(no subject)
Somehow I don't seem to have the energy to write coherrent stuff scenes lately, let alone fics.
So yeah, The evil!bunny pokes me into writing single sentences/teeny-tiny scenelets
Fandom: Weiß Kreuz/ Kyou Kara Maou
Warnings: yaoi, angst u_u
Characters/couples: Omi/Yuuri
Ratings: G through PG13
Notes: After this. 'nuff said.
Omi's crossbow falls to the ground with a clatter that echoes through the dark passageway. He's shaking violently in Yuuri's embrace, but his own arms hang limply at his side, powerless.
~~~~***~~~
When after long sleepless hours of waiting and hoping Omi finally hobbled through the door, there was a plaster stuck across his left cheek, almost as if he were a schoolboy who had fallen in a play-fight with his friends on the playground.
~~~~***~~~
Yuuri found himself hugging the brunet tightly, trying to ignore the small throwing knives; cold and rigid metal, concealed in the fabric of his jacket.
~~~~***~~~
“Don't touch my things!” Omi yelled so loud it made Yuuri wince, snatching the the white sweatjacket away from him and furiously hurling it into a corner. But the very next moment, he was flinging his arms around Yuuri, pulling him into a painfully tight hug, face bruried in his shirt.
“Don't touch my things,” he repeated quietly in a whisper, from the corner of his eye watching one of the darts that had come lose from it's sheath and rolled across the floor, poisoned tip glinting innocently in the lamp light.
~~~~***~~~
Whenever Omi's lips travel across his skin, caressing or playful, teasing or passionate, they always spare a spot, a small stretch of skin - no man's land - where the bullet left undeniable proof of Yuuri's loss of innocence.
So yeah, The evil!bunny pokes me into writing single sentences/teeny-tiny scenelets
Fandom: Weiß Kreuz/ Kyou Kara Maou
Warnings: yaoi, angst u_u
Characters/couples: Omi/Yuuri
Ratings: G through PG13
Notes: After this. 'nuff said.
Omi's crossbow falls to the ground with a clatter that echoes through the dark passageway. He's shaking violently in Yuuri's embrace, but his own arms hang limply at his side, powerless.
~~~~***~~~
When after long sleepless hours of waiting and hoping Omi finally hobbled through the door, there was a plaster stuck across his left cheek, almost as if he were a schoolboy who had fallen in a play-fight with his friends on the playground.
~~~~***~~~
Yuuri found himself hugging the brunet tightly, trying to ignore the small throwing knives; cold and rigid metal, concealed in the fabric of his jacket.
~~~~***~~~
“Don't touch my things!” Omi yelled so loud it made Yuuri wince, snatching the the white sweatjacket away from him and furiously hurling it into a corner. But the very next moment, he was flinging his arms around Yuuri, pulling him into a painfully tight hug, face bruried in his shirt.
“Don't touch my things,” he repeated quietly in a whisper, from the corner of his eye watching one of the darts that had come lose from it's sheath and rolled across the floor, poisoned tip glinting innocently in the lamp light.
~~~~***~~~
Whenever Omi's lips travel across his skin, caressing or playful, teasing or passionate, they always spare a spot, a small stretch of skin - no man's land - where the bullet left undeniable proof of Yuuri's loss of innocence.