Fanfic: MAR, An Annoyance, PG
Title: An Annoyance
Rating: PG (T)
Warning/s: OOCness, Yaoi, sexual references
Pairing/s: One-sided Alan/Danna
Summary: Alan's been thinking: Perhaps it's time to get rid of his long term annoyance.
Disclaimer: I don't own MAR: Marchen Awakens Romance. That honour goes to Nobuyuki Anzai
An Annoyance
The night air was cold against his aching, hot limbs, as though the air had decided to morph itself into a billion tiny needles and prick at his tanned skin viciously. He supposed that was what he got for training late into the night, so much so that even his ears weren’t absorbing or deciphering the sonnet crickets were playing and the crackle of leaves as they danced with each other in the frigid breeze. The snow that was sprinkled over the area made it look as though it came from a fairytale, the part before the time when everyone ‘lived happily ever after’, when evil held the castle in its wicked, bony grasp.
His large, white sheet and thick quilt covered bed beckoned him silently as he trudged up the cold, stone stairs to his room. He’d just scaled three stair cases (all of which he couldn’t avoid in his trip from the western courtyard to his bedroom that was wisely placed in the high tower on the opposite side of the castle) and his already aching legs felt as though they’d been encased in granite. Alan didn’t have the energy to grunt, let alone mumble complaints to himself as he usually did about his bedroom’s location. All the tall, burly man wanted was to go to sleep.
Right after he’d had a cigarette. He was dieing to have one. Alan felt the aching urge to inhale the smoke of a tobacco plant, as bitter as it was and as much as it burnt his throat. It felt as though someone was making him drink hot water, minus the weight of a soothing liquid reaching his empty stomach. It always caused his grated nerves to soothe into a relaxed lull that usually made him look as though Alan were about ready to fall asleep. Much like he was right then, now that he thought of it.
Alan almost sighed with relief once he’d scaled the stairs and found himself face to wood with the thick door that disconnected his admittedly Spartan like room from the rest of the castle. He opened the oak door with a deafening creak, finding that he didn’t care about the loud slamming sound that erupted from it as he flung the door shut after him, instead busying himself with removing his thick, leather boots and kicking them away to his left.
His room was plain, as though he didn’t live there at all. The bookshelf that was provided was empty, the desk had few items arranged on it (Alan’s ARM laid placidly in a box on it, but that was the only constant he could name) and the bed was made with much care. There really wasn’t anything personal about the room at all, but that suited Alan just fine. He’d never been one to stay in one place for too long; no doubt that in a week or two he’d ask for another room closer to his favourite training ground.
Hastily, though with sluggish movements, Alan stripped himself of his white jacket, after rolling his sleeves back down his forearms out of habit. It was then flung in the general direction he’d sent his shoes. Alan pulled his hair from its usual ponytail gently and, as though petting the most fragile of creatures, ran his hands through his hair slowly. Oh dear Lord, his head ached. It pounded mercilessly as though being used as a drum. He should have listened to Snow and come in before the cold had had a chance to seep into his being and soaked his clothes because, damn it, he hated winter.
The bed squeaked as though in pain as Alan’s sturdy body was sat upon it, causing the meticulously made sheets (really, why did the servants bother? He was going to mess them up a few hours later anyway) to wrinkle and bunch beneath his black, cotton clad rump. Alan sighed with bliss as his feet finally found themselves free of work and they throbbed pleasantly as he lifted them up and onto the soft bed. Alan wasted little time retrieving his lighter and smokes from his right pocket as he settled himself against the head board and sighed contently.
He found it easy to enjoy life’s simple pleasures, such as a comfortable bed and time to relax; after living through two War Games, he seemed to have a knack for it. Alan’s lighter flared into life with a hiss and a clap, as the cigarette blazed a bright red and he inhaled deeply, like a diver coming up for air. He released his breathe slowly, his half lidded, dark brown eyes watching as the cloud of grey smoke was highlighted blue from the moonlight before he rested his head back against the head board and took another lungful of scalding smoke; he’d waited a good four hours for this.
