GWYM (Saiyuki AU) Ficlet for Evilchuckles
Author: Sunspot
Prompt: Brother Clement/Wujing: Mood
Rating: PG
Note: The delightful Evilchuckles was in need of fic distraction, and I wrote her a posy of ficlets. This is one of them. 1830s frontier US Saiyuki AU
Wujing wasn’t often moody. Certainly he might come home disquieted, or even angry, about some piece of news, or some injustice in town. But he would stomp around and wave his arms, and lay the situation out for Clement in his expressive gambler’s argot, and either work his way to exactly what he would do about it, or find himself facing a metaphorical brick wall even a half-river dragon couldn’t scale, and give a sigh, and mutter, “it just ain’t right,” and get on with life as he lived it.
But there were sorrows in Wujing’s past, the depths of which Clement would never know, for all the oceans of regret he himself too often foundered in. So when Clement came in from gathering eggs, basket on his arm, to find Wujing not engaged in some small task as usual, nor readying himself to go to town, but gazing out the window into the woods in an uncharacteristic brown study, he knew to tread lightly.
Clement forbore interrupting his friend, beyond the barest brush of a kiss to his head where he sat, elbows on windowsill, and set about putting together a dinner suitable to the state of the nominal head of their household.
Nothing too special, or Wujing would feel Clement was coddling him, and Wujing was a proud man. But something that would be appreciated, and that would equally communicate that Clement appreciated him, both his efforts toward their well-being, and Wujing himself, intrinsically.
Clement took the eggs down cellar, and examined the larder, and decided on chicken pie, with a biscuit crust. A slight extravagance, but not beyond what Clement might indulge in making if the mood took him. And there was part of a capon left from Sunday’s dinner, which was the main requirement, as Clement had neither the time nor inclination to kill and singe and draw a pullet, nor to disturb Wujing by asking him to do it.
Clement gathered what he would need and made his way up the ladder and through the trapdoor, then set to chopping carrots and onions and mixing biscuit dough, and all that went into preparing the chosen dish. Wujing looked over at him from his perch by the window, and gave him a wan smile, and went back to gazing.
Dinner restored his friend somewhat. Wujing praised the meal and Clement’s efforts and they talked quietly of this and that. But his customary ebullience was still dampened, if not absent.
After, Wujing hauled the water for the dishes, and saw to a few chores while it heated, then took his place at Clement’s side to dry their few dishes as Clement washed them. It was while they were engaged in this enterprise that Wujing spoke seriously, perhaps revealing what had occupied his attention.
“D’y’ever think we should just quit this place, Clem? Go back among them that know what we are?”
“I can’t go back among the Mamaceqtaw, dear,” Clement said quietly.
“I know that,” Wujing said, impatience edging his words, “and I know you’re accountable to Sanzo and his lot. But the Meshkwahkihaki or their allies s’d have us, and old cranky’d know where to find you.”
Clement sighed. That a hunger for the People’s places and the People’s ways pulled at him he couldn’t deny. But there was more to it than Wujing made out there to be, and some of it more complicated than Clement was sure he could express. Or wished to.
“You’ve built so much here,” Clement began, meaning the cabin, and the land around it, and the people in town who looked to Wujing to help make decisions and get things done, even though he was a gambler, and a half-breed (more so than they knew), and wild in his ways. “We both have.”
“True ‘nuff,” Wujing admitted. “Lead Point’d miss their schoolteacher, and their midwife.”
And miss a man who could build a wagon, and lay out a house square and true, and figure compound interest rates in his head with never a day of schooling. And who would pick up his tools to help anyone who needed it, mine foreman or saloon girl, soon as he heard what needed doing.
Which perhaps was something Clement ought to think about. He handed off the last dish, and glanced across the cabin and through the window. Not that anyone came casually to them-their road ended in front of the cabin, so passers by were few, and invariably lost.
The yard was clear, as expected. Clement turned and put his hands on Wujing’s waist, one to either side. “Is it for you you think of going back, or me?”
Wujing looked away, then shrugged, then met Clement’s gaze. “You, mostly,” he admitted. “I’m all right here, have been for a while. It’s just . . .”
He broke off, but Clement saw the storm brewing in those dear, once-disturbing, crimson eyes. He waited.
“They don’t respect you like they should.” Wujing’s voice rose only a little, but Clement could taste the bitterness injustice always raised in Wujing, all the sharper when its target was one of his own. “The Catholics do, and most o’ the women, and the men whose wives and babies are alive ‘cause you was there.”
“That sounds like a pretty comprehensive list, nemeshkwethiwa,” Clement said gently.
“Yeah,” Wujing admitted. “But the ones that don’t, you know the kind of horseshit they say.”
Clement did. And ventured the sort of joke he didn’t often dare. “Shall I turn into a giant bear then, and devour the naysayers?”
Wujing barked a slightly shocked laugh.
“Naw,” he said, “look where that got you.”
“It got me here, eventually,” Clement said mildly and leaned in to kiss him.
