FICLETS, 14 February 2008
Anj + 6-hour car ride = dangerous! I come up with Ideas. This one grew out of a discussion giving_ground and I had about how neither of us write regularly enough, and was basically...she and I traded songs, five each, and then combined them into one playlist, and went through the songs in turn, devoting half an hour to fic each one. We only made it through the first six, but it was fun, so I'm sure we'll be doing that again. Soooo...with that in mind, here are my six ficlets, along with the music that inspired them. As a note, the ficlet titles are all song titles as well, but I added those after the ficlets were already written. Because I like to confuse everyone. XD
One Republic - Apologize
[ download ]
It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
The bed is still warm, sheets still rumpled and smelling faintly of sweat and the bitter tang of ink, but the only other sign of life in the room is you yourself, brow furrowed in perplexity, hair curtaining your face. It isn't supposed to feel like this, not when it wasn't meant to feel like anything in the first place, but then, when everything you feel is the result of winning, learning that there was no way for you to win this one will leave you feeling numb more than anything else.
Seiichi, he'd said, voice low, gentle, but completely devoid of emotion. I can't anymore.
It started innocently enough. A post-game adrenaline rush, one drink too many while he looked on in sober disapproval, then stumbling home together, laughing, high on life, on triumph, and then on each other. Tangling limbs, so graceful and precise on the court, now clumsy and unpractised but oh so sure because this doesn't mean anything, it's just a little fun, just sex, and in the morning you'll still be friends because you've always been friends and you know each other. His mouth is closed under yours but his eyes are open, and through the blur of alcohol and excitement, you feel a stab of something sharper, more real, something that would sober you if his hands weren't in your hair and his prick wasn't hard against your stomach. Instead, you arch into him, into him, sliding callus-strong fingers against the underside of his thigh, and when his mouth comes open too, you swallow his moans, drinking them down like his grandfather's well-aged sake.
In the morning, he smiles at you, touching your cheek, and you grin and slip out of bed to take a shower. When you come back, his eyes are closed again, but he brushes past you on his way to the shower room, and he only allows himself to limp when he thinks you're not looking anymore.
It isn't a regular thing, exactly; it just happens when you win, when you're too gleeful to care about whether this makes you a fag, or what your father would say if he saw his only son fucking his best friend like this. But you win a lot, these days, so it happens more and more, until he doesn't limp anymore, until you can hear his moans before they happen, can see the expression on his face as you touch here or lick there without even looking at him. And when he touches you, wraps his mouth around your cock and sucks you like he's dying for it, you close your eyes and tip your head back and bite down on your lip to keep from making a sound.
And tonight...had been just like all the rest. Drunken laughter belying sure fingers and surer mouth as you pushed him back against the mattress, buried your face against the crook of his neck, and felt him give, your name breathless on his lips, his fingers bruising against your spine. He said it again, and again, steady spilling moans like a cascade over your shoulders as you fucked into him, and when he came, it trailed off into a desperate, resonant whine that reverberated through your body. When you came, you were silent, as always, teeth sinking into your lip and hands clutching the sheets to either side of his head.
But this time, when you leaned up to kiss him after, he turned his face away. I'm sorry, he said, flatly. I can't.
Why? you asked him, confused.
Because, he replied, voice going quiet. He's not here, so neither are you.
I'm sorry?
Me too. He smiled then, but not at you. But it's too late for that.
+
Runrig - City of Lights
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'Come on, Tezuka!'
Tezuka offered up a small smile of acknowledgment as Fuji practically ran up the steps toward Sacre-Coeur, grinning from ear to ear like he was about five years old. He couldn't say he blamed Fuji - after all, this was his first time visiting Paris as well, and he had spent the first two days in complete, awestruck silence. It wasn't anything like he'd expected - though on some levels, it was a city, just like Tokyo, just like Munich, just like every other big city, on another, there was something entirely different about it. Tokyo had the air of a technological miracle built atop a pyramid of thousands of years of tradition and memory, but Paris felt like a slice of history that had been wired for the twenty-first century. It wasn't anything like he'd expected, but somehow it fit anyway.
It fit Fuji too, somehow - he matched Paris in a way he had never matched Tokyo, looking perfectly at ease walking up the cobblestone streets, dropping into the little cafés on the Left Bank, snagging a crêpe from a roadside vendor, looking suitably engrossed in the paintings at the Louvre. Somehow he was being a tourist without looking like a tourist, and that made him look even more comfortable here than he ever had in Tokyo, where he had spent his entire life.
Tezuka, on the other hand, felt like a veil drawn across the surface of the city. He felt like he could be at home here, and yet he wasn't. Everything was a little too bright for him, a little too fast, a little too heavy, and he felt like he was skimming the surface while Fuji was managing to delve down beneath it and come up dripping, triumphant, holding a gem that Tezuka would have totally missed otherwise. He enjoyed Paris, very much, but what he found himself really enjoying was Fuji in Paris, rather than the city itself.
Fuji poked his head out of the basilica, giving Tezuka a mock-annoyed look. 'Hurry up!' he insisted, sticking his hand out as well. 'You're going to miss the way the--oh, just come and see.'