Now that the Chess were eradicated (for the most part, Alan found himself saving the few pawns and rooks that had survived the last Games as they were turned against by the villagers that recognized them from Peta’s show on the moon) and MAR was slowly being restored to its past beauty, Alan found himself lacking things to keep him amused. The War Games and protecting Princess Snow had seen most of his time spent, however, now, during times of peace, Alan found himself extremely bored. His training offered little comfort when no one was willing to spar with you because they feared for their health, which then also became a tedious task as he became fed up with that as well. And much like Ed had said during one of his lectures, drinking until he was so drunk he could barely see, wasn’t a fantastic habit to get himself into. At least at the end of the day, Alan found he could waste his resting time thinking of every useless thing without feeling that he could be doing something much more helpful. Who needed sleep anyway? Alan could live off two hours of the stuff if he needed to. Though he admitted grudgingly, he wasn’t the nicest of people to chat to when he did.
Snow had attempted to get him to help with the rebuilding of the world, but he’d found that hammering two pieces of wood together, just to have to do it again, several hundred times, wasn’t at all appealing to the middle aged man. He snorted, sending a stream of smoke from his nostrils with a tired blink, if Danna could read his thoughts then; he’d have called him an old goat. The man acted like a juvenile at the worst of times.
Danna hadn’t been dead after all. He’d been alive, living a life that had him ruled by the spirit of Kaldea’s orb, a past elder that held bitterness in his heart he’d used to consume the hearts of the ones he’d chosen in order to do his own bidding. The thought really had Alan miffed; a man that had taken on Phantom and nearly won had been held as a mind slave by a large, clear, glass ball, that - should someone have accidentally dropped it - would have shattered into a billion shards. Really, Alan couldn’t think of anything more ridiculous. It really was a Danna-type thing to have happened, as thought as he recalled his friend’s embarrassing display of fear as he was chased by an ankle-biter after having fought off a Chess piece twice his size.
Alan chuckled lowly to himself, as he fixed his eyes on the wall opposite him. There was a large, black spider lying contently in its silky web as it waited patiently for a stupid insect to fly and entrap itself. With every frostbitten breeze it was highlighted silver, as the moon’s rays bounced off it beautifully. Alan idly remembered that he’d always had a soft spot for spiders, or more specifically, putting them in his sister’s things. He’d been a brat of a child, and he could and would admit it readily. His habit of feeding the spiders hadn’t stopped until six years ago, he recalled with another exhale of mute grey smoke. Danna hadn’t liked him sacrificing the ‘poor defenseless flies (no matter how annoying they were)’ to the arachnids they passed.
Of course, Alan had always retorted that should the fly not want to be fed to a hungry spider, he should have left them be and flown out of the way faster; it wasn’t his fault it was too stupid to fly away after his first swat. He hated flies. They were always buzzing around people’s heads and getting into their ears and attacking their noses and - They were just plain annoying. Almost, but not quite, as bad as cats.
Danna was annoying also and always had been, right from the first second they’d spent together. Perhaps that was why he had dubbed himself the protector of all flies. The annoying git! Did he really think they were worth the trouble? They weren’t ever grateful for his efforts, which had included stalking Alan wherever he went and his eyes always holding a suspicious gleam whenever he suggested going into a town without him. It had caused quite a bit of good hearted bickering between them, which usually ended in Alan having knocked Danna to the ground and staring at him with a smirk adorning his chapped lips whilst Danna laughed his head off as though he were a drunken mad man.
Alan flicked the fragile ashes off the end of his smoke over the side of the bed and blinked slowly. The dirty blonde haired man had always grinned, had always kidded around and he’d always vowed to protect something, even if it was a pitiful fly. It didn’t take a mastermind to realize Ginta and him were related. A blind man could have realized it, if he listened to them. They had the same laugh, the same laid back type attitude lining their seemingly forever raised voices. The same annoying laugh that had been far too stuffed with joy for the times of war they’d been in.
Sometimes, the fact that they possessed the ability to smile during dire times made Alan want to smack their faces in. But alas, no longer was Danna or his equally loud son on the world of MAR. In fact, he didn’t know where they were. All he knew was that they were on another world with their wife or mother and there was no way they would or could come back. MAR was peaceful now, there wasn’t any need for them to be there.
