Ah, another fic for
laurazel, because her art inspires me in a way nothing else seems to, these days. Seriously, I sit here and try to write other things, then go surfing through her work and BAM, fic happens.
Girl, I love you for doing that for me, you know that? Just makes my day.
This fic is ... hmm. I'll call it R for suggestion, but it's not the graphic thing the other fic was. It's written from inspiration gotten from
this drawing, and really you should open it in full view and have it side-by-side when you read the fic. That's how it was written.
Exactly 500 words. Zel, dear, I hope you like it.
Note: If you can't see the drawing, it's because you're not signed in to
y!gallery. Get an account and see the pretties. You know it's gotta be good if you've got to have a password to see it! ^_~
Ritual
by Mistr3ss Quickly
Ritual, among other things, is regarded highly by the samurai.
They were no exception, the old friends, sitting together and drinking tea on the soft tatami mats of their room, light from the setting sun filtering through thin rice paper, making the entire room seem to glow. Ritual had been observed in the preparation and serving of the tea, observed in the still silence as they drank it, Shichiroji's flesh shoulder warm against Kanbei's back, his weight just enough to allow Kanbei to lean back against him.
Just as it had always been. A ritual never outlined, always observed.
He felt Shichiroji's movement in the shift of his own hair, disturbed by one of his friend's ridiculous ponytails, but kept his eyes downcast, focused on the reflection of the evening light on the surface of his tea, the swirl of the warm liquid in the rough earthenware cup. It would drive his friend to distraction, he knew, to ignore him, to act as though nothing was going on, within the world at large or in their own little existence, and that, too, was a part of the ritual.
The loss of Shichiroji's weight, pressing against him, made him grunt, drew his attention even before he could remember to remain uninterested, focused on his cup.
His friend was unbinding his hair, smiling faintly. Kanbei couldn't help but watch.
"See something you like, 'bei?"
Shichiroji was smiling, lips curved as faintly as his cheeks were flushed, long blonde hair tickling down his chest. Kanbei snorted and presented the man with his back, considered sipping his tea in a show of disinterest.
But the long years of separation made him hesitate, made him reach up and twist his own hair, back away from his neck, wanting to be sure his friend understood the game still, not knowing how to tell him in words. Hair hanging heavy over his right shoulder only, he waited, watching from the corner of his eye to see if Shichiroji had understood.
Which, of course, he had.
Cool fingertips touched the thick muscle of Kanbei's shoulder, warm breath washed over his throat, making his earring twist, clicking softly. Kanbei held his breath and waited, allowed his eyes to close when warm lips touched him, just at the hairline, the cool tip of Shichiroji's nose nuzzling him behind the ear.
I want you, he said with the tilt of his head, baring more of his neck.
You already have me, said his lover with a tug at the cotton of his robe.
Tea fell to the floor, splashing Kanbei's naked skin, warm enough that he noticed, but didn't care, focusing his attention on the body spread out over his, the hands undressing him. No rules now, nothing but touch and taste and hot breath and pounding hearts, no words between them; nothing between them.
Night fell, the mats stained but dry, and Kanbei closed his eyes.
Shichiroji's breath was slow and even.
Yeah, it told Kanbei. I missed this, too.