MOAR fic. And an important realization.
First off, my copy of the first volume of the No. 6 manga arrived safely today, huzzah! \o/ Flipped through it only to realize it stops, like, halfway through Episode 3 of the anime. The fuck? :/ At least the next volume's coming out in September, but by then the anime will be almost over. Boo.
I was, however, able to discern that given Nezumi's name, his superior fighting abilities, and the fact that he hangs around in sewers and slums and seems completely at home there, he is beyond a shadow of a doubt MASTER SPLINTER.
And now, the promised fic.
Title: Example Par Excellence
Fandom: No. 6
Rating: PG
Pairing: "I think there is some feeling"-level Nezumi/Shion :3 I really will get around to writing outright shippy stuff! I just have to ease into it XD;
Summary: Shion's just a little jealous is all.
It really isn't fair, Shion often finds himself thinking these days, that in their four years apart, Nezumi has filled out into a powerful figure with a broad chest and leanly muscled arms and reflexes honed over years of living on the edge of civilization, while Shion has...well, not. His skin is pale from being cooped up inside hunched over a console all day, he's afraid he's got the beginnings of carpal tunnel syndrome, and as Nezumi likes to so kindly put it--"You're built like a girl; shame you can't cook like one." Which is entirely unfair, really, because he's getting better at simple things like stew now, and he's never exactly had much opportunity (or desire) for body training, so of course he's going to be less physically developed than Nezumi.
But it's not just the physical differences between them that frustrate Shion. It's the mental gap--the difference between academy smarts and street smarts, the latter of which Nezumi seems to be full of. And Shion has to admit, knowing how nerves process pain differentials and the factors that contribute to cellular mutation won't do him much good when Inukashi's griping at him for the fifteenth time for taking too long in giving the long-haired retriever he likes best a nice scrub-down. But it still grates, the way Nezumi gives him one of his good-natured sneers (Shion isn't sure how those exist, only that Nezumi doles them out in spades) whenever Shion questions something, anything: is it wrong to be curious about this world he finds himself a part of now, one so different from the aseptic environment he's been pampered in until now? Surely there was a time when Nezumi wasn't as cunning and quick as he is now--or perhaps he just sprang forth fully formed and practically perfect in every way.
And then there are the other things he's pretty sure Nezumi's good at. It's hard to miss it, given the cocky confidence with which he carries himself, the comfort in his own skin he radiates. It's not enough that he's more physically developed and more mentally stable than Shion, he's got to have experiences beyond experience under his belt as well. If he can make a whore blush and a pimp court his business, he has to--no matter how Shion may dislike the bitter truth.
Nezumi likes to tease Shion for being an airhead, mock him for being inexperienced in fields he's of course never had any reason to step into, but it hits a new, raw nerve whenever his barbs nick the sorts of things boys his age should be far more interested in than he counts himself. So what if his first kiss was a birthday present from his oldest and dearest friend? So what if he'd felt more revulsion and nerves than any spark of interest when propositioned for sex--either time? It didn't mean he was some naive idiot--it just meant his values and interests lay elsewhere. After all, it isn't as if he had no drive to speak of; he flushes when Nezumi draws too close and tucks Shion's hair behind his ear (he likes touching Shion's face, his ears, his neck--anywhere really), and his heart still skips a little and leaves him feeling pressed for breath when Nezumi inhales sharply and presses a leg between Shion's own in the throes of dreams (or nightmares; he was always so quiet, it was hard to tell the difference). He gives appropriate responses to appropriate stimuli; there is nothing wrong with him at all. It's only--he can't ever bring himself to present these matters as evidence of his being a healthy young man in his sexual prime whenever Nezumi teases him. He's not entirely sure why not, it just is.
So he must endure the barbs and snide remarks, and it isn't so difficult, because inevitably Nezumi will always follow up such teasing by ruffling Shion's hair and squeezing his shoulder, reminding him he's lucky Nezumi's there to make sure he's able to find his own ass, as surely Shion would fail at even this simple task if he weren't. Course language aside, Shion knows Nezumi is right--and while he knows he should feel frustrated at having to be taken care of, he kind of doesn't mind it nearly as much as he feels he ought to.
On the one hand he's of course fascinated by all the skills Nezumi possesses, the seemingly impossible tricks he can pull off, and he's never shy about showing his interest with wide eyes and gaping mouth and entreaties to come on--there's no need to keep it a secret from me! Nezumi has grown in so many ways during their time apart, probably gone on more adventures than can be fit into the dozens of books in his little library and seen places Shion can only imagine, met people from all walks of life.
But on the other hand, he's a man, and he's got his pride, and compounding the frustration that comes with knowing the gulf between them is vast and deep and hauntingly foreboding is the uncertainty, the worry, that tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, Nezumi will consider his debt paid in full and send Shion off with one last soft smile and a brush of fingers through his hair before pulling his cloak close and turning his back on Shion. The last link to his mother, to his home, any hope of a life beyond No. 6. He doesn't want to ever be not useful to Nezumi, doesn't want Nezumi to wonder why he's kept Shion around all this time. So he pesters him daily--what's the proper spice-to-roux ratio for a good curry stew? What's the best method of haggling with the merchants in the marketplace? What's the proper cadence when reciting the Weird Sisters' incantation, and won't Nezumi perform it again after dinner?