Alan missed the blonde man, he realized with slight surprise. After being reminded about how damn annoying the idiot was, Alan didn’t think he’d ever forget again. But his heart ached and the ex-Cross guard member found that his friend still haunted the blackness that laid in front of him when he closed his eyes. He did it then, just to prove that it happened, and found a blonde man with spikey hair grinning at him.
Suddenly he snorted, as a stray memory hit him square in the chin; Gaira had teased him once (or was it a few hundred times?) about his obsession with Danna. Which he had immediately and rightly corrected the old man on. In no way, shape or form was Alan in love with, or in anyway attracted to the insane man from the other world. There was no chance in hell the statement held any truth. Alan scowled at the wall, and glared at the wall as though he wished to drill a hole through the stone with his eyes alone. Even now, six years later the bitter taste of that lie lingered on his tongue.
Their weekly turned nightly escapades hadn’t helped him any either, because as he himself had claimed: all men have needs. All they just need a healthy outlet for them. Alan’s need for physical contact had been satisfied with his quick, raunchy meetings with Danna when he claimed to be escorting the idiot, and Danna excused himself in order to go exploring with his trade mark grin and an odd comment to the Old Man.
Their kisses hadn’t been loving, sweet or at all romantic. Though Danna was gentle and hesitant during their first coupling (he’d claimed that Earth’s customs on homosexual activity weren’t completely well taken, thus he’d never tried anything with a man), he’d eagerly taken to literally tackling Alan to the ground and suffocating him with his mouth, lips and tongue. Not that Alan had minded at the time, because that tongue had felt absolutely wonderful as Danna curled it around his own, but…
Alan had felt a searing jealousy boiling inside of him for a lot of the time he and Danna were together all those years ago. One that was fueled by the many enthusiastically told stories by the man who always spoke so fondly of his young son and his ‘beautiful’, yet temperamental wife. At one stage, Alan had taken to wallowing in self pity; it wasn’t fair that he was being used as an outlet, but he had only himself to blame for his acting as one. If he hadn’t commented on needing one in order to release and settle any of the strong, unrelenting urges men felt and just let the man masturbate whenever he thought Alan wasn’t paying any attention, he wouldn’t have felt so cheated. He shouldn’t have gotten involved with a wedded man in the first place!
With a dark frown, Alan sighed and smashed the last centimeter of his cigarette into the steel ash tray that he’d had implanted into his desk as though it were a fly just begging to be squished. Sometimes, it was best to forget such things in order to keep living a life that didn’t include him dragging extra baggage. So he had, especially after Danna had been ‘killed’. He let himself cry for one hour and continued on his way, only to find (the first night he’d fallen asleep after Phantom’s strange beam being shot and hitting him) that he was trapped inside a small, nervous, glasses wearing dog’s body.
He smirked as he tossed himself onto his left side and clumsily maneuvered the blankets from beneath him so they were snuggly placed over his shoulder and exhaled steadily. He’d have to go searching for a new outlet soon; sometimes he felt as though he were going to burst and it would give him something to do. Of course, this outlet would need to be male; there was no way he was going to risk the chance of having a kid conceived; Alan hated kids. All they were were brats with overly powerful lungs, they weren't fun to have around, unless Alan was torturing them with a variety of well reasoned physical exercises that left them too tired to do anything but sleep peacefully when he wasn't. Alan almost shuddered because of the thought of having a son or daughter clinging to his sturdy being. He needed to get rid of it immediately, lest he be haunted with nightmares that night.
Once again, Danna came to mind as he pushed the kids away and Alan almost growled with annoyance. That was it! The next morning, he was going out! If no one caught his attention then he’d just have to go pub hopping; surely the princess wouldn’t mind his using of one of her newer ARM to get to pubs around the world, especially if he wasn't frowning at that boy she'd been getting particularly friendly with over the past few weeks.
He was going to get over Danna and that was final! He promised himself!
So, the next day he went out and walked around with his hands planted deep in his black pants' pockets. He did so the day after that and the day after that. Soon it became a habit that amused him greatly, especially when another blonde that barely reached his collar bones caught his hazel eyes and held them as though they were marbles to be played with. Alan soon found that he hardly had the time to feel bored after that.
He still thought of Danna. No force could take his long time annoyance from his mind. But he managed to not think of him all the time. And he found that it was definately an improvement.
