Plush Perfume

Riku's resolve snaps the moment Sora leaves the room.

He can't resist anymore. He's wanted this for so long his whole body trembles with desire, begging him not to stop, not to yield to inhibition. Sora has him burning, skin aching for a touch he can't have. Yet Sora is touch—even when he's awkward or shy, even when he's reminded he shouldn't hug so much or get too handsy. He loves skin-to-skin contact and caresses, physical intimacy coming naturally to him.

It should've been fine. Their roughhousing should never have been an issue. Their wrestling wasn't special, the way they fought with each other no different from the way they fought with the other island kids. They rolled in the sand and dunked each other in the waves, then scampered off to lounge on the hanging paopu tree at sunset. Some days they'd go stalking through the trees instead, vigorous exercise enough to get them dry as they hunted all the secrets their island had to offer.

It should've been fine.

It isn't. Instead of seeing what's there—an ordinary friendship between boys—Riku notices the way Sora's knee presses between his thighs, the way his hair feels beneath his fingers. He loses himself in the way their bodies grind and their chests slide against each other, buckles and buttons and zippers catching, drawing them closer. His ears ring with Sora's gasps, every catch of breath, every pant as Riku leaves him in the dust as he runs, runs as hard and as fast as he can for victory—and maybe relief from the sounds so close behind. He sees the way the water hangs off him, the way the evening skies tint his skin and eyes, the way the wind looks dancing in his hair.

The warmth of him. The smell of him. Riku notices all of it.

Today should've been ordinary, just another visit to his best friend's house to goof off and get no work done. They'd put together puzzles on the floor, doodled, and made notes for their future adventures and all the resources they'd need to see them through. It'd felt bad to make plans without Kairi, but she was busy with homework (Riku had already done his and Sora was a slacker). It hadn't been just the two of them though. Sora's inordinately large plush collection had observed from the sanctuary of his bed; creepy-cute shadows and adorable bats and soft boats sailed by rag dolls, and an enormous Meow Wow Spirit he hugged close every night, all watching with their beady eyes.

The windows were shut, the curtains only half-drawn to let in the light. The day was hot, Sora's parents were out, and the house didn't have any decent snacks or drinks.

"I'll go get some," Sora'd said. "I'll be back in fifteen, 'kay?"

He'd insisted on going alone—it was hot outside, even for islanders used to such weather, and Riku'd done the trip alone the last three times Sora had visited him. Still, Riku would usually protest, insist on accompanying him. It was only today he surrendered, his skin burning, pent up inside from their arms and legs brushing, the sweat catching on Sora's cheeks, his neck, his collarbone, the flush of his cheeks.

"I gotta let you grow up at some point," he'd joked, and Sora'd stuck out his tongue before he left, closing the door behind him.

That was what did it, of all things. The door, closed. It felt like everything Riku was and ever would be, that closed door. Trapped on a world, trapped on an island, trapped in his head, trapped in his heart. All the doors he wished would open shut in his face, and there was so little he could do beyond stare at them.

So little, but not nothing.

And alone, in this place full of childhood memories and toys and dreams, with the smell of Sora all around him, what else could Riku do but snap?

He listens, waits for the front door to open, and then he's up, clambering onto the bed. His body shakes as he smothers himself against it, fingers tangling in the sheets. He buries his nose against the bed and sniffs hard. Sora, Sora, Sora. He moans, reaching out for something, anything to hold against him. First it's a small plush, then Sora's pillow, and then he breaks, succumbing to his desires and climbing on top of the giant Meow Wow plush waiting on its back for him.

The creature's design is ridiculous, but Riku's eyes close and it doesn't matter. He doesn't need them now; the window is shut, curtains obscuring enough for him to feel safe. Sora hates to have them fully closed—preferring natural light even when it's sweltering outside—so Riku leaves them as they are. He likes the sunlight anyway. It makes him think of Sora, his fingers on his arm, his leg, his shoulder, his back. It brings a flush to his skin, already warm and wet from the weather.

Wet.