He wants to be strong and confident and beautiful like Nezumi--and Nezumi whispers into the crook of his neck as they lie curled against one another in the narrow, rickety little bed that, "Then you'd better pay closer attention to me. I'm the best damn example you're ever gonna find."
I was, however, able to discern that given Nezumi's name, his superior fighting abilities, and the fact that he hangs around in sewers and slums and seems completely at home there, he is beyond a shadow of a doubt MASTER SPLINTER.
And now, the promised fic.
Title: Example Par Excellence
Fandom: No. 6
Rating: PG
Pairing: "I think there is some feeling"-level Nezumi/Shion :3 I really will get around to writing outright shippy stuff! I just have to ease into it XD;
Summary: Shion's just a little jealous is all.
It really isn't fair, Shion often finds himself thinking these days, that in their four years apart, Nezumi has filled out into a powerful figure with a broad chest and leanly muscled arms and reflexes honed over years of living on the edge of civilization, while Shion has...well, not. His skin is pale from being cooped up inside hunched over a console all day, he's afraid he's got the beginnings of carpal tunnel syndrome, and as Nezumi likes to so kindly put it--"You're built like a girl; shame you can't cook like one." Which is entirely unfair, really, because he's getting better at simple things like stew now, and he's never exactly had much opportunity (or desire) for body training, so of course he's going to be less physically developed than Nezumi.
But it's not just the physical differences between them that frustrate Shion. It's the mental gap--the difference between academy smarts and street smarts, the latter of which Nezumi seems to be full of. And Shion has to admit, knowing how nerves process pain differentials and the factors that contribute to cellular mutation won't do him much good when Inukashi's griping at him for the fifteenth time for taking too long in giving the long-haired retriever he likes best a nice scrub-down. But it still grates, the way Nezumi gives him one of his good-natured sneers (Shion isn't sure how those exist, only that Nezumi doles them out in spades) whenever Shion questions something, anything: is it wrong to be curious about this world he finds himself a part of now, one so different from the aseptic environment he's been pampered in until now? Surely there was a time when Nezumi wasn't as cunning and quick as he is now--or perhaps he just sprang forth fully formed and practically perfect in every way.
And then there are the other things he's pretty sure Nezumi's good at. It's hard to miss it, given the cocky confidence with which he carries himself, the comfort in his own skin he radiates. It's not enough that he's more physically developed and more mentally stable than Shion, he's got to have experiences beyond experience under his belt as well. If he can make a whore blush and a pimp court his business, he has to--no matter how Shion may dislike the bitter truth.
Nezumi likes to tease Shion for being an airhead, mock him for being inexperienced in fields he's of course never had any reason to step into, but it hits a new, raw nerve whenever his barbs nick the sorts of things boys his age should be far more interested in than he counts himself. So what if his first kiss was a birthday present from his oldest and dearest friend? So what if he'd felt more revulsion and nerves than any spark of interest when propositioned for sex--either time? It didn't mean he was some naive idiot--it just meant his values and interests lay elsewhere. After all, it isn't as if he had no drive to speak of; he flushes when Nezumi draws too close and tucks Shion's hair behind his ear (he likes touching Shion's face, his ears, his neck--anywhere really), and his heart still skips a little and leaves him feeling pressed for breath when Nezumi inhales sharply and presses a leg between Shion's own in the throes of dreams (or nightmares; he was always so quiet, it was hard to tell the difference). He gives appropriate responses to appropriate stimuli; there is nothing wrong with him at all. It's only--he can't ever bring himself to present these matters as evidence of his being a healthy young man in his sexual prime whenever Nezumi teases him. He's not entirely sure why not, it just is.
So he must endure the barbs and snide remarks, and it isn't so difficult, because inevitably Nezumi will always follow up such teasing by ruffling Shion's hair and squeezing his shoulder, reminding him he's lucky Nezumi's there to make sure he's able to find his own ass, as surely Shion would fail at even this simple task if he weren't. Course language aside, Shion knows Nezumi is right--and while he knows he should feel frustrated at having to be taken care of, he kind of doesn't mind it nearly as much as he feels he ought to.
On the one hand he's of course fascinated by all the skills Nezumi possesses, the seemingly impossible tricks he can pull off, and he's never shy about showing his interest with wide eyes and gaping mouth and entreaties to come on--there's no need to keep it a secret from me! Nezumi has grown in so many ways during their time apart, probably gone on more adventures than can be fit into the dozens of books in his little library and seen places Shion can only imagine, met people from all walks of life.
But on the other hand, he's a man, and he's got his pride, and compounding the frustration that comes with knowing the gulf between them is vast and deep and hauntingly foreboding is the uncertainty, the worry, that tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, Nezumi will consider his debt paid in full and send Shion off with one last soft smile and a brush of fingers through his hair before pulling his cloak close and turning his back on Shion. The last link to his mother, to his home, any hope of a life beyond No. 6. He doesn't want to ever be not useful to Nezumi, doesn't want Nezumi to wonder why he's kept Shion around all this time. So he pesters him daily--what's the proper spice-to-roux ratio for a good curry stew? What's the best method of haggling with the merchants in the marketplace? What's the proper cadence when reciting the Weird Sisters' incantation, and won't Nezumi perform it again after dinner?
He wants to be strong and confident and beautiful like Nezumi--and Nezumi whispers into the crook of his neck as they lie curled against one another in the narrow, rickety little bed that, "Then you'd better pay closer attention to me. I'm the best damn example you're ever gonna find."