gisho
in
springkink
Tool-user (GetBackers, Shido/Madoka)
Title: Tool-user
Author: gisho
Wordcount: ~1600
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Prompt: Shido/Madoka, hands - Years of hard work have left their mark on Madoka’s hands.
A/N: I'm sorry this is so late (ironically, it's late in large part because my RSI was acting up). It came out sort of cute and doemstic and I'm not sure how. But hey. Hope you enjoy. <3
*
Shido holds hands with Madoka whenever he gets the chance. It's a childish gesture, but he refuses to pretend to himself that he's doing it so she can always tell he's there. She's never had any problem doing that from the sound of his brething. No, he does it for himself, because she has beautiful hands and he likes to feel them. There are callussed spots on the tips of each finger; they remind him of Kazuki's hands, or Emishi's - the hands of a weapon-user, he would say, but her music is no weapon. Quite the opposite. A tool-user's hands, then, the hands of someone for whom some familiar object has become so much a part of their body, they sense its absence more keenly than its presence. His hands are rough from use, but he has never been a tool-user.
He is reminded of that, painfully, when he tries to build a birdhouse for some friends of friends over an unusually harsh winter. They were doing fine in the tree for a while, until a major limb came down in a storm; he was determined the house would be sturdier. It all seemed so simple in theory, but in practice he hammered his thumb three times, then ripped his hand open on the hacksaw, and how could this be so difficult when avoiding blades being held by people who wanted to rip him open was so easy? He went inside to bandage it, and Madoka came up behind him and hovered, making anxious noises, while he washed up. "Just a scratch," he told her. "Feel?" He pressed the bandaged hand into hers, and she let her fingers run down the lines of his palm. "Nothing to worry about."
"I always worry. Someone has to." Her voice was vaugely reproachful. Shido half-laughed and turned his hand to catch hers in his grip. It was so tiny, by comparison. Not fragile, though; there was plenty of strength in it as she squeezed back. "Shido -"
He let go, sighing. "I'll work it out eventually."
That night they sat up for a while, in the light of a half-dozen candles, idly trading thoughts on how long the stormy weather would last. "I do hope it's quieter by Christmas," Madoka murmured. "Do you want to do another party this year?" She phrased it like that, he knew, to give him every excuse to decline; the Christmas parties had been a tradition of her parents, and she had taken such delight in last year's he had no heart to refuse her the chance. She'd invited everyone she'd ever performed with, more or less, plus a few interesting young artistic types, and they tended to be a bit loud and very friendly and eager for cake and champagne.
I thought champagne was for celebrations, he'd said, and Madoka told him, Well, it's a celebration that we made it through the year. Shido could understand that urge. Besides, he'd enjoyed it too, right up until the point when he went outside and found Emishi sitting under a bush sobbing, drunker than Shido had ever seen him before. It wasn't likely to happen again.
"Sure, should be fun," he answered, and she smiled back. He gave an experimental tug on her hand, and she leaned close and laid her head on his shoulder, with a contented sigh. He wrapped an arm around her. Her body was warm and he could feel one small hand resting on the back of his neck.
It was a long time before they spoke, or moved, again; they were comfortable and contented. Eventually Madoka whispered, "I think I'm falling asleep."
"It's late. Let's get to bed." Moving carefully, he tried to pick her up without jostling her. She was shorter than he was, which helped a little, and she shifted to cling to his shoulders as soon as she caught on, which helped a lot. He leaned over to blow out the candles. Under the table Mozart gave a tired woof, then lay his head on his paws again. Shido told him to go ahead and sleep.
Her bedroom was down the hall; he moved quietly, trying to avoid the creaking spots in the floor. There was no one else here to wake up, these days; her maid had quit to get married in the summer, and the cook had retired that fall. It was harder for Madoka to get along without them, but she managed; she knew her clothes by feel, and called taxis when she went out alone, and Shido had learned enough about stoves to keep Madoka content, at least, although he suspected her friends would be horrified. Well, when she had parties she got them catered anyway. She'd felt so silly keeping the house staffed after her parents left, and besides - she'd been blushing when she said it - this way they had a little more privacy.
Shido remembered that; her face had been turned away, but her hand was resting at the joint of his shoulder, a little left of his heart.
When they were inside he pushed the door shut with his foot, then carried her over to the bed and laid her down. She hadn't made the bed that morning - uncharacteristic, but convenient; it spared him trying to pull down the sheets without dropping her. She laughed softly and began unbuttoning her dress. In the dark of the bedroom, what little moonlight and spilled streetlight made it through her lacy curtains, it was hard to make out the curves of her body. His eyes followed the motion of her hands as she tugged open the thick fabric. She wiggled out of the sleeves and tossed the dress to the floor. He pulled off his shirt, let his jeans crumple about his ankles, then stepped out of them and followed her into bed, tugging the blankets up over their shoulders. His hand found hers for a moment, and then she rolled against him and he tucked his arm over her shoulders. They kissed, almost absently; Madoka made a sleepy noise of inquiry, but Shido whispered back, "Go to sleep. It's late." She chuckled and laid her head on his chest, and he lay silently listening to the noises she made as she dropped off. They made love in the morning instead, with the comfortable laziness of people with no place to be and no particular desire to go.