Tezuka picked up the pace a bit, climbing the steps sedately still, but with purpose, and when he reached the top, Fuji seized his hand, dragging him inside at an even quicker pace than before. Tezuka had no notion as to why Fuji was in such a hurry - after all, the building had been here for over a hundred years, so it wasn't like it was going anywhere. But Fuji was insistent, dragging him inside and past the rows and rows of pews to the pulpit.
'There,' he said with an air of satisfaction.
Tezuka blinked. 'There what?'
'Just wait until....'
And that's when it happened. The ever-changing angle of the sun hit the windows just so, and the dim glow of light within the dark interior changed, sparkling gold against the marbled walls and filling the room with a transitory ethereality. Tezuka's breath caught in his throat, and he watched the gleam of light dancing across the steps until it faded away into nothingness.
Tezuka blinked again, slowly, and then turned to look at Fuji with new eyes.
'Well?' Fuji asked, smiling expectantly.
Tezuka gave him another small smile, only this time he meant it, and the difference was like night and day.
Fuji grinned. 'See?' he said, taking Tezuka's hand again and twining their fingers. 'Paris isn't so different from you. The magic is there as long as you know where to look.'
Tezuka stared at Fuji, surprised, and Fuji's grin settled into a knowing smile as he squeezed Tezuka's hand. 'That's why it suits me so well.'
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Siouxie and the Banshees - Drifter
[ download ]
He's here again.
Yagyuu sets his book aside, looking out the window at the dark-clad, shock-white-haired figure. It's the second time this week, and then three times the week before, but then not in a good two and a half months. He's been showing up on and off like that for the last year, always alone, always in black, always sauntering down the street with his hands shoved into his pockets like he hasn't a care in the world.
But Yagyuu knows that isn't the case.
Even from up here, he can see the insolent smirk, can see right through it to the empty that lies behind. Empty of meaning, empty of feeling, empty of truth. The smirk is a cover, clothing, sure as the black coat he wears that swirls round his feet. Yagyuu doesn't know what he's hiding from, and the boy - man - boy sure as hell isn't going to tell him. He's not going to tell Yagyuu anything, in fact, since he doesn't know Yagyuu watches him. Yagyuu is always very careful to keep his lights out, keep his body away from the window, just in case. He couldn't say why, exactly, except that he doesn't want to be seen. Maybe it's that he's afraid of what he might see in those eyes should they ever look his direction, though that's unlikely. Yagyuu isn't afraid of much of anything.
More likely, he doesn't want the visits to stop, and this person seems so engrossed in being alone, skulking through the shadows like a sight unseen, that Yagyuu thinks it's likely he would disappear into some other shadows if he knew anyone was looking. And it's not like Yagyuu would feel any particular sense of loss if a total stranger should cease wandering outside his flat, except that he thinks maybe he might.
In any case, watching him is far more entertaining than reading Kierkegaard.
'Hiroshi!'
Yagyuu looks up, irritated. She knows he hates it when she shrieks like that.
'What is it?'
Meiko peeks her head round the door, brow furrowing. 'Why do you keep it so dark in here?' she says, reaching for the light switch. 'Surely you can't read with--'
'Stop.' He doesn't move, but his voice is sharp enough that she stops what she's doing immediately and stares at him. He stares back, daring her to say something, and after a moment, she shrugs, and beams at him.
'I made sekihan,' she chirps, a bit too cheerfully. 'Would you like some?'
'Not right now.' Yagyuu holds up his book. 'I'm studying.'
'Oh,' she says, visibly deflated, and then beams again. 'I'll keep some warm for you then,' she says. 'You can eat it when you've finished.'
'Mm.' Yagyuu opens his book again, pretending to engross himself in it.
Meiko is silent for a long moment, and a lesser man might think she has left, but Yagyuu knows better. Sure enough, she speaks again. 'Your parents said to tell you that they are expecting us for supper tomorrow at eight.'
Yagyuu makes an offhanded noise of acknowledgment again, though inside he is recoiling. Dinner with his parents means dinner with her parents, and he finds nothing more tiresome than that. Were his father and her father not business associates, he would have made it a point never to associate with that family at all. As it is, though, he does what he must, as a good son, and though he is certain his mother will ask them, yet again, when they can expect grandchildren, overall he thinks he is fulfilling his duty adequately.
This time, when she goes silent, he knows she has left, but he pretends to read for a few moments more before slowly lowering his book. Sure enough, she has even closed the door behind herself, the ever-dutiful wife. Yagyuu stares at it, then sets his book aside and turns to look out the window again.
And freezes.
The man, for he is definitely a man, despite the boyish grin, is looking up at him, gaze sharp in his ghost-pale face, smirk curled in intimate recognition. They look at each other for a long, silent, still moment, gazes locked, and then the man salutes, two fingers to his forehead, smirk widening just a fraction until Yagyuu can see the flash of sharp white teeth.
And before Yagyuu can even blink, he's gone.
