Drabble Batch #02 (20/30)
Title: Drabble-Batch #02 (11-20)
Pairing: Shibutani Subaru x Yasuda Shota
Rating: G to PG-15
Genre: Fluff, Angst, AU, a bit of everything
Wordcount: 100 words each
Disclaimer: (here)
Synopsis: Second try to keep my words short. It's a shame that 13, 18 & 19 aren't any longer. Thank you so much for the wonderful comments to the first batch. And I would like you to be honest and tell me which ones are your favourite. And which ones you didn't like.
XI. Sweat
“Tell us one thing you like about Yasuda-kun”
His eyes, his hair, his smile, his hands, his guitar, his way with words, his music, the way his melodies make my head overflow with words, his smell, his piercing, his failing cooking-attempts, his body without clothes, his lips, the moment we collide, his fingers on my skin, my name whispered in a mixture of longing and desperation, the single drops of sweat rolling down his chest, outlining each muscle, disappearing from my sight behind his underwear, his sounds, his squirming, his pleads for more…
“He’s such a kind and warm person."
XII. Home alone
“I bet you missed me a lot”
As soon as he hears the well-known sound of a door unlocking, Shota is standing at the door, arms around his boyfriend’s neck, barely giving him time to put down his luggage. He can feel the familiar smile accompanying Subaru’s words, breathed against the blond strains right behind his earlobe, grazing that place, sending shivers down his spine.
His thoughts wander to empty-bedded, sleepless nights, to a pile of newly written songs about heartache and longing, to moments spent trying to suck the remaining bits of the subaru-ish smell from his pillow.
“Maybe.”
XIII. Groceries
Tuesdays were groceries days.
Now that he was all grown-up, nearly twelve, supermarkets bored him. Even, if he was the one driving the shopping cart, what was no fun at all if you had to keep an eye on bitchy grandmothers.
So that something from behind took him by surprise, passing him swiftly. All he could see was a blond bunch of hair rushing by.
He wouldn’t have thought that following that person would end up in a race through the supermarket, a thrown over stack of bean cans and a friendship he wouldn’t want to miss for the world.
XIV. Marzipan
Subaru didn’t like sweets. And he didn’t like Christmas.
If it wasn’t for supermarkets being filled with tons of chocolate Santas and brittle orbs, it would be for the housewives, including his mother, suddenly deciding to try out their baking skills.
So he just started to nag when he entered the kitchen and found Yassu, covered in layers of flour, trying to bake some cookies.
Up until the moment he felt a pair of lips shutting him up.
Subaru didn’t like sweets. But on Christmas, Yassu tasted like Marzipan. And there was no way he was going to abdicate that.
XV. Spring
Spring when they first met, love barely blossoming, with first touches shared, subtle glances exchanged and subliminal clues placed.
Summer when they first kissed, made hazy promises, discovered love, lust, intimacy, shared security in each other’s arms.
Autumn when one started to doubt, when one grew tired, when hiding wasn’t an option anymore, when the first showers set in, turning their brilliant colours into an achromatic sludge.
Winter when subtle glances turned cold, colours all gone, leaving only dullness and empty beds.
Spring again when shared sentences became warm again, when touches regained their purpose, when “I’m sorry”s were whispered.
XVI. Monopoly
“Let’s play monopoly!” A rectangular box entered Subaru’s focus, nearly bumping into his nose.
“I don’t want to. It will last hours and it’s boring if it’s only the two of us playing.”
“Shibuyan.” Subaru sighed. He had learned to resist those puppy-eyes. But there presence made him feel guilty.
“And I will let you win, anyway. Otherwise you’ll be all pout-y and we won’t have sex tonight.” “You’re no fun.” Yasu pouted. And Subaru kissed him. With tongue.
“Let’s skip Monopoly and go over to the interesting part of the evening.” A suggestion in-between two kisses. Yasu didn’t complain.
XVII. Memorial
“It’s been four years.”
A kiss, only fleetingly touching strands of brown hair.
“Four years already”
Another kiss, settled on that place, where a slender neck blends into firm shoulder blades.
“Subaru.”
Shota waits for a third kiss that wouldn’t come.
He can feel the other’s hands, enlaced with his own, leaving nondescript tickles wherever fingertips touch skin.
“Say something.”
Fingertips stopped moving.
A sigh, grazing down his neck.
“What do you want me to say?”
“It’s unfair. It’s pathetic. And I miss him.”
“And you’re wailing won’t change anything.”
“But...” Subaru’s lips place a third kiss on his lips.
XVIII. Dust
Subaru was never quite enthusiastic to clean his apartment.
Weeks passed till he decided to do something against all the dirt. For example when he started to miss shirts or music sheets. Or when his fridge talked back. In a rather green and furry way. And sharing his kitchen table with a throng of six-legged boarders and a thick dust layer wasn’t that appealing.
“Don’t you think you should clean more often?” Yassu entered his boyfriend’s apartment, opening the first window he passed.
“I don’t see any point in cleaning when I spend most of my time over at yours.”
XIX. Lonely road
His work consisted of dully passing the same scenery several times a week.
His transit to dawn was soundless but for the sound of speed, a nearby creek, where he never knew when a dear decided to jump on the road in his middle of nowhere.
His work was pathetic, but the feeling of that damp air, the trees, the lights, the emptiness was his.
He was quite surprised when, one morning, he found a young man sitting at his road, all golden bangs and smiling, backpack casually leaning against his tennis socked calf.
“Need a ride?” “Anywhere is fine.”
XX. Puzzle
Sometimes they would find them.
Those flaws, the missing pieces of their puzzle, leaving holes, incomplete pictures and gaps for quarrels and misunderstandings.
Maybe they found them between two mismatching pillows or between deciding what to cook for dinner, between girls.
Shota liked to fathom those things, liked to talk about them, to let them linger for a second, liked to find a solution.
Subaru would shrug them away, trying to store them up somewhere between fold towels and buried fights.
Like a pair of mismatched socks, one would say, tapping sock-wrapped feet which came in mismatched colours today, too.