Riku straddles the plush, presses his face against its thick body and pretends. He imagines Sora's skin and hair, imagines that it's Sora's sweet softness giving way and not the toy's as he wraps his arms around it. The scent completes the illusion, Sora's smell thickest here, imbued in the plush he takes to bed each night. It's so big, so overwhelming, but Riku is alright with that. In reality he stands a good half head above Sora, but in his fantasy he indulges in this—being completely overpowered by him, by his presence.

He's smelled Sora's sheets before, done so many times in fact. It's shameful, that he knows how different this is, how much more of Sora's scent has seeped into this toy. Shameful, that he knows the difference between dragging a blanket off the bed to sniff it and straddling a much beloved plush toy with such dirty thoughts in mind.

He starts small, presses his hips down and swirls them against the toy. He squeezes his thighs against its sides, tightens his embrace, and grinds. The motions make his stomach roil, warmth sloshing about inside him with every circle of his hips. It's almost innocent, really, like a boy's first bout of experimentation—clothes still on as he dry humps another. Riku can hear Sora's voice in his ear; stuttering, laughing, hitching as he whispers. They'd both be flushed, hot and sticky beneath their shirts, their shorts.

But even his imagination can't capture the joy in Sora's speech, and the odd creaks and groans of the old wood house seem loud suddenly, heat and wind straining it and Riku's fantasies both. He wants to sink deeper, needs to, but he can't.

I want to be with him, he cries inside. I need to be, I need to—

His shirt goes first, the sudden bareness sending a shiver through his body, then he strips off his pants and underwear. With every garment gone, a stronger blush colors him from head to toe. Still, he doesn't stop to think. He hasn't got forever, and every hesitation is a chance Sora will come home and catch him before he's done.

He can't let that happen. If he does, then the very fantasy he's constructing now will shatter completely and utterly. He'd never love me if he saw me like this, doing this to his things. I'm his rival, his role model. He admires my honesty, my strength, my dreams. I can't—I can't let him see the disgusting ones. I can't let myself be any less than his hero. I can't be...this.

Fear and shame linger, but only as wisps, settling like sand to the seafloor. His body settles much the same against the plush, spread legs pressing down against soft faux fur, moan escaping at the contact. He shifts, nipples dragging over the toy's surface. It leaves him shivering, sweat building, a growing wetness between his thighs as he grinds his face, chest, hips against the toy, releasing more of Sora's scent.

You're so cute, Riku, he imagines Sora saying, voice gentle, a little teasing. He's standing so close, still clothed while Riku's on display—for him, just for him. Riku turns his head his way, eyes still closed, then takes a deep breath and starts rolling his hips. 

He humps slowly at first, can't resist how sweet that pace feels. The gradual build fills his stomach with tingles, soft sparks that make the moment feel more special. Maybe he just doesn't want it to end, can't stand the thought of leaving this paradise of sensation. He feels sexy, and when he's not full of shame and frightened of ruining everything, the idea of Sora seeing him like this—the idea of Sora showing him off like this—is perfection. It makes his hips roll faster, fueling the fire inside.

Almost, almost—but no. This might be enough for someone, but it isn't enough for him.

He wants to be with Sora.

He wants Sora to complete him.

He shifts, turns the toy around until it's on its stomach. He can't stop his hips though, humping desperately, searching, seeking until—there. With every grind of his crotch and ass against the plush he can feel it; the tail, so much stiffer than the rest of the toy, catching and dragging between his legs.

Sora, I want—I want—

Slowly, he raises his hips, reaching underneath him until he finds and grabs the tail. His heart thunders as he presses the tip again his hole, tapered point slight, firm but nonthreatening. Still, his stomach turns.

He's never done this before. He's never done anything like this before.

He can't recall when he opened his eyes, but he closes them again, squeezes them shut and lets Sora's scent surround him. The boy in his head reaches out, runs his hands all over him. He pats his head and strokes his body, brings a hand to rest against the small of his back. I wanna see it, Riku. I wanna see your first. Show me, please?

"I want it to be you," he whimpers.

And just like that, the fantasy changes and there's two Soras—one beside and one below. I'll be your first, Sora says. Now show me?