He stares at the empty spot on the street. That look wasn't anything like what he'd expected; there was no fear in it, nor accusation, only amusement and perhaps a hint of pity. It certainly didn't seem like the kind of look a stranger would give another stranger - there was an odd, invasive sort of intimacy in it that has Yagyuu's blood singing.
He sets his book aside and reaches for the phone, excuses and apologies for tomorrow night already on his tongue.
It would seem that he has a prior engagement. And Yagyuu always honours his commitments.
After all, it is his duty.
+
The Tea Party - Heaven Coming Down
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Fingers warm against skin, palms pressing palms back against sun-bronzed sand. Waves lap playfully at toes, and legs twine tighter, sweat-slick skin sliding together with a whispered moan of flesh on flesh.
Sun glistens off foam-white hair, making a halo around Saeki's head, and Fuji pulls back for long enough to laugh, then nudges Saeki's head to the side to lip at the tendrils of black peeking out from underneath. Saeki makes a noise of protest, which quickly turns ragged and incoherent as Fuji's lips find his pulse point, tongue priming the skin for his teeth. Saeki's body jerks, and Fuji murmurs pleasedly against Saeki's throat, twining their fingers tighter and hooking a leg behind Saeki's thighs to pull him down harder atop him.
'Fuji,' Saeki gasps, the word garbled like the gurgle of water at their feet, and Fuji shushes him, breath curling humid and soothing against dampened skin. Saeki hushes obediently, body rolling against Fuji's with heartbeat-organic rhythm, but then Fuji's teeth sink in harder, and Saeki yowls again, arrhythmic jerk of hips against Fuji's caught and cradled with the vee of Fuji's thighs. How he can be on bottom and still come out on top is beyond Saeki, but then it has never made sense, even when they were children, rolling in the sand at the playground, fighting over a seashell, or a shovel, or the right to call themself genius. Fuji always wins, because Fuji is Fuji, and Saeki has never stood a chance.
Though right now, he can't seem to mind, because Fuji's mouth is hot against his throat, and Fuji's hands flex beneath his, pushing harder into the sand, and Fuji's hips twist against his like the steady crest-and-fall of the waves, and there are no losers here, because there is no way to lose.
'Fuji,' Saeki whispers again, spine arching as the waves pull at their ankles, tendrils of foamy water caressing skin like millions of fingertips, and this time Fuji answers him, a gasp that could be his name and could be nothing more than a wordless sigh, but then he says it again, slow and breathless, voice breaking on the ki, and as his body shifts faster, hips rolling up with all the sinuousness of a serpent, Saeki knows they've both won. In this place, victory is only a word, empty as the shells that lie scattered and forgotten around them, the scene of a battle long since abandoned in favour of a different kind of war.
And then Fuji's mouth finds his, hot and wet and pleading/demanding, giving/taking, open and welcoming and yet enough to undo Saeki altogether, and Saeki forgets about fighting altogether.
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Leonard Cohen - I Can't Forget
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'Jayne!'
Jayne looked up, blinking confusedly. Mal was starin' at him all irritated-like, eyes narrowed and arms folded, one foot set to tappin' like he was waitin' for an answer.
Jayne frowned. 'What?' he snapped, glarin' right back.
Mal sighed. 'Whatcha doin' down there?'
Jayne glanced around. He didn't remember havin' come down nowhere, but sure enough, here he was, down in a pit, surrounded by....roots and shit. And not much else. No, wait, there was a plant over there, which was--
'Ow!' Jayne snatched his hand back, sticking his finger in his mouth. Then he remembered the cap'n was still there and pulled it back out again hastily, putting his arm down by his side. 'Gorram plant bit me,' he muttered a mite sheepishly.
Mal rolled his eyes. 'It's a cactus, Jayne,' he said. Then he frowned. 'Though I can't rightly say I know what a cactus'd be doin' down there. Course, I still don't know what you're doin' down there. Care to enlighten me?'
'Hard ta say,' Jayne replied after a moment of racking his brain. He'd just been on his way down to the next town to drop in on Mick, the best bartender Jayne'd ever known - rumour had it he'd retired not so long ago, and Jayne wanted to pay his respects - and the next thing he knew, he'd had Mal yellin' at him.
Mal sighed again, lifting a hand to his face, and Jayne knew that look. It was the look that meant Jayne'd just did somethin' monumentally stupid and was about to get denied sex for a day or two until he figured out what he'd done wrong. Only this time, Jayne didn't think he had done anything wrong. He'd just been goin' to pay his respects, had decided to take a shortcut, and--
Oh.
'Oh.'
'Yeah.' Mal shook his head. 'Jayne, what part of Browncoat territory did you not understand?'
Jayne grit his teeth. 'That was years ago, cap'n! Ain't hardly like I was expectin' booby traps or nothin. 'Sides, I can feel a mine at forty paces.'
'But not a covered hole, apparently.' Mal still had his hand over his face, but his voice was a bit strangled now, and Jayne was pretty sure that meant Mal was tryin' not to laugh at him.
He made a face. 'Weren't expectin' Browncoats to be so gorram primitive,' he grumbled. Then he realised what he'd said. 'Shit, no, I didn't mean--'
'I see,' Mal said, and now his tone was cold, devoid of all humour, 'that you've decided you'd like to stay down in that hole.'
