, the other's split between groping his ass and abusing that spot on Riku's neck that makes his legs tremble. Riku's free arm is supporting his body, shaking with the effort of not crushing the other while his tongue plays with his chest.

Riku's chest has always been a little embarrassing for him, too sensitive, but the replica seems to like it. When he's had enough of squeezing his ass he swats Riku's hand away, plays with the other nipple himself. He shifts after a moment, turning so he can get the neglected nipple in his mouth, the abandoned one pebbling in the cool air.

A moan escapes Riku. His hips press down, grinding against the replica's abdomen. The replica only licks him harder, keeps going until Riku pulls back, panting, frowning down at the other's smug face. Then the frown is gone and they're kissing again, Riku sliding his wet nipples against the other's chest until he's writhing. The heat building in his crotch is mirrored he's sure, as is the desire to press closer, as is their shared shame turning to pleasure at the sight of the other's ecstasy.

Hands wander—his, the other's. They're calloused in some places, soft in others. They touch all over, eager to learn each other—themselves from a different perspective. It's Riku who has the idea to take it further, repeat an experiment he's only tried once before. Ashamed at the time, he's eager now. He whispers magic that coats his fingers in slick, darkness turned to a soothing oil. The replica catches on and copies him, breath coming quick, eyes dark.

They're kissing again then, free hands trailing through hair and over cheeks, squeezing chests and snarling in the grass. Their other hands seek and find, both gasping into their kisses as fingers find their way inside. They press closer, closer, and Riku wonders if they're trying to become one.

We can never be one, he thinks, though there is such pleasure in the company of someone so like and unlike him. He loves others, but there is something about this love that is different. Every love is different, he knows, just like every heart, including ours. Yet someone knowing you like this...

Just a little while ago they were fighting. Now?

Riku can't imagine doing anything other than this.

They grind, fingers thrusting deep inside. The clearing is filled with the wet sound of it, with Riku's moans and the other's sighs. They're kissing and nuzzling, soothing each other's aches. The replica is beautiful in ways Riku never found himself. 

He wonders if those hazy eyes, sea-green and glistening, see such beauty in him.

Heat coils, knots, tangles in Riku as the fingers inside him rub, press up against his most sensitive places. They know what makes the other hot, rediscovering it from the perspective of an outsider. Riku grips Riku—the title replica fading from his mind. He holds him tight, moaning as the knot inside him comes apart. Their bodies are shaking, cries echoing, all the tension within them releasing as they come. It leaves them wet and sticky, Riku sliding off Riku's chest to wipe wet fingers in the dewy grass.

They pant, side by side, before Riku brings an arm up and draws the other in. Riku does the same, the two embracing on the grass, breathing each other in. Their hearts beat at the same pace, yet out of time, out of step.

Like and unlike.

There are no words he can think of but the moment doesn't need them. Later Riku thinks they will, but for now both of them are content to lie down and rest. There is only one thought still on his mind—a promise.

We will find our way out of this place together.

He looks into the other's eyes to see the same thought echoed, in shades of sea-green and blue all his own. Then he smiles, and hand in hand they fall asleep together.