"Yes!" Riku lowers his hips, breath catching as he takes the tail inside, tapered tip widening to a thick base at the bottom. His heart is pounding, cheeks burning when his hips come to rest against the plush once more. His stomach flutters, the spark of shame that flares only feeding the heat between his legs. He tightens, squeezes, shudders at being so full while sheltered on all sides by Sora. Sora, Sora, Sora. He whispers his name, moans quietly.

All his fears give way to pleasure. He rolls his hips, slow at first, then faster, faster, picking them up only to thrust them down as hard as he can. The tail is stiff enough to be satisfying, but flexible, pressing against places inside that leave him feeling funny—good. He doesn't understand why he feels like he does, but he likes it, loves it even. The plush's fur leaves his skin tingling, a sweet soft caress for his chest, his arms, his legs, his crotch. Pants, sighs, and moans all slip out. He wonders if Sora's name does too, over and over, and he squeezes thinking of him.

Sora. The fantasies watching him, and the threat—promise—of the reality. What if he were just outside? If he came back and glimpsed him through the window—or the door? What would he feel, seeing Riku so open, presenting himself, calling his name?

Riku pretends he wouldn't be horrified, pretends he'd come over and slip inside him alongside the plush, or beg him to finish, pushing his hips down until he comes all over his toy. He'd drag him off then, maybe take a moment to sniff the plush, smell Riku on it and moan, ride it himself. Then he'd press Riku into the bed and hold him, fuck him, love him.

That thought's too much—Riku buries his nose in the plush one last time and moans, cheeks burning and tears slipping out from behind shut eyes. He slams his hips down and convulses around the tail, body too hot, too wet—gone. His arms and legs squeeze the plush and he whines, holding on tight as he rides out his release.

The whole world seems aglow after, quiet save for the buzz of summer. Light turns to heat against his skin, sun catching sweat as it beads and drips down his body. Beyond the window the sea glitters, trees still, the only movement waves and the haze of the heat off the ground. The only thing he hears are insects singing, his own breathing drowned out by his high.

His body shakes, heart slowing, mind returning. With it comes shame.

With a weight in his stomach he rises, dresses frantically. He wipes down the plush as fast and thoroughly as he can, putting the room back as it was. The air is heavy with the smell of his musk, Riku's sweat and sex tainting what was once pure. With a curse he flings open the window, hopes, prays the air will clear. It's an inferno outside, but he'd rather face the embarrassment of justifying the open window than have to explain what he's just done.

Something catches the light. Black beads; the plush toy's eyes. He turns away, heart in his stomach. He won't be able to look at it the same after this.

He won't be able to look at Sora the same after this.

He slumps down on the floor, shame and silence hanging over him. He loses track of time as he waits for the sound of the door opening, for Sora's return. 

The open door. Sora.

He sits, and waits, and all the while knows that the only door he wants to open never will—and the things he's done behind a closed one are terrible.

 

---

 

Sora meant to leave, he really did, but only a minute after setting out he realizes he's left his wallet behind. He pats all his pockets but no, there's nothing. He could keep going, the lady at the local shop always happy to put things on his mother's tab, but he likes his mom and the old shop lady, and he'd rather pay her up front.

The door creaks when he reenters the house. He flinches, but it's not that loud. Honestly, it sounds just like all the rest of the creaking and groaning it does in the heat. It's an awful sound though, and he likes to let the silence cleanse his ears for a moment after. Then he's back inside and up the stairs, steps muffled by rugs and grass mats and careful movements—it's always fun to surprise Riku after all.

Too bad Riku gets him first.

He didn't mean to leave the door ajar, but through that gap he watches Riku. He's cuddling Sora's precious Meow Wow, completely naked and bouncing his hips. Whimpers and moans fill the tiny room, leaving a knot in Sora's stomach and something hard in his pants.

What really gets him though, is Riku whispering his name over and over. Sora, Sora, Sora.

He knows he shouldn't, but he stays and watches, and wishes he had the courage to step inside. He doesn't, too afraid of what will happen if he opens the door. Instead he stays still, waits until Riku whines and his whole body shudders around the tail inside him.

Sora wonders what his plush will smell like when he holds it tonight.

Then Riku's done, and Sora goes, shutting the door and scurrying outside.

Guess I'll manage without my wallet this time.