'Aw, come on, that ain't what I meant!' Jayne wasn't skeered of a little hole or nothin', but he did get a mite claustrophobic after awhile. And he was pretty sure the sun was startin' to go down. 'I just meant I didn't realise the Alliance was so stupid that they could be taken down with the oldest trick in the book. Makes you wonder how the hell they managed to win. ...wait! I didn't--'
'Bye, Jayne,' Mal said, and stood, dusting off his hands. Jayne tried to backtrack again, but Mal paid him no heed, stalkin' off without a single backward glance.
Hell. You'd think Jayne woulda known by now not to say nothin' bad about the Browncoats, specially after Zoe died, but he couldn't help it. Weren't like the rebels'd been especially brilliant or nothin' in the first place, and he might not've been smart, but even he couldn't pretend to play dumb about some of the stupid things they'd done during the war. Truth was truth, and Jayne weren't no good at playin' the white lie game. And Mal knew that. Jayne was convinced he took advantage of it too, since Jayne had a awful hard time sayin' no when Mal was pullin' his angrily wounded thing. Even after all these years.
Which reminded him.
'Uh, Mal? I guess this means no sex then?'
Mal didn't even pause.
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The Ark - Little Dysfunk You
[ download ]
'Akutsuuuu.'
Akutsu removes the cigarette from his mouth long enough to spit off to the side, then fixes the intruder with a sharp look. 'The fuck do you want?'
Sengoku grins at him, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall next to him. But not too close. He, like everyone else who's ever tried to make conversation with Akutsu, knows the likelihood of getting a faceful of smoke otherwise. And/or being the recipient of a mouthful of tarry phlegm.
'Whatcha doing?'
Akutsu rolls his eyes, tapping the column of ash from his cigarette. 'What does it look like, dumbass?'
Sengoku doesn't even flinch. 'It looks like you're skulking around, smoking, and being entirely antisocial,' he says cheerfully. 'Which is your standard state of being. So I ask again. What are you doing?'
Oh great. The kid's in one of his annoying moods again. When he's like this, he's worse than fuckin' Taichi. 'Beat it,' he says in lieu of an answer, shifting his position against the wall so he's facing the other way. Only, when he does that, Sengoku moves too, comes around to stand on the other side of him, folding his arms again and leaning one shoulder against the brick so they're face to face.
'How about no?' he all but chirps. His happiness is nauseating, and Akutsu takes another drag in an attempt to rid his mouth of the taste of bile.
'How about I break your face?' he mutters around the cigarette, grabbing Sengoku by the shirtfront and pulling him in close. Sengoku beams at him, and even when Akutsu exhales angrily through his nose, blowing a cloud of smoke into Sengoku's face, he keeps grinning, even managing to cough cheerfully.
'You should smile once in awhile,' Sengoku says, reaching up and poking Akutsu in the centre of the chest. 'People might stop trying to cheer you up if you looked more cheerful to begin with.'
Akutsu lets out a bark of laughter, but the resultant smile looks more like a grimace. Mostly because it is. 'That is the stupidest fucking thing I have ever heard,' he snaps. 'Were you dropped on your head as a child?'
'I don't think so!' Sengoku replies. 'I think my sister might have been though.'
Akutsu snorts in disgust and lets him go. This kid is the single most annoying person Akutsu has ever met, between the constant woman-chasing and the gleeful cries of lucky! and his attempts to be friendly to everyone which really just comes across as a condescending hi-I'm-better-than-you campaign that's so ridiculous that Akutsu has a hard time not laughing aloud as he pounds Sengoku to a pulp. He has absolutely no redeeming features at all, and Akutsu would drop-kick him over the nearest fence if he even thought it was worth his energy.
'Smile,' he repeats. Even the word feels disgusting in his mouth. 'I'd much rather kick people in the eye. That'd get them to fuck right off.'
Sengoku's smile doesn't fade, but his eyes come open, and he fixes Akutsu with the most intent stare Akutsu's ever seen, including Taichi's creepy stalker-stare.
Akutsu takes a hard drag on his cigarette.
'You know,' Sengoku says, and even his tone is odd now, nothing like his happy-go-lucky tweeting from before. 'You're not fooling anyone.'
'The fuck are you talking about.' Akutsu drops the cigarette, crushes it under his heel, lights another. 'I ain't trying to fool anyone.'
'Sure you're not.' Sengoku pushes off the wall and comes to stand directly in front of Akutsu, still staring at him. 'You're not the only person who listens to the Smiths, you know.'
Akutsu's brow furrows. 'What?'
Sengoku takes a step forward, and being crowded usually just makes Akutsu want to slug the person doing the crowding in the face, but something about the way Sengoku is standing, even though he's a good six inches shorter than Akutsu, makes Akutsu want to back up instead. Of course, he has nowhere to go, so he just pulls himself up taller, glaring down at Sengoku and daring him to try something.
Sengoku reaches out as if to poke him again, only this time his hand shifts, curving lightning-fast around the base of Akutsu's throat. 'Misery loves company, you know.'
