fPairings-Roxas x Sora
WARNING: This is not exactly worksafe, and contains yaoi and explicit acts. If you don't like it, don't read it. Thankyou muchly

((Roxas' POV))

Tomorrow, it ends.

Tomorrow, he'll be halfway across the country from where we lay entwined now, and at the same time, I'll be equidistant from here as well, except in the opposite direction.

Tomorrow, I'll lose my everything.

My soul.

My heart.

My lover.

My brother.

My life.

My sanctuary.

I'm still numb from the announcement.

"Sora, Roxas... You boys know this can't continue. It isn't right, and it has to stop."

...

They'll never understand.

People obsess over their reflections, spend almost half their life critically scrutinizing their appearances in a mirror, masking the inevitable and trying to learn to love themselves.

The media, the powers, the therapists... They all tell us to learn to love and accept ourselves to live happily and love and accept others.

In a round about way, we've done that.

...

So why is it so wrong for us to love each other? Why is it so 'sick' for us to be together?!

...

We're twins, together from birth.

We understand each other better than the best of friends, unspoken words passing from one of us to the other through the tiniest gestures, the descriptive expressions, the biggest intimacies.

Understanding is the key to knowledge, and I know him better than any professional ever could.

Tonight he is as compliant as always, a vivid red blush splashed across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, spreading and becoming more and more noticeable as my fingers drift lower and lower.

His lips are parted in a hazy fever, his lids clamped over his beautiful eyes that are so not unlike my own, both in the respect of colour and style, and the lust more than palatable when they glitter through his half-lidded show.

He's the perfect image of devilishly wicked innocent want, so wondrously naïve yet fuelled by carnal desire he doesn't even understand.

I remember how much I tried not to the laugh the first time we ever tried anything, and I still recall the slightly pained expression upon his face as he bit down hard on his bottom lip, the way his toes curled and his fingers knotted in blonde strands as he desperately attempted to keep from making too much noise that might alert our dear parents to what we were up to that night.

He gradually found rather innovative ways to muffle what delightful sounds he did make, even resorting to running about screaming all afternoon on one occasion so that he would lose his voice and not physically be capable of any obvious noises.

But he knew I liked the little auditory responses he gave, so he eventually managed to control his reactions enough so that only I would be able to hear and experience and benefit from and adore them.

But tonight, I want him to make noise.

Tonight, I want our parents to be lying awake in the next room, listening to all the sighs and screams I wring from him, accompanied by my own moans and responses.

I want the squeaking of bedsprings firmly in their minds.

I'm going to be sure that they won't ever forget the tone of Sora singing out into the darkness tonight, the tune of a broken melody that he cries out amidst his pleasure, a lover's fractured lament of a dream, our dream, that they have crushed to hope-void dust and blown onto the wind, the pieces never to be one again.

...Just like us.

And when they wake up tomorrow (should they have the nerve to fall asleep), I want them to see the tear tracks on his face and know that they caused them, caused this, caused pain and loneliness and fear and uncertainty and loss and desperation and messed every fucking wonderful little thing up.

And then I want them to be confronted with the stains on the sheets which we taint with our actions this evening, and I want them to know that neither of us will ever feel that kind of pleasure to that intensity ever again.

Because I want him and he wants me and because they want us apart Sora and I will take the jump tomorrow and cast through the safety net like water through a sieve, plummeting into separate dark tunnels which aren't destined to meet again and which seemingly have no light at the end.

...I'm barely in the mood for sex tonight.

The suffocating grief and rage and shock and hell and the overwhelming feel of impending doom of what tomorrow morning guarantees is pulsing through my veins like the most potent and scorching of toxins and blocking my desire considerably-but I know that tonight is the last and I have to make it count.

I'd never forgive myself if I didn't spend this last night with him, comforting him, inside him, making him feel it deep in his gut, real and hot and undeniable even in the face of everything to come.

And despite the fact that my need for sex isn't at its peak, I still find myself burning for him like the flame in that jagged, lopsided jack-o-lantern we carved together in blissful unawareness of the future and the knowledge that in a few months we would be torn apart.

And so it is with that that I find myself lying on top of my beautiful, perfect, precious brother, our lips moving in synch and our tongues sliding against one another with scarce restraint in a downright wanton embrace.

He's pressing the most pleasing sounds into my mouth as he kisses back with such determined need, and when I run my hands up and along his pale sides slick with desire, he arches up with a whimper through his nose and a dribble of saliva runs from the corner of his mouth, over his rounded cheek to soak into rich brunette spikes.

At close range, the moonlight from outside dances and plays along the wet streak, and I pull away to cup his face in both my hands, smudging the saliva with my thumb until it glistens as a silent, shining beacon upon his skin for me to complete us both.

As I coat my fingers in lotion from the bottle in the bedside drawer, I hear footsteps approaching, up the stairs and towards our door.

One quick glance is all we need, and as I press one finger up between his legs, he gives an amplified and vehement moan, causing whoever was outside to stop in their tracks abruptly.

When an audible, heated, begging wail of my name passes his lips, there is an awkward cough from outside the door and the person retreats downstairs again.

They don't dare interrupt, and this is the sweetest, most delicious kind of revenge we could give.

Both our parents despise the idea of homosexuality, let alone incest-and if they can't get past that, past us, then they deserve everything they get.

