"Before the Storm" - D.Gray-Man, drabble - Madarao/Tokusa
Title: Before the Storm
Author: panda-pon
Characters/Fandom: Madarao x Tokusa/D.Gray-Man
Rating: Erm...T?
Warnings: Allusions to drunken sex, but nothing at all descriptive. A little bit of angst, of the bittersweet sort.
Wordcount: 781
Author's Note: GAWD WHAT AM I DOING I DON'T EVEN. So apparently, this is the result of me waking up at 7am--after barely two hours of sleep--to grandpa coming in and turning the TV on to the soccer game thousands of people screaming in my bloody ear. Uhm. Don't ask, I don't even know anymore... Takes place just a night or two before they were dispatched on the mission leading to the present timeline. In other words...what is, as of currently, their last night (or two) safely at the Order. Sob.
Cross-posted, by the way. :3
“You seem like you’re deep in thought.”
Tokusa blinks, but barely acknowledges Madarao’s return to the common room with little more than a ‘hn’ under his breath.
“...Tokusa.”
“Yes?” He finally looks up. “What is it?”
“You look troubled,” Madarao replies, even though to any onlooker, Tokusa would currently appear the very picture of peace and contentment; arms crossed neatly on the edge of the table he sat at, and a light smile playing at his lips. But even in the dim light from the fire, Madarao can sense more than see the dark edges of Tokusa’s eyes, and the tired circles beneath them. After a moment, he takes a seat next to him, and speaks again. “What are you thinking about?”
“Silly things.” Tokusa’s smile widens, and Madarao frowns.
“Tokusa.” He’s not falling for it, not going to be distracted that easily, and if it weren’t for his concern, he might almost regret how his words seem to erase all signs of cheerfulness from Tokusa’s face.
Tokusa looks away; back at the fireplace, which had previously been graced with his attention, and Madarao merely continues to watch him in silence. It’s a while before either of them speaks.
“What would you do if I were to tell you that I remember more of that night, than I previously admitted to?” Tokusa pauses, though they both know it’s more for dramatic effect than an honest need to think. “As in, say...perhaps all of it.”
Madarao lifts an eyebrow, but makes no other indication as to his thoughts on the matter. At the very least, it lets Tokusa know that there’s no confusion as to exactly which night he’s referring. He smiles again.
“I liked it, too.”
This, finally, prompts Madarao to speak. “In that case, I would suggest that we do it again. Preferably in a proper bed this time, and without the involvement of alcohol.”
“Oh?” Tokusa tilts his head, just enough to make an impression. “Is that so.”
“Would I have said it otherwise?”
Tokusa blinks, and then levels a flat stare at his fellow Crow. “...Never mind. But what’s wrong with alcohol?”
“Nothing is wrong with the alcohol,” Madarao clarifies immediately. “The problem is you.”
“...Come again?”
Madarao opens his mouth, pauses, closes it--and upon the subsequent narrowing of Tokusa’s eyes, opens it again. “Shockingly, you’re less open with yourself when you drink.” That is, to say, he’s far more difficult to read. Madarao hasn’t spent years upon years watching and observing Tokusa for nothing. He knows him; far more than the other seems to believe, or even be remotely aware of. But drunk Tokusa is a stranger to him. And unpredictable stranger; albeit almost as intoxicating as the alcohol itself.
“And...why is that a problem?” Tokusa looks slightly defensive now. How wonderful.
Sighing softly, Madarao resigns himself to the headache he’s potentially about to subject himself to. “Because if I am going to sleep with someone, I want it to be with a real person, and not a shell.”
If Tokusa is at all surprised by such a response--which he is, he knows he is--Madarao has to give him credit for hiding it so well. “Why Madarao, I never knew you were such a romantic~”
Madarao ignores the attempt to throw the conversation off-course. He’s used to them by now. “You do realize that your eyes give everything away.”
“How do you know you’re not just seeing what you want to see?” Tokusa shoots back, not missing a beat. Madarao quirks an eyebrow.
“Because whatever I want to see, is whatever you’re not faking.”
Madarao swears he can see a faint blush on the other’s cheeks, but he quickly attributes it to a trick of the substandard lighting.
“And why is that?”
This time, it’s Madarao’s turn to smile; just a faint upturn of his lips, but it’s more than his usual passive expression. For this, Tokusa is grateful, and Madarao knows it. “You’ll figure it out in time,” he says, and Tokusa merely nods, though Madarao can tell it takes effort for him not to protest.
“Well then.” Tokusa suddenly pushes back from the table, and stands--stretching his arms above his head, before bringing one hand to his mouth to cover a yawn. “If we live through this,” the sudden narrowing of Madarao’s eyes doesn’t escape his notice, but he ignores it, “then I’ll just have to take you up on that offer of a ‘proper’ romp in the sheets, hmm~?”
As he retreats to his room, Tokusa smiles to himself. But it’s a whole lot bitter, and only a little bit sweet.