And before Akutsu can react, Sengoku steps back, huge smile back in place and stare giving way for a cheerful sparkle-eyed look. 'Enjoy your cigarette!' he says, and flounces off, leaving Akutsu to stare after him and wonder, first of all, what the hell the kid is on, and second, whether he'd be willing to share.
One Republic - Apologize
[ download ]
It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
The bed is still warm, sheets still rumpled and smelling faintly of sweat and the bitter tang of ink, but the only other sign of life in the room is you yourself, brow furrowed in perplexity, hair curtaining your face. It isn't supposed to feel like this, not when it wasn't meant to feel like anything in the first place, but then, when everything you feel is the result of winning, learning that there was no way for you to win this one will leave you feeling numb more than anything else.
Seiichi, he'd said, voice low, gentle, but completely devoid of emotion. I can't anymore.
It started innocently enough. A post-game adrenaline rush, one drink too many while he looked on in sober disapproval, then stumbling home together, laughing, high on life, on triumph, and then on each other. Tangling limbs, so graceful and precise on the court, now clumsy and unpractised but oh so sure because this doesn't mean anything, it's just a little fun, just sex, and in the morning you'll still be friends because you've always been friends and you know each other. His mouth is closed under yours but his eyes are open, and through the blur of alcohol and excitement, you feel a stab of something sharper, more real, something that would sober you if his hands weren't in your hair and his prick wasn't hard against your stomach. Instead, you arch into him, into him, sliding callus-strong fingers against the underside of his thigh, and when his mouth comes open too, you swallow his moans, drinking them down like his grandfather's well-aged sake.
In the morning, he smiles at you, touching your cheek, and you grin and slip out of bed to take a shower. When you come back, his eyes are closed again, but he brushes past you on his way to the shower room, and he only allows himself to limp when he thinks you're not looking anymore.
It isn't a regular thing, exactly; it just happens when you win, when you're too gleeful to care about whether this makes you a fag, or what your father would say if he saw his only son fucking his best friend like this. But you win a lot, these days, so it happens more and more, until he doesn't limp anymore, until you can hear his moans before they happen, can see the expression on his face as you touch here or lick there without even looking at him. And when he touches you, wraps his mouth around your cock and sucks you like he's dying for it, you close your eyes and tip your head back and bite down on your lip to keep from making a sound.
And tonight...had been just like all the rest. Drunken laughter belying sure fingers and surer mouth as you pushed him back against the mattress, buried your face against the crook of his neck, and felt him give, your name breathless on his lips, his fingers bruising against your spine. He said it again, and again, steady spilling moans like a cascade over your shoulders as you fucked into him, and when he came, it trailed off into a desperate, resonant whine that reverberated through your body. When you came, you were silent, as always, teeth sinking into your lip and hands clutching the sheets to either side of his head.
But this time, when you leaned up to kiss him after, he turned his face away. I'm sorry, he said, flatly. I can't.
Why? you asked him, confused.
Because, he replied, voice going quiet. He's not here, so neither are you.
I'm sorry?
Me too. He smiled then, but not at you. But it's too late for that.
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Runrig - City of Lights
[ download ]
'Come on, Tezuka!'
Tezuka offered up a small smile of acknowledgment as Fuji practically ran up the steps toward Sacre-Coeur, grinning from ear to ear like he was about five years old. He couldn't say he blamed Fuji - after all, this was his first time visiting Paris as well, and he had spent the first two days in complete, awestruck silence. It wasn't anything like he'd expected - though on some levels, it was a city, just like Tokyo, just like Munich, just like every other big city, on another, there was something entirely different about it. Tokyo had the air of a technological miracle built atop a pyramid of thousands of years of tradition and memory, but Paris felt like a slice of history that had been wired for the twenty-first century. It wasn't anything like he'd expected, but somehow it fit anyway.
It fit Fuji too, somehow - he matched Paris in a way he had never matched Tokyo, looking perfectly at ease walking up the cobblestone streets, dropping into the little cafés on the Left Bank, snagging a crêpe from a roadside vendor, looking suitably engrossed in the paintings at the Louvre. Somehow he was being a tourist without looking like a tourist, and that made him look even more comfortable here than he ever had in Tokyo, where he had spent his entire life.
Tezuka, on the other hand, felt like a veil drawn across the surface of the city. He felt like he could be at home here, and yet he wasn't. Everything was a little too bright for him, a little too fast, a little too heavy, and he felt like he was skimming the surface while Fuji was managing to delve down beneath it and come up dripping, triumphant, holding a gem that Tezuka would have totally missed otherwise. He enjoyed Paris, very much, but what he found himself really enjoying was Fuji in Paris, rather than the city itself.
Fuji poked his head out of the basilica, giving Tezuka a mock-annoyed look. 'Hurry up!' he insisted, sticking his hand out as well. 'You're going to miss the way the--oh, just come and see.'
Tezuka picked up the pace a bit, climbing the steps sedately still, but with purpose, and when he reached the top, Fuji seized his hand, dragging him inside at an even quicker pace than before. Tezuka had no notion as to why Fuji was in such a hurry - after all, the building had been here for over a hundred years, so it wasn't like it was going anywhere. But Fuji was insistent, dragging him inside and past the rows and rows of pews to the pulpit.