I'm sure that they, and the whole street, can hear our completion.

He shrieks my name and it echoes in the darkened room and I roughly praise his title with a hoarse yell as I pulse deeply inside him at around the same time as he spills over his stomach, my hand, and the sheets.

I almost want to cry out 'help' instead, scream for a saviour from what I'll have to face without the wonderful being below me in the future.

I feel hopeless, spent, and anxious of what is to come.

I would almost willingly die tonight.

But as he spirals down from his high, the look in his eyes makes me do a double take.

They're so blue tonight.

So enchanting, so open, so full of emotion and hope and I can tell what he's saying to me just by gazing into his enchanting orbs.

He's telling me that we'll do this again.

We'll meet again.

They won't keep us apart.

They can send us to separate schools. They can forbid us to see each other. But we're twins, lovers, strong and pure, and if he isn't going to let this finish us then neither will I.

Nevertheless, when he pulls me down for a kiss, I know it's a goodbye kiss.

It hurts to receive, and it hurts to give, but it would hurt more not to engage in at all.

When we pull away, our eyes lock and a string of saliva still connects us.

I let my gaze drop to the thread of fluid and a knot forms in my throat, making it difficult to breathe and to think and to contemplate anything because my heart is pumping a sentiment of fear through my veins at an alarmingly rapid pace and it burns worse than the kiss itself.

I don't have the courage to break that thin line of saliva.

I feel as though as soon as it snaps, that makes this gesture final.

It means giving in to this end, despite the fact that we had only just silently vowed to meet again in the future mere seconds ago.

You can't predict the future.

We might not even have one together.

We may never even see one another again if fate decides it, no matter how much willpower we shove into our efforts to meet.

This fibre that is draped between our mouths to me represents the final life of our true relationship for now.

But I know that I have to be the one to break it.

I have always been the dominant one in this relationship, even during that one time when I clambered atop my brother and impaled myself upon him.

Even then I was in control of the proceedings.

I raise my eyes to his again and his look is firm, and I'm slightly surprised because that is usually the look I give him when I'm trying to get him to be reasonable, and I almost laugh because he's such a lovely stubborn little bitch when he wants to be.

When his grip on my shoulder tightens, I know that the time is ripe. All it takes is a tiny jerk of my head and the thread is broken, springing up to cling half and half to each of our mouths.

My tongue darts out to scoop up the liquid and in addition I taste salt from the tears now streaming down my face and Sora tugs me to him and tonight I just let him because I need this and I need him and I need sleep, but I refuse to let myself slumber and squander these last precious moments.

I'd remain in his arms like this for eternity if I could, and he holds me tight and steady and comforting and I've never cried in front of him until now so it is like fifteen years of good solid tears spilling from my eyes hot and thick out and onto his chest.

He takes it all, brushing long fingers through my hair, whispering sweet reassurances into my ear and mouthing tiny kisses of consolation to my forehead, cheeks, eyelids and neck, and before I know it my state of consciousness has slipped from my control like pretty much everything else over these past couple of days and I've cried myself to sleep with his voice a soft and soothing lullaby to my ears.

When I wake up in the morning, it is to a cry of hopeless desperation, and I see my father with Sora's bicep in a vice-like grip, and my love is in tears and calling for me.

I jump from bed with my heart pounding and when I reach the door my mother blocks me, and the look on her face is one which makes me look away in disgust because she seems to be having second thoughts over all this but she can't seem to find it in herself to step aside and let us say our goodbyes.

He is almost at the door when we both break free and meet at the bottom of the staircase, clinging to each other as though our lives depend on it.

They try to pull us apart but his legs are wrapped around mine and I've dug in my heels and my nails and our lips and tears are mixing as we desperately exchange this hurried goodbye which we should never have had to make.

Finally we cannot hold on any longer, and he gives a pained wail as father lifts him up easily (he never was the largest boy ever) and carries him to the door, dragging me along as Sora's hand is still firmly grasped in mine.

I struggle against mother and maintain the grip on his hand until our positioning forces us to part and our fingers slide against one another as father shuts the door in my face, and we yell out 'I love you's and forget-me-nots loud enough to be heard through the walls and I'll never forget the look on his darling face as he is driven down the street and from my life.

And now he is gone.

I'm sitting alone on a plane and I feel so empty and in a few hours I'll be at my new location and life which I'll be damned I'm going to accept willingly.

Right now, I think about him, and I'm sure that he is thinking about me, but it just isn't the same and I curse the world for making us suffer through this.

But really, cursing won't do me any good.

I feel like I've lost a limb, a part of me.

My heart.

Alone.

Alien.

...

Me.

Last year, I sat down after dinner and felt like writing something with these two, and it only took me about one and a half hours, and I just wrote what came into my head as I went. It isn't that great, but I personally didn't mind it. Yes, it's angsty, and yes, it's OOC ;P But still. TWINCEST. That's all that needs to be said

Roxas and Sora are copyright Square Enix, the fiction is mine, yadda yadda yadda. Oh, and the lyrics at the start of this comment are from 'Let's Do It Again' by the Brand New Heavies (which I had on repeat whilst writing this )

Also, for more Roxas x Sora, and other things, visit my deviantart account (x-zebbie-x.) /endshamelesspimping

Thanks for reading!