Shido wondered somehow how he'd ended up here, with this comfortable place and contented life, close by the one he loved. He didn't question it much, though. This was how things were; why debate over happiness when he had taken struggle at face value? He made them soup for breakfast, and then Madoka left for her practice room to try out a Tchaicovsky waltz a friend had thought would make an interesting duet, Mozart at her heels, and he went to the garage to have another go at the birdhouse.
He was hammering in the last nail on the roof when his cellphone rang, and the noise was so startling he slipped and hit his thumb again. Wincing, he picked up the phone right-handed and licked at his left thumb, hoping the throbbing was going to go away. It was Hevn; he flipped it open. "Hello?"
"Shido-san, have I got something for you. A real doozy. Ton of money. You want to take your girlfriend to Hawaii for Christmas?" As always, her voice was lascivious, almost caressing the offer.
He scowled. "We're fine with Tokyo. If it's so big, why don't you give it to Ginji and his pet snake? I'm sure they could use a hot meal or two."
"They're not picking up. This needs doing today. You snooze, you lose. How about it, huh? Please, at least come meet the client?"
Well, he'd made a token attempt to toss it at Ginji, and he could alwys use the work. He realized, unexpectedly, that he was grinning - a fierce, predatory grin.
Before he left, he passed by the practice room to tell Madoka where he was going. She was running up and down scales, as she had a tendency to do when her mind was elsewhere. She set down the violin as soon as she heard him at the door, though.
"Got a job," he told her. "I might be back late. Tchaicovsky being difficult?"
"He's always difficult." She frowned and licked her lips. "Goes all over the place, and the piece wasn't meant for a violin, but I'll get it. Just have to try some more approaches. Be careful out there, alright?" She took his bandaged hand in hers; it took both to surround it completly. Her smile was bright. He touched her hand, felt the tension in it, the suprising strenth as she tightened her fingers.
"Of course I will. Don't wait up. I'll call you if I get done early."
Madoka smiled and tilted her head. "Too early, I might still be dueling Tchaicovsky."
"It's fine. I'll leave a message." He doubted he'd be done that fast; if it were so simple Hevn wouldn't have called him. But then, Madoka had faith in his skills.
She hesitated, then lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it, right at the edge of the bandage. "Be careful."
"Always." He touched her cheek, and then turned to walk away. By the time he reched the end of the hall, she'd picked up her tools again, and he could make out the tenative sounds of a waltz.
The warmth of her breath stayed on his hand longer than it had any right to.
Author: gisho
Wordcount: ~1600
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Prompt: Shido/Madoka, hands - Years of hard work have left their mark on Madoka’s hands.
A/N: I'm sorry this is so late (ironically, it's late in large part because my RSI was acting up). It came out sort of cute and doemstic and I'm not sure how. But hey. Hope you enjoy. <3
*
Shido holds hands with Madoka whenever he gets the chance. It's a childish gesture, but he refuses to pretend to himself that he's doing it so she can always tell he's there. She's never had any problem doing that from the sound of his brething. No, he does it for himself, because she has beautiful hands and he likes to feel them. There are callussed spots on the tips of each finger; they remind him of Kazuki's hands, or Emishi's - the hands of a weapon-user, he would say, but her music is no weapon. Quite the opposite. A tool-user's hands, then, the hands of someone for whom some familiar object has become so much a part of their body, they sense its absence more keenly than its presence. His hands are rough from use, but he has never been a tool-user.
He is reminded of that, painfully, when he tries to build a birdhouse for some friends of friends over an unusually harsh winter. They were doing fine in the tree for a while, until a major limb came down in a storm; he was determined the house would be sturdier. It all seemed so simple in theory, but in practice he hammered his thumb three times, then ripped his hand open on the hacksaw, and how could this be so difficult when avoiding blades being held by people who wanted to rip him open was so easy? He went inside to bandage it, and Madoka came up behind him and hovered, making anxious noises, while he washed up. "Just a scratch," he told her. "Feel?" He pressed the bandaged hand into hers, and she let her fingers run down the lines of his palm. "Nothing to worry about."
"I always worry. Someone has to." Her voice was vaugely reproachful. Shido half-laughed and turned his hand to catch hers in his grip. It was so tiny, by comparison. Not fragile, though; there was plenty of strength in it as she squeezed back. "Shido -"
He let go, sighing. "I'll work it out eventually."
That night they sat up for a while, in the light of a half-dozen candles, idly trading thoughts on how long the stormy weather would last. "I do hope it's quieter by Christmas," Madoka murmured. "Do you want to do another party this year?" She phrased it like that, he knew, to give him every excuse to decline; the Christmas parties had been a tradition of her parents, and she had taken such delight in last year's he had no heart to refuse her the chance. She'd invited everyone she'd ever performed with, more or less, plus a few interesting young artistic types, and they tended to be a bit loud and very friendly and eager for cake and champagne.