'There,' he said with an air of satisfaction.
Tezuka blinked. 'There what?'
'Just wait until....'
And that's when it happened. The ever-changing angle of the sun hit the windows just so, and the dim glow of light within the dark interior changed, sparkling gold against the marbled walls and filling the room with a transitory ethereality. Tezuka's breath caught in his throat, and he watched the gleam of light dancing across the steps until it faded away into nothingness.
Tezuka blinked again, slowly, and then turned to look at Fuji with new eyes.
'Well?' Fuji asked, smiling expectantly.
Tezuka gave him another small smile, only this time he meant it, and the difference was like night and day.
Fuji grinned. 'See?' he said, taking Tezuka's hand again and twining their fingers. 'Paris isn't so different from you. The magic is there as long as you know where to look.'
Tezuka stared at Fuji, surprised, and Fuji's grin settled into a knowing smile as he squeezed Tezuka's hand. 'That's why it suits me so well.'
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Siouxie and the Banshees - Drifter
[ download ]
He's here again.
Yagyuu sets his book aside, looking out the window at the dark-clad, shock-white-haired figure. It's the second time this week, and then three times the week before, but then not in a good two and a half months. He's been showing up on and off like that for the last year, always alone, always in black, always sauntering down the street with his hands shoved into his pockets like he hasn't a care in the world.
But Yagyuu knows that isn't the case.
Even from up here, he can see the insolent smirk, can see right through it to the empty that lies behind. Empty of meaning, empty of feeling, empty of truth. The smirk is a cover, clothing, sure as the black coat he wears that swirls round his feet. Yagyuu doesn't know what he's hiding from, and the boy - man - boy sure as hell isn't going to tell him. He's not going to tell Yagyuu anything, in fact, since he doesn't know Yagyuu watches him. Yagyuu is always very careful to keep his lights out, keep his body away from the window, just in case. He couldn't say why, exactly, except that he doesn't want to be seen. Maybe it's that he's afraid of what he might see in those eyes should they ever look his direction, though that's unlikely. Yagyuu isn't afraid of much of anything.
More likely, he doesn't want the visits to stop, and this person seems so engrossed in being alone, skulking through the shadows like a sight unseen, that Yagyuu thinks it's likely he would disappear into some other shadows if he knew anyone was looking. And it's not like Yagyuu would feel any particular sense of loss if a total stranger should cease wandering outside his flat, except that he thinks maybe he might.
In any case, watching him is far more entertaining than reading Kierkegaard.
'Hiroshi!'
Yagyuu looks up, irritated. She knows he hates it when she shrieks like that.
'What is it?'
Meiko peeks her head round the door, brow furrowing. 'Why do you keep it so dark in here?' she says, reaching for the light switch. 'Surely you can't read with--'
'Stop.' He doesn't move, but his voice is sharp enough that she stops what she's doing immediately and stares at him. He stares back, daring her to say something, and after a moment, she shrugs, and beams at him.
'I made sekihan,' she chirps, a bit too cheerfully. 'Would you like some?'
'Not right now.' Yagyuu holds up his book. 'I'm studying.'
'Oh,' she says, visibly deflated, and then beams again. 'I'll keep some warm for you then,' she says. 'You can eat it when you've finished.'
'Mm.' Yagyuu opens his book again, pretending to engross himself in it.
Meiko is silent for a long moment, and a lesser man might think she has left, but Yagyuu knows better. Sure enough, she speaks again. 'Your parents said to tell you that they are expecting us for supper tomorrow at eight.'
Yagyuu makes an offhanded noise of acknowledgment again, though inside he is recoiling. Dinner with his parents means dinner with her parents, and he finds nothing more tiresome than that. Were his father and her father not business associates, he would have made it a point never to associate with that family at all. As it is, though, he does what he must, as a good son, and though he is certain his mother will ask them, yet again, when they can expect grandchildren, overall he thinks he is fulfilling his duty adequately.
This time, when she goes silent, he knows she has left, but he pretends to read for a few moments more before slowly lowering his book. Sure enough, she has even closed the door behind herself, the ever-dutiful wife. Yagyuu stares at it, then sets his book aside and turns to look out the window again.
And freezes.
The man, for he is definitely a man, despite the boyish grin, is looking up at him, gaze sharp in his ghost-pale face, smirk curled in intimate recognition. They look at each other for a long, silent, still moment, gazes locked, and then the man salutes, two fingers to his forehead, smirk widening just a fraction until Yagyuu can see the flash of sharp white teeth.
And before Yagyuu can even blink, he's gone.
He stares at the empty spot on the street. That look wasn't anything like what he'd expected; there was no fear in it, nor accusation, only amusement and perhaps a hint of pity. It certainly didn't seem like the kind of look a stranger would give another stranger - there was an odd, invasive sort of intimacy in it that has Yagyuu's blood singing.
He sets his book aside and reaches for the phone, excuses and apologies for tomorrow night already on his tongue.
It would seem that he has a prior engagement. And Yagyuu always honours his commitments.