Wujing made a surprised noise, and then a hungry one, and put down the last tin dish on the side of the sink. One arm went around Clement’s back, and one up so Wujing could sink his fingers arousingly in Clement’s hair. Clement let his own hands slip up from Wujing’s waist, under the open vest he habitually wore, to slide deliciously against warm bare skin.
Clement felt a moan rise in his throat, and pushed in closer as Wujing deepened their kisses. Wujing’s fingers tangled with the string that kept Clement’s eye patch on and Clement made an impatient noise and reached up to remove it, something even Wujing was not allowed to do without permission, and stuffed it one handed into the pocket of his trousers.
There was an advantage to being nearly of a height-they could kiss and kiss while standing and neither would suffer from a cricked neck. That said . . .
“Bed,” Wujing broke off to say, breathless.
“My thoughts exactly,” Clement panted, and grinned at him, and Wujing laughed, and they turned as one and crossed the small distance to their bedroom door and beyond at a near run.
Prompt: Brother Clement/Wujing: Mood
Rating: PG
Note: The delightful Evilchuckles was in need of fic distraction, and I wrote her a posy of ficlets. This is one of them. 1830s frontier US Saiyuki AU
Wujing wasn’t often moody. Certainly he might come home disquieted, or even angry, about some piece of news, or some injustice in town. But he would stomp around and wave his arms, and lay the situation out for Clement in his expressive gambler’s argot, and either work his way to exactly what he would do about it, or find himself facing a metaphorical brick wall even a half-river dragon couldn’t scale, and give a sigh, and mutter, “it just ain’t right,” and get on with life as he lived it.
But there were sorrows in Wujing’s past, the depths of which Clement would never know, for all the oceans of regret he himself too often foundered in. So when Clement came in from gathering eggs, basket on his arm, to find Wujing not engaged in some small task as usual, nor readying himself to go to town, but gazing out the window into the woods in an uncharacteristic brown study, he knew to tread lightly.
Clement forbore interrupting his friend, beyond the barest brush of a kiss to his head where he sat, elbows on windowsill, and set about putting together a dinner suitable to the state of the nominal head of their household.
Nothing too special, or Wujing would feel Clement was coddling him, and Wujing was a proud man. But something that would be appreciated, and that would equally communicate that Clement appreciated him, both his efforts toward their well-being, and Wujing himself, intrinsically.
Clement took the eggs down cellar, and examined the larder, and decided on chicken pie, with a biscuit crust. A slight extravagance, but not beyond what Clement might indulge in making if the mood took him. And there was part of a capon left from Sunday’s dinner, which was the main requirement, as Clement had neither the time nor inclination to kill and singe and draw a pullet, nor to disturb Wujing by asking him to do it.
Clement gathered what he would need and made his way up the ladder and through the trapdoor, then set to chopping carrots and onions and mixing biscuit dough, and all that went into preparing the chosen dish. Wujing looked over at him from his perch by the window, and gave him a wan smile, and went back to gazing.
Dinner restored his friend somewhat. Wujing praised the meal and Clement’s efforts and they talked quietly of this and that. But his customary ebullience was still dampened, if not absent.
After, Wujing hauled the water for the dishes, and saw to a few chores while it heated, then took his place at Clement’s side to dry their few dishes as Clement washed them. It was while they were engaged in this enterprise that Wujing spoke seriously, perhaps revealing what had occupied his attention.
“D’y’ever think we should just quit this place, Clem? Go back among them that know what we are?”
“I can’t go back among the Mamaceqtaw, dear,” Clement said quietly.
“I know that,” Wujing said, impatience edging his words, “and I know you’re accountable to Sanzo and his lot. But the Meshkwahkihaki or their allies s’d have us, and old cranky’d know where to find you.”
Clement sighed. That a hunger for the People’s places and the People’s ways pulled at him he couldn’t deny. But there was more to it than Wujing made out there to be, and some of it more complicated than Clement was sure he could express. Or wished to.
“You’ve built so much here,” Clement began, meaning the cabin, and the land around it, and the people in town who looked to Wujing to help make decisions and get things done, even though he was a gambler, and a half-breed (more so than they knew), and wild in his ways. “We both have.”
“True ‘nuff,” Wujing admitted. “Lead Point’d miss their schoolteacher, and their midwife.”
And miss a man who could build a wagon, and lay out a house square and true, and figure compound interest rates in his head with never a day of schooling. And who would pick up his tools to help anyone who needed it, mine foreman or saloon girl, soon as he heard what needed doing.
Which perhaps was something Clement ought to think about. He handed off the last dish, and glanced across the cabin and through the window. Not that anyone came casually to them-their road ended in front of the cabin, so passers by were few, and invariably lost.
The yard was clear, as expected. Clement turned and put his hands on Wujing’s waist, one to either side. “Is it for you you think of going back, or me?”
Wujing looked away, then shrugged, then met Clement’s gaze. “You, mostly,” he admitted. “I’m all right here, have been for a while. It’s just . . .”
He broke off, but Clement saw the storm brewing in those dear, once-disturbing, crimson eyes. He waited.
“They don’t respect you like they should.” Wujing’s voice rose only a little, but Clement could taste the bitterness injustice always raised in Wujing, all the sharper when its target was one