He’ll never know if he’ll come to regret waiting.
Author: panda-pon
Characters/Fandom: Madarao x Tokusa/D.Gray-Man
Rating: Erm...T?
Warnings: Allusions to drunken sex, but nothing at all descriptive. A little bit of angst, of the bittersweet sort.
Wordcount: 781
Author's Note: GAWD WHAT AM I DOING I DON'T EVEN. So apparently, this is the result of me waking up at 7am--after barely two hours of sleep--to grandpa coming in and turning the TV on to the soccer game thousands of people screaming in my bloody ear. Uhm. Don't ask, I don't even know anymore... Takes place just a night or two before they were dispatched on the mission leading to the present timeline. In other words...what is, as of currently, their last night (or two) safely at the Order. Sob.
Cross-posted, by the way. :3
“You seem like you’re deep in thought.”
Tokusa blinks, but barely acknowledges Madarao’s return to the common room with little more than a ‘hn’ under his breath.
“...Tokusa.”
“Yes?” He finally looks up. “What is it?”
“You look troubled,” Madarao replies, even though to any onlooker, Tokusa would currently appear the very picture of peace and contentment; arms crossed neatly on the edge of the table he sat at, and a light smile playing at his lips. But even in the dim light from the fire, Madarao can sense more than see the dark edges of Tokusa’s eyes, and the tired circles beneath them. After a moment, he takes a seat next to him, and speaks again. “What are you thinking about?”
“Silly things.” Tokusa’s smile widens, and Madarao frowns.
“Tokusa.” He’s not falling for it, not going to be distracted that easily, and if it weren’t for his concern, he might almost regret how his words seem to erase all signs of cheerfulness from Tokusa’s face.
Tokusa looks away; back at the fireplace, which had previously been graced with his attention, and Madarao merely continues to watch him in silence. It’s a while before either of them speaks.
“What would you do if I were to tell you that I remember more of that night, than I previously admitted to?” Tokusa pauses, though they both know it’s more for dramatic effect than an honest need to think. “As in, say...perhaps all of it.”
Madarao lifts an eyebrow, but makes no other indication as to his thoughts on the matter. At the very least, it lets Tokusa know that there’s no confusion as to exactly which night he’s referring. He smiles again.
“I liked it, too.”
This, finally, prompts Madarao to speak. “In that case, I would suggest that we do it again. Preferably in a proper bed this time, and without the involvement of alcohol.”
“Oh?” Tokusa tilts his head, just enough to make an impression. “Is that so.”
“Would I have said it otherwise?”
Tokusa blinks, and then levels a flat stare at his fellow Crow. “...Never mind. But what’s wrong with alcohol?”
“Nothing is wrong with the alcohol,” Madarao clarifies immediately. “The problem is you.”
“...Come again?”
Madarao opens his mouth, pauses, closes it--and upon the subsequent narrowing of Tokusa’s eyes, opens it again. “Shockingly, you’re less open with yourself when you drink.” That is, to say, he’s far more difficult to read. Madarao hasn’t spent years upon years watching and observing Tokusa for nothing. He knows him; far more than the other seems to believe, or even be remotely aware of. But drunk Tokusa is a stranger to him. And unpredictable stranger; albeit almost as intoxicating as the alcohol itself.
“And...why is that a problem?” Tokusa looks slightly defensive now. How wonderful.
Sighing softly, Madarao resigns himself to the headache he’s potentially about to subject himself to. “Because if I am going to sleep with someone, I want it to be with a real person, and not a shell.”
If Tokusa is at all surprised by such a response--which he is, he knows he is--Madarao has to give him credit for hiding it so well. “Why Madarao, I never knew you were such a romantic~”
Madarao ignores the attempt to throw the conversation off-course. He’s used to them by now. “You do realize that your eyes give everything away.”
“How do you know you’re not just seeing what you want to see?” Tokusa shoots back, not missing a beat. Madarao quirks an eyebrow.
“Because whatever I want to see, is whatever you’re not faking.”
Madarao swears he can see a faint blush on the other’s cheeks, but he quickly attributes it to a trick of the substandard lighting.
“And why is that?”
This time, it’s Madarao’s turn to smile; just a faint upturn of his lips, but it’s more than his usual passive expression. For this, Tokusa is grateful, and Madarao knows it. “You’ll figure it out in time,” he says, and Tokusa merely nods, though Madarao can tell it takes effort for him not to protest.
“Well then.” Tokusa suddenly pushes back from the table, and stands--stretching his arms above his head, before bringing one hand to his mouth to cover a yawn. “If we live through this,” the sudden narrowing of Madarao’s eyes doesn’t escape his notice, but he ignores it, “then I’ll just have to take you up on that offer of a ‘proper’ romp in the sheets, hmm~?”
As he retreats to his room, Tokusa smiles to himself. But it’s a whole lot bitter, and only a little bit sweet.
He’ll never know if he’ll come to regret waiting.