End
Love for Alan, 'cause he deserves it.
Rating: PG (T)
Warning/s: OOCness, Yaoi, sexual references
Pairing/s: One-sided Alan/Danna
Summary: Alan's been thinking: Perhaps it's time to get rid of his long term annoyance.
Disclaimer: I don't own MAR: Marchen Awakens Romance. That honour goes to Nobuyuki Anzai
An Annoyance
The night air was cold against his aching, hot limbs, as though the air had decided to morph itself into a billion tiny needles and prick at his tanned skin viciously. He supposed that was what he got for training late into the night, so much so that even his ears weren’t absorbing or deciphering the sonnet crickets were playing and the crackle of leaves as they danced with each other in the frigid breeze. The snow that was sprinkled over the area made it look as though it came from a fairytale, the part before the time when everyone ‘lived happily ever after’, when evil held the castle in its wicked, bony grasp.
His large, white sheet and thick quilt covered bed beckoned him silently as he trudged up the cold, stone stairs to his room. He’d just scaled three stair cases (all of which he couldn’t avoid in his trip from the western courtyard to his bedroom that was wisely placed in the high tower on the opposite side of the castle) and his already aching legs felt as though they’d been encased in granite. Alan didn’t have the energy to grunt, let alone mumble complaints to himself as he usually did about his bedroom’s location. All the tall, burly man wanted was to go to sleep.
Right after he’d had a cigarette. He was dieing to have one. Alan felt the aching urge to inhale the smoke of a tobacco plant, as bitter as it was and as much as it burnt his throat. It felt as though someone was making him drink hot water, minus the weight of a soothing liquid reaching his empty stomach. It always caused his grated nerves to soothe into a relaxed lull that usually made him look as though Alan were about ready to fall asleep. Much like he was right then, now that he thought of it.
Alan almost sighed with relief once he’d scaled the stairs and found himself face to wood with the thick door that disconnected his admittedly Spartan like room from the rest of the castle. He opened the oak door with a deafening creak, finding that he didn’t care about the loud slamming sound that erupted from it as he flung the door shut after him, instead busying himself with removing his thick, leather boots and kicking them away to his left.
His room was plain, as though he didn’t live there at all. The bookshelf that was provided was empty, the desk had few items arranged on it (Alan’s ARM laid placidly in a box on it, but that was the only constant he could name) and the bed was made with much care. There really wasn’t anything personal about the room at all, but that suited Alan just fine. He’d never been one to stay in one place for too long; no doubt that in a week or two he’d ask for another room closer to his favourite training ground.
Hastily, though with sluggish movements, Alan stripped himself of his white jacket, after rolling his sleeves back down his forearms out of habit. It was then flung in the general direction he’d sent his shoes. Alan pulled his hair from its usual ponytail gently and, as though petting the most fragile of creatures, ran his hands through his hair slowly. Oh dear Lord, his head ached. It pounded mercilessly as though being used as a drum. He should have listened to Snow and come in before the cold had had a chance to seep into his being and soaked his clothes because, damn it, he hated winter.
The bed squeaked as though in pain as Alan’s sturdy body was sat upon it, causing the meticulously made sheets (really, why did the servants bother? He was going to mess them up a few hours later anyway) to wrinkle and bunch beneath his black, cotton clad rump. Alan sighed with bliss as his feet finally found themselves free of work and they throbbed pleasantly as he lifted them up and onto the soft bed. Alan wasted little time retrieving his lighter and smokes from his right pocket as he settled himself against the head board and sighed contently.
He found it easy to enjoy life’s simple pleasures, such as a comfortable bed and time to relax; after living through two War Games, he seemed to have a knack for it. Alan’s lighter flared into life with a hiss and a clap, as the cigarette blazed a bright red and he inhaled deeply, like a diver coming up for air. He released his breathe slowly, his half lidded, dark brown eyes watching as the cloud of grey smoke was highlighted blue from the moonlight before he rested his head back against the head board and took another lungful of scalding smoke; he’d waited a good four hours for this.
