A/N: These are all from Sora's POV, except the last one which is from Roxas'. Warnings: Slight AU, twincest, mentions of a sexual act.
I.
I hold his hand and stroke his hip. He turns to me and gives me a lazy smile, still fiddling with the grass leaning over the blanket. I dart a quick look around and, seeing no one, turn back and peck him softly on the lips. His eyes slip shut and he purrs, frowning when I pull away. He follows my lips and this kiss is deeper; lingering even after we part. I lick my lips and he laughs, making me smile in return. To passer by's we are brothers enjoying a picnic. To us, we are so much more.
II.
He looks gorgeous, sitting there and staring idly out the window, wrapped only in our red sheet. I pause at the threshold of our room and lean against the frame, drinking in the sight of him. Seven months is far too long to be without him. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, pressing his forehead against the undoubtedly cool glass. His hair is longer, I notice. It's turned blonder as well. I must make a small noise for he turns to me and I get a quick glimpse of the shadows beneath his eyes. Then he's shouting happily and flying across the room and he's in my arms and it's all I can do not to cry.
III.
She hates him, I can tell. She tries not to show it, but I can see it every time she looks at him. She doesn't understand how he got my heart and she didn't. It's a slap in the face when we touch; when we kiss she visibly flinches. When he's around her voice is just a bit tenser; her smiles a tad more plastic and I hurt because I know my happiness is hurting her. But then he turns that smile to me.
IV.
His skin is paler than mine, and it always has been. For all his attitude he's much rather stay inside and paint while I, the 'sensitive' twin, am always outside. I've always been jealous of his skin; creamy but with just enough brown so it's not pale. He makes an impatient noise and I smile, bending my head to run my tongue down a flawless chest and relishes in the noise he makes even as I compare us once again. His skin is perfect, and nothing like mine. Where mine is scarred and hideous his is nothing but perfection. I nose his soft curls and he gives a soft whimper, his hand insistently tugging in my hair to bring me up for a searing kiss. You're teasing me, he murmurs against my lips, and I laugh before compliantly moving downward.
He arches and my name is hissed through clenched teeth as I grin and hum a question around my newly acquired mouthful. He bites his lip when his hips finally arch off the bed, hard enough to draw blood. I roll to sit on my knees and look at him as he pants softly. His hair is mussed and his lip is bleeding freely but I have never seen a better sight. He arches an eyebrow and I lean down, swiping my tongue across his injury and humming. I love you.
V.
I think he's perfect. His hands are calloused from gripping a keyblade too tightly in them, and I've seen the damage they can do. It's hard to remember that when he's touching me so reverently. His eyes are older than they should be, and watching him sleep night after night makes me wonder what they've seen for him to cry out the way he does. I can believe he's ever seen heartache the way they glow when he looks at me. His body is scarred and tan; rough and lean when it once was muscle and baby fat. His lips are always drawn into a hard line, and he always acts as if this time will be the last he will ever have to see me; hold me. He told me once I was the one thing that made him forget everything he's seen, and I believe him. He claims I'm the most beautiful thing this world has had the pleasure of seeing, and he always looks confused when I smile and shake my head.
He doesn't understand that as long as he's here, I'll always come in second. He doesn't understand that he's had the title for as long as I can remember. He doesn't understand how perfect he is to me.