You Will Not ; UruhaxMiyavi ; (1/1)
Title: You Will Not (1/1)
Author: Nemo_the_nomad
Theme: #08. Beauty
Rating: PG
Warning: Sappy with a touch of angst
Summary: If you can't be perfect and he doesn't mind, why fight it?
Disclaimer: I didn't make up these people, but they might actually act like this...maybe.
Notes: It's been so long...but I'm back with something a little different than usual. I wanted to try out a different POV and tense this time with an interesting..subject. ^_^ I like making my characters as humanly flawed as I possibly can.
You Will Not
You are a man. You are a man that is tall, has black hair, and relatively normal brown eyes. Right now, as you stare into these relatively normal brown eyes you see the haggard, worn visage of yourself that has surely seen many better days. In your time consuming and stressful occupation you have unknowingly let yourself go, resulting in this sorely pitiful looking person standing in front of you with pasty white skin that is dried, cracking, and flaking away with the rest of your years. Your once decently smooth black hair is now thickened with dye and splintering at the ends, resulting in a rumpled, tiredly flat look. Your nails appear to have some kind of fungal infection now, once pristinely white tips are an unsightly sunflower hue. Technically you’re not overweight, but you are several pounds heavier since five years ago. And at this very second your breath has the distinct reek of day old onion peals.
But you will not get a tan- he actually likes pale skin quite a bit and makes sure to mention on a daily baises that it’s really “milky,” and not pasty. You will not get a hair cut from a professional salon- he doesn’t mind a few split ends no matter what the public might think about the straggly ends. You will not take any kind of fungal medication for your nails- he’s researched the affects such medication can have on your liver and refuses to let you take any such risk. You will not go on a diet- he doesn’t care if you’re ten pounds heavier and he really doesn’t mind the extra pinch to the love handles that wasn’t there before. And you will not brush your teeth until it's absolutely necessary that you get out of bed to go to work because he really doesn’t mind rolling over to kiss you good morning with an equally day old onion peal smelling mouth.
“What are you looking at?” Miyavi shifts his gaze to Uruha’s in the bathroom mirror. The blonde is leaning naked against the doorframe with his arms crossed in front of his chest with his head tilted to one side, questioning. Miyavi shrugs his shoulders and frowns for a moment before breaking into a small smile. Uruha doesn’t know it yet, but Miyavi is about to turn around and push the other man back to their bed to have his “wicked way” with him. But before he does this Miyavi has one last thing to know Uruha’s opinion about (though it doesn’t matter anyway). “You don’t really like the way my mouth tastes first thing in the morning do you?” Uruha laughs in his “I-can’t-believe-you-asked-me-that” way. “Do you,” is his retort and Miyavi considers this answer enough.
Do you? Pfft. Right.
Author: Nemo_the_nomad
Theme: #08. Beauty
Rating: PG
Warning: Sappy with a touch of angst
Summary: If you can't be perfect and he doesn't mind, why fight it?
Disclaimer: I didn't make up these people, but they might actually act like this...maybe.
Notes: It's been so long...but I'm back with something a little different than usual. I wanted to try out a different POV and tense this time with an interesting..subject. ^_^ I like making my characters as humanly flawed as I possibly can.
You Will Not
You are a man. You are a man that is tall, has black hair, and relatively normal brown eyes. Right now, as you stare into these relatively normal brown eyes you see the haggard, worn visage of yourself that has surely seen many better days. In your time consuming and stressful occupation you have unknowingly let yourself go, resulting in this sorely pitiful looking person standing in front of you with pasty white skin that is dried, cracking, and flaking away with the rest of your years. Your once decently smooth black hair is now thickened with dye and splintering at the ends, resulting in a rumpled, tiredly flat look. Your nails appear to have some kind of fungal infection now, once pristinely white tips are an unsightly sunflower hue. Technically you’re not overweight, but you are several pounds heavier since five years ago. And at this very second your breath has the distinct reek of day old onion peals.
But you will not get a tan- he actually likes pale skin quite a bit and makes sure to mention on a daily baises that it’s really “milky,” and not pasty. You will not get a hair cut from a professional salon- he doesn’t mind a few split ends no matter what the public might think about the straggly ends. You will not take any kind of fungal medication for your nails- he’s researched the affects such medication can have on your liver and refuses to let you take any such risk. You will not go on a diet- he doesn’t care if you’re ten pounds heavier and he really doesn’t mind the extra pinch to the love handles that wasn’t there before. And you will not brush your teeth until it's absolutely necessary that you get out of bed to go to work because he really doesn’t mind rolling over to kiss you good morning with an equally day old onion peal smelling mouth.
“What are you looking at?” Miyavi shifts his gaze to Uruha’s in the bathroom mirror. The blonde is leaning naked against the doorframe with his arms crossed in front of his chest with his head tilted to one side, questioning. Miyavi shrugs his shoulders and frowns for a moment before breaking into a small smile. Uruha doesn’t know it yet, but Miyavi is about to turn around and push the other man back to their bed to have his “wicked way” with him. But before he does this Miyavi has one last thing to know Uruha’s opinion about (though it doesn’t matter anyway). “You don’t really like the way my mouth tastes first thing in the morning do you?” Uruha laughs in his “I-can’t-believe-you-asked-me-that” way. “Do you,” is his retort and Miyavi considers this answer enough.
Do you? Pfft. Right.