After all, it is his duty.
+
The Tea Party - Heaven Coming Down
[ download ]
Fingers warm against skin, palms pressing palms back against sun-bronzed sand. Waves lap playfully at toes, and legs twine tighter, sweat-slick skin sliding together with a whispered moan of flesh on flesh.
Sun glistens off foam-white hair, making a halo around Saeki's head, and Fuji pulls back for long enough to laugh, then nudges Saeki's head to the side to lip at the tendrils of black peeking out from underneath. Saeki makes a noise of protest, which quickly turns ragged and incoherent as Fuji's lips find his pulse point, tongue priming the skin for his teeth. Saeki's body jerks, and Fuji murmurs pleasedly against Saeki's throat, twining their fingers tighter and hooking a leg behind Saeki's thighs to pull him down harder atop him.
'Fuji,' Saeki gasps, the word garbled like the gurgle of water at their feet, and Fuji shushes him, breath curling humid and soothing against dampened skin. Saeki hushes obediently, body rolling against Fuji's with heartbeat-organic rhythm, but then Fuji's teeth sink in harder, and Saeki yowls again, arrhythmic jerk of hips against Fuji's caught and cradled with the vee of Fuji's thighs. How he can be on bottom and still come out on top is beyond Saeki, but then it has never made sense, even when they were children, rolling in the sand at the playground, fighting over a seashell, or a shovel, or the right to call themself genius. Fuji always wins, because Fuji is Fuji, and Saeki has never stood a chance.
Though right now, he can't seem to mind, because Fuji's mouth is hot against his throat, and Fuji's hands flex beneath his, pushing harder into the sand, and Fuji's hips twist against his like the steady crest-and-fall of the waves, and there are no losers here, because there is no way to lose.
'Fuji,' Saeki whispers again, spine arching as the waves pull at their ankles, tendrils of foamy water caressing skin like millions of fingertips, and this time Fuji answers him, a gasp that could be his name and could be nothing more than a wordless sigh, but then he says it again, slow and breathless, voice breaking on the ki, and as his body shifts faster, hips rolling up with all the sinuousness of a serpent, Saeki knows they've both won. In this place, victory is only a word, empty as the shells that lie scattered and forgotten around them, the scene of a battle long since abandoned in favour of a different kind of war.
And then Fuji's mouth finds his, hot and wet and pleading/demanding, giving/taking, open and welcoming and yet enough to undo Saeki altogether, and Saeki forgets about fighting altogether.
+
Leonard Cohen - I Can't Forget
[ download ]
'Jayne!'
Jayne looked up, blinking confusedly. Mal was starin' at him all irritated-like, eyes narrowed and arms folded, one foot set to tappin' like he was waitin' for an answer.
Jayne frowned. 'What?' he snapped, glarin' right back.
Mal sighed. 'Whatcha doin' down there?'
Jayne glanced around. He didn't remember havin' come down nowhere, but sure enough, here he was, down in a pit, surrounded by....roots and shit. And not much else. No, wait, there was a plant over there, which was--
'Ow!' Jayne snatched his hand back, sticking his finger in his mouth. Then he remembered the cap'n was still there and pulled it back out again hastily, putting his arm down by his side. 'Gorram plant bit me,' he muttered a mite sheepishly.
Mal rolled his eyes. 'It's a cactus, Jayne,' he said. Then he frowned. 'Though I can't rightly say I know what a cactus'd be doin' down there. Course, I still don't know what you're doin' down there. Care to enlighten me?'
'Hard ta say,' Jayne replied after a moment of racking his brain. He'd just been on his way down to the next town to drop in on Mick, the best bartender Jayne'd ever known - rumour had it he'd retired not so long ago, and Jayne wanted to pay his respects - and the next thing he knew, he'd had Mal yellin' at him.
Mal sighed again, lifting a hand to his face, and Jayne knew that look. It was the look that meant Jayne'd just did somethin' monumentally stupid and was about to get denied sex for a day or two until he figured out what he'd done wrong. Only this time, Jayne didn't think he had done anything wrong. He'd just been goin' to pay his respects, had decided to take a shortcut, and--
Oh.
'Oh.'
'Yeah.' Mal shook his head. 'Jayne, what part of Browncoat territory did you not understand?'
Jayne grit his teeth. 'That was years ago, cap'n! Ain't hardly like I was expectin' booby traps or nothin. 'Sides, I can feel a mine at forty paces.'
'But not a covered hole, apparently.' Mal still had his hand over his face, but his voice was a bit strangled now, and Jayne was pretty sure that meant Mal was tryin' not to laugh at him.
He made a face. 'Weren't expectin' Browncoats to be so gorram primitive,' he grumbled. Then he realised what he'd said. 'Shit, no, I didn't mean--'
'I see,' Mal said, and now his tone was cold, devoid of all humour, 'that you've decided you'd like to stay down in that hole.'