I thought champagne was for celebrations, he'd said, and Madoka told him, Well, it's a celebration that we made it through the year. Shido could understand that urge. Besides, he'd enjoyed it too, right up until the point when he went outside and found Emishi sitting under a bush sobbing, drunker than Shido had ever seen him before. It wasn't likely to happen again.
"Sure, should be fun," he answered, and she smiled back. He gave an experimental tug on her hand, and she leaned close and laid her head on his shoulder, with a contented sigh. He wrapped an arm around her. Her body was warm and he could feel one small hand resting on the back of his neck.
It was a long time before they spoke, or moved, again; they were comfortable and contented. Eventually Madoka whispered, "I think I'm falling asleep."
"It's late. Let's get to bed." Moving carefully, he tried to pick her up without jostling her. She was shorter than he was, which helped a little, and she shifted to cling to his shoulders as soon as she caught on, which helped a lot. He leaned over to blow out the candles. Under the table Mozart gave a tired woof, then lay his head on his paws again. Shido told him to go ahead and sleep.
Her bedroom was down the hall; he moved quietly, trying to avoid the creaking spots in the floor. There was no one else here to wake up, these days; her maid had quit to get married in the summer, and the cook had retired that fall. It was harder for Madoka to get along without them, but she managed; she knew her clothes by feel, and called taxis when she went out alone, and Shido had learned enough about stoves to keep Madoka content, at least, although he suspected her friends would be horrified. Well, when she had parties she got them catered anyway. She'd felt so silly keeping the house staffed after her parents left, and besides - she'd been blushing when she said it - this way they had a little more privacy.
Shido remembered that; her face had been turned away, but her hand was resting at the joint of his shoulder, a little left of his heart.
When they were inside he pushed the door shut with his foot, then carried her over to the bed and laid her down. She hadn't made the bed that morning - uncharacteristic, but convenient; it spared him trying to pull down the sheets without dropping her. She laughed softly and began unbuttoning her dress. In the dark of the bedroom, what little moonlight and spilled streetlight made it through her lacy curtains, it was hard to make out the curves of her body. His eyes followed the motion of her hands as she tugged open the thick fabric. She wiggled out of the sleeves and tossed the dress to the floor. He pulled off his shirt, let his jeans crumple about his ankles, then stepped out of them and followed her into bed, tugging the blankets up over their shoulders. His hand found hers for a moment, and then she rolled against him and he tucked his arm over her shoulders. They kissed, almost absently; Madoka made a sleepy noise of inquiry, but Shido whispered back, "Go to sleep. It's late." She chuckled and laid her head on his chest, and he lay silently listening to the noises she made as she dropped off. They made love in the morning instead, with the comfortable laziness of people with no place to be and no particular desire to go.
Shido wondered somehow how he'd ended up here, with this comfortable place and contented life, close by the one he loved. He didn't question it much, though. This was how things were; why debate over happiness when he had taken struggle at face value? He made them soup for breakfast, and then Madoka left for her practice room to try out a Tchaicovsky waltz a friend had thought would make an interesting duet, Mozart at her heels, and he went to the garage to have another go at the birdhouse.
He was hammering in the last nail on the roof when his cellphone rang, and the noise was so startling he slipped and hit his thumb again. Wincing, he picked up the phone right-handed and licked at his left thumb, hoping the throbbing was going to go away. It was Hevn; he flipped it open. "Hello?"
"Shido-san, have I got something for you. A real doozy. Ton of money. You want to take your girlfriend to Hawaii for Christmas?" As always, her voice was lascivious, almost caressing the offer.
He scowled. "We're fine with Tokyo. If it's so big, why don't you give it to Ginji and his pet snake? I'm sure they could use a hot meal or two."
"They're not picking up. This needs doing today. You snooze, you lose. How about it, huh? Please, at least come meet the client?"
Well, he'd made a token attempt to toss it at Ginji, and he could alwys use the work. He realized, unexpectedly, that he was grinning - a fierce, predatory grin.
Before he left, he passed by the practice room to tell Madoka where he was going. She was running up and down scales, as she had a tendency to do when her mind was elsewhere. She set down the violin as soon as she heard him at the door, though.
"Got a job," he told her. "I might be back late. Tchaicovsky being difficult?"
"He's always difficult." She frowned and licked her lips. "Goes all over the place, and the piece wasn't meant for a violin, but I'll get it. Just have to try some more approaches. Be careful out there, alright?" She took his bandaged hand in hers; it took both to surround it completly. Her smile was bright. He touched her hand, felt the tension in it, the suprising strenth as she tightened her fingers.
"Of course I will. Don't wait up. I'll call you if I get done early."
Madoka smiled and tilted her head. "Too early, I might still be dueling Tchaicovsky."
"It's fine. I'll leave a message." He doubted he'd be done that fast; if it were so simple Hevn wouldn't have called him. But then, Madoka had faith in his skills.
She hesitated, then lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it, right at the edge of the bandage. "Be careful."
"Always." He touched her cheek, and then turned to walk away. By the time he reched the end of the hall, she'd picked up her tools again, and he could make out the tenative sounds of a waltz.
The warmth of her breath stayed on his hand longer than it had any right to.