FIC: Hikago - Prepare and Produce {Waya/Isumi}
Title: Prepare and Produce
Fandom: Hikaru no Go
Pairing: Waya/Isumi
Rating: PG-13 for boy touching, innuendos, and Katamari references
For: trixie_chick at fic_on_demand
At last, Isumi was able to dissuade Waya from a life of surviving off combini bentos and street stall dangos with a little compromise and a lot of Isumi scrunching his eyes shut and fisting his pillow while Waya had his way with him.
All and all, Isumi thought he came out the winner, no matter how many dry looks they got from Ochi or how often Kuwabara-sensei's knowing cackle followed them down the halls of the Institute as Isumi resolutely limped forward.
Proper nutrition was the corner stone of a good life, Isumi's mother had taught him, and Isumi intended to give Waya the best possible for as long as he could help it.
Isumi commanded the grocery cart as they rolled down the aisles, checking his carefully arranged list and occasionally stopping to place something in the basket. Waya trailed behind him, following only by virtue of the handful of Isumi's shirt he had secured with one clenched fist, while he rubbed his eyes and yawned listlessly, still ruined from playing 'Me and My Katamari' with Shindou until the early hours of the morning before they passed out in a pile on the couch. By the time Isumi had prodded their temperamental coffee pot into laboring out several dubiously black cups, an irate Touya had come to collect Shindou, and Isumi had decided it was time to pluck Waya from between the cushions and draw him in for a long shower with sleepy eyes and wandering hands that lasted until the water went cold.
Behind him, Isumi heard the noise of Waya becoming coherent enough to snatch something off the shelf and try to stuff it into his pants before Isumi or the store manager noticed, and rolled his eyes.
"That's not on the list," Isumi warned him, even though he couldn't even remember what aisle they were in when Waya pressed himself into Isumi back and tucked his chin above Isumi's shoulder and breathed into his ear like that.
"But I want to make sushi," Waya groused, snaking an arm around Isumi waist and leaving it there even after he'd dropped his contraband into the cart. "With the good kind of rice."
"Hai, hai," Isumi said automatically, telling his body very firmly that getting hard in the supermarket was simply not appropriate. "As long as we keep away from the instant stuff for a while. All those preservatives and you'll be as good as shellacked."
Waya made a noncommittal noise against Isumi's throat and tried to fall back asleep, pressed up against Isumi's body as he walked without tripping them both down in a painful, embarrassing heap. Isumi didn't have an optimistic outlook on the eventual outcome.
He turned the corner when they reached the end of the aisle and his whole face twitched in the dual effort of trying not to wince or laugh when Waya slipped off his shoulder and into a display of swordfish.
Collecting a bottle of Waya's favored hair gel, Isumi continued on, knowing that Waya would always catch him up.
Fandom: Hikaru no Go
Pairing: Waya/Isumi
Rating: PG-13 for boy touching, innuendos, and Katamari references
For: trixie_chick at fic_on_demand
At last, Isumi was able to dissuade Waya from a life of surviving off combini bentos and street stall dangos with a little compromise and a lot of Isumi scrunching his eyes shut and fisting his pillow while Waya had his way with him.
All and all, Isumi thought he came out the winner, no matter how many dry looks they got from Ochi or how often Kuwabara-sensei's knowing cackle followed them down the halls of the Institute as Isumi resolutely limped forward.
Proper nutrition was the corner stone of a good life, Isumi's mother had taught him, and Isumi intended to give Waya the best possible for as long as he could help it.
Isumi commanded the grocery cart as they rolled down the aisles, checking his carefully arranged list and occasionally stopping to place something in the basket. Waya trailed behind him, following only by virtue of the handful of Isumi's shirt he had secured with one clenched fist, while he rubbed his eyes and yawned listlessly, still ruined from playing 'Me and My Katamari' with Shindou until the early hours of the morning before they passed out in a pile on the couch. By the time Isumi had prodded their temperamental coffee pot into laboring out several dubiously black cups, an irate Touya had come to collect Shindou, and Isumi had decided it was time to pluck Waya from between the cushions and draw him in for a long shower with sleepy eyes and wandering hands that lasted until the water went cold.
Behind him, Isumi heard the noise of Waya becoming coherent enough to snatch something off the shelf and try to stuff it into his pants before Isumi or the store manager noticed, and rolled his eyes.
"That's not on the list," Isumi warned him, even though he couldn't even remember what aisle they were in when Waya pressed himself into Isumi back and tucked his chin above Isumi's shoulder and breathed into his ear like that.
"But I want to make sushi," Waya groused, snaking an arm around Isumi waist and leaving it there even after he'd dropped his contraband into the cart. "With the good kind of rice."
"Hai, hai," Isumi said automatically, telling his body very firmly that getting hard in the supermarket was simply not appropriate. "As long as we keep away from the instant stuff for a while. All those preservatives and you'll be as good as shellacked."
Waya made a noncommittal noise against Isumi's throat and tried to fall back asleep, pressed up against Isumi's body as he walked without tripping them both down in a painful, embarrassing heap. Isumi didn't have an optimistic outlook on the eventual outcome.
He turned the corner when they reached the end of the aisle and his whole face twitched in the dual effort of trying not to wince or laugh when Waya slipped off his shoulder and into a display of swordfish.
Collecting a bottle of Waya's favored hair gel, Isumi continued on, knowing that Waya would always catch him up.