Now that the Chess were eradicated (for the most part, Alan found himself saving the few pawns and rooks that had survived the last Games as they were turned against by the villagers that recognized them from Peta’s show on the moon) and MAR was slowly being restored to its past beauty, Alan found himself lacking things to keep him amused. The War Games and protecting Princess Snow had seen most of his time spent, however, now, during times of peace, Alan found himself extremely bored. His training offered little comfort when no one was willing to spar with you because they feared for their health, which then also became a tedious task as he became fed up with that as well. And much like Ed had said during one of his lectures, drinking until he was so drunk he could barely see, wasn’t a fantastic habit to get himself into. At least at the end of the day, Alan found he could waste his resting time thinking of every useless thing without feeling that he could be doing something much more helpful. Who needed sleep anyway? Alan could live off two hours of the stuff if he needed to. Though he admitted grudgingly, he wasn’t the nicest of people to chat to when he did.
Snow had attempted to get him to help with the rebuilding of the world, but he’d found that hammering two pieces of wood together, just to have to do it again, several hundred times, wasn’t at all appealing to the middle aged man. He snorted, sending a stream of smoke from his nostrils with a tired blink, if Danna could read his thoughts then; he’d have called him an old goat. The man acted like a juvenile at the worst of times.
Danna hadn’t been dead after all. He’d been alive, living a life that had him ruled by the spirit of Kaldea’s orb, a past elder that held bitterness in his heart he’d used to consume the hearts of the ones he’d chosen in order to do his own bidding. The thought really had Alan miffed; a man that had taken on Phantom and nearly won had been held as a mind slave by a large, clear, glass ball, that - should someone have accidentally dropped it - would have shattered into a billion shards. Really, Alan couldn’t think of anything more ridiculous. It really was a Danna-type thing to have happened, as thought as he recalled his friend’s embarrassing display of fear as he was chased by an ankle-biter after having fought off a Chess piece twice his size.
Alan chuckled lowly to himself, as he fixed his eyes on the wall opposite him. There was a large, black spider lying contently in its silky web as it waited patiently for a stupid insect to fly and entrap itself. With every frostbitten breeze it was highlighted silver, as the moon’s rays bounced off it beautifully. Alan idly remembered that he’d always had a soft spot for spiders, or more specifically, putting them in his sister’s things. He’d been a brat of a child, and he could and would admit it readily. His habit of feeding the spiders hadn’t stopped until six years ago, he recalled with another exhale of mute grey smoke. Danna hadn’t liked him sacrificing the ‘poor defenseless flies (no matter how annoying they were)’ to the arachnids they passed.
Of course, Alan had always retorted that should the fly not want to be fed to a hungry spider, he should have left them be and flown out of the way faster; it wasn’t his fault it was too stupid to fly away after his first swat. He hated flies. They were always buzzing around people’s heads and getting into their ears and attacking their noses and - They were just plain annoying. Almost, but not quite, as bad as cats.
Danna was annoying also and always had been, right from the first second they’d spent together. Perhaps that was why he had dubbed himself the protector of all flies. The annoying git! Did he really think they were worth the trouble? They weren’t ever grateful for his efforts, which had included stalking Alan wherever he went and his eyes always holding a suspicious gleam whenever he suggested going into a town without him. It had caused quite a bit of good hearted bickering between them, which usually ended in Alan having knocked Danna to the ground and staring at him with a smirk adorning his chapped lips whilst Danna laughed his head off as though he were a drunken mad man.
Alan flicked the fragile ashes off the end of his smoke over the side of the bed and blinked slowly. The dirty blonde haired man had always grinned, had always kidded around and he’d always vowed to protect something, even if it was a pitiful fly. It didn’t take a mastermind to realize Ginta and him were related. A blind man could have realized it, if he listened to them. They had the same laugh, the same laid back type attitude lining their seemingly forever raised voices. The same annoying laugh that had been far too stuffed with joy for the times of war they’d been in.
Sometimes, the fact that they possessed the ability to smile during dire times made Alan want to smack their faces in. But alas, no longer was Danna or his equally loud son on the world of MAR. In fact, he didn’t know where they were. All he knew was that they were on another world with their wife or mother and there was no way they would or could come back. MAR was peaceful now, there wasn’t any need for them to be there.
Alan missed the blonde man, he realized with slight surprise. After being reminded about how damn annoying the idiot was, Alan didn’t think he’d ever forget again. But his heart ached and the ex-Cross guard member found that his friend still haunted the blackness that laid in front of him when he closed his eyes. He did it then, just to prove that it happened, and found a blonde man with spikey hair grinning at him.
Suddenly he snorted, as a stray memory hit him square in the chin; Gaira had teased him once (or was it a few hundred times?) about his obsession with Danna. Which he had immediately and rightly corrected the old man on. In no way, shape or form was Alan in love with, or in anyway attracted to the insane man from the other world. There was no chance in hell the statement held any truth. Alan scowled at the wall, and glared at the wall as though he wished to drill a hole through the stone with his eyes alone. Even now, six years later the bitter taste of that lie lingered on his tongue.
Their weekly turned nightly escapades hadn’t helped him any either, because as he himself had claimed: all men have needs. All they just need a healthy outlet for them. Alan’s need for physical contact had been satisfied with his quick, raunchy meetings with Danna when he claimed to be escorting the idiot, and Danna excused himself in order to go exploring with his trade mark grin and an odd comment to the Old Man.
Their kisses hadn’t been loving, sweet or at all romantic. Though Danna was gentle and hesitant during their first coupling (he’d claimed that Earth’s customs on homosexual activity weren’t completely well taken, thus he’d never tried anything with a man), he’d eagerly taken to literally tackling Alan to the ground and suffocating him with his mouth, lips and tongue. Not that Alan had minded at the time, because that tongue had felt absolutely wonderful as Danna curled it around his own, but…
Alan had felt a searing jealousy boiling inside of him for a lot of the time he and Danna were together all those years ago. One that was fueled by the many enthusiastically told stories by the man who always spoke so fondly of his young son and his ‘beautiful’, yet temperamental wife. At one stage, Alan had taken to wallowing in self pity; it wasn’t fair that he was being used as an outlet, but he had only himself to blame for his acting as one. If he hadn’t commented on needing one in order to release and settle any of the strong, unrelenting urges men felt and just let the man masturbate whenever he thought Alan wasn’t paying any attention, he wouldn’t have felt so cheated. He shouldn’t have gotten involved with a wedded man in the first place!
With a dark frown, Alan sighed and smashed the last centimeter of his cigarette into the steel ash tray that he’d had implanted into his desk as though it were a fly just begging to be squished. Sometimes, it was best to forget such things in order to keep living a life that didn’t include him dragging extra baggage. So he had, especially after Danna had been ‘killed’. He let himself cry for one hour and continued on his way, only to find (the first night he’d fallen asleep after Phantom’s strange beam being shot and hitting him) that he was trapped inside a small, nervous, glasses wearing dog’s body.
He smirked as he tossed himself onto his left side and clumsily maneuvered the blankets from beneath him so they were snuggly placed over his shoulder and exhaled steadily. He’d have to go searching for a new outlet soon; sometimes he felt as though he were going to burst and it would give him something to do. Of course, this outlet would need to be male; there was no way he was going to risk the chance of having a kid conceived; Alan hated kids. All they were were brats with overly powerful lungs, they weren't fun to have around, unless Alan was torturing them with a variety of well reasoned physical exercises that left them too tired to do anything but sleep peacefully when he wasn't. Alan almost shuddered because of the thought of having a son or daughter clinging to his sturdy being. He needed to get rid of it immediately, lest he be haunted with nightmares that night.
Once again, Danna came to mind as he pushed the kids away and Alan almost growled with annoyance. That was it! The next morning, he was going out! If no one caught his attention then he’d just have to go pub hopping; surely the princess wouldn’t mind his using of one of her newer ARM to get to pubs around the world, especially if he wasn't frowning at that boy she'd been getting particularly friendly with over the past few weeks.
He was going to get over Danna and that was final! He promised himself!
So, the next day he went out and walked around with his hands planted deep in his black pants' pockets. He did so the day after that and the day after that. Soon it became a habit that amused him greatly, especially when another blonde that barely reached his collar bones caught his hazel eyes and held them as though they were marbles to be played with. Alan soon found that he hardly had the time to feel bored after that.
He still thought of Danna. No force could take his long time annoyance from his mind. But he managed to not think of him all the time. And he found that it was definately an improvement.
End
Love for Alan, 'cause he deserves it.