'Aw, come on, that ain't what I meant!' Jayne wasn't skeered of a little hole or nothin', but he did get a mite claustrophobic after awhile. And he was pretty sure the sun was startin' to go down. 'I just meant I didn't realise the Alliance was so stupid that they could be taken down with the oldest trick in the book. Makes you wonder how the hell they managed to win. ...wait! I didn't--'
'Bye, Jayne,' Mal said, and stood, dusting off his hands. Jayne tried to backtrack again, but Mal paid him no heed, stalkin' off without a single backward glance.
Hell. You'd think Jayne woulda known by now not to say nothin' bad about the Browncoats, specially after Zoe died, but he couldn't help it. Weren't like the rebels'd been especially brilliant or nothin' in the first place, and he might not've been smart, but even he couldn't pretend to play dumb about some of the stupid things they'd done during the war. Truth was truth, and Jayne weren't no good at playin' the white lie game. And Mal knew that. Jayne was convinced he took advantage of it too, since Jayne had a awful hard time sayin' no when Mal was pullin' his angrily wounded thing. Even after all these years.
Which reminded him.
'Uh, Mal? I guess this means no sex then?'
Mal didn't even pause.
+
The Ark - Little Dysfunk You
[ download ]
'Akutsuuuu.'
Akutsu removes the cigarette from his mouth long enough to spit off to the side, then fixes the intruder with a sharp look. 'The fuck do you want?'
Sengoku grins at him, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall next to him. But not too close. He, like everyone else who's ever tried to make conversation with Akutsu, knows the likelihood of getting a faceful of smoke otherwise. And/or being the recipient of a mouthful of tarry phlegm.
'Whatcha doing?'
Akutsu rolls his eyes, tapping the column of ash from his cigarette. 'What does it look like, dumbass?'
Sengoku doesn't even flinch. 'It looks like you're skulking around, smoking, and being entirely antisocial,' he says cheerfully. 'Which is your standard state of being. So I ask again. What are you doing?'
Oh great. The kid's in one of his annoying moods again. When he's like this, he's worse than fuckin' Taichi. 'Beat it,' he says in lieu of an answer, shifting his position against the wall so he's facing the other way. Only, when he does that, Sengoku moves too, comes around to stand on the other side of him, folding his arms again and leaning one shoulder against the brick so they're face to face.
'How about no?' he all but chirps. His happiness is nauseating, and Akutsu takes another drag in an attempt to rid his mouth of the taste of bile.
'How about I break your face?' he mutters around the cigarette, grabbing Sengoku by the shirtfront and pulling him in close. Sengoku beams at him, and even when Akutsu exhales angrily through his nose, blowing a cloud of smoke into Sengoku's face, he keeps grinning, even managing to cough cheerfully.
'You should smile once in awhile,' Sengoku says, reaching up and poking Akutsu in the centre of the chest. 'People might stop trying to cheer you up if you looked more cheerful to begin with.'
Akutsu lets out a bark of laughter, but the resultant smile looks more like a grimace. Mostly because it is. 'That is the stupidest fucking thing I have ever heard,' he snaps. 'Were you dropped on your head as a child?'
'I don't think so!' Sengoku replies. 'I think my sister might have been though.'
Akutsu snorts in disgust and lets him go. This kid is the single most annoying person Akutsu has ever met, between the constant woman-chasing and the gleeful cries of lucky! and his attempts to be friendly to everyone which really just comes across as a condescending hi-I'm-better-than-you campaign that's so ridiculous that Akutsu has a hard time not laughing aloud as he pounds Sengoku to a pulp. He has absolutely no redeeming features at all, and Akutsu would drop-kick him over the nearest fence if he even thought it was worth his energy.
'Smile,' he repeats. Even the word feels disgusting in his mouth. 'I'd much rather kick people in the eye. That'd get them to fuck right off.'
Sengoku's smile doesn't fade, but his eyes come open, and he fixes Akutsu with the most intent stare Akutsu's ever seen, including Taichi's creepy stalker-stare.
Akutsu takes a hard drag on his cigarette.
'You know,' Sengoku says, and even his tone is odd now, nothing like his happy-go-lucky tweeting from before. 'You're not fooling anyone.'
'The fuck are you talking about.' Akutsu drops the cigarette, crushes it under his heel, lights another. 'I ain't trying to fool anyone.'
'Sure you're not.' Sengoku pushes off the wall and comes to stand directly in front of Akutsu, still staring at him. 'You're not the only person who listens to the Smiths, you know.'
Akutsu's brow furrows. 'What?'
Sengoku takes a step forward, and being crowded usually just makes Akutsu want to slug the person doing the crowding in the face, but something about the way Sengoku is standing, even though he's a good six inches shorter than Akutsu, makes Akutsu want to back up instead. Of course, he has nowhere to go, so he just pulls himself up taller, glaring down at Sengoku and daring him to try something.
Sengoku reaches out as if to poke him again, only this time his hand shifts, curving lightning-fast around the base of Akutsu's throat. 'Misery loves company, you know.'
And before Akutsu can react, Sengoku steps back, huge smile back in place and stare giving way for a cheerful sparkle-eyed look. 'Enjoy your cigarette!' he says, and flounces off, leaving Akutsu to stare after him and wonder, first of all, what the hell the kid is on, and second, whether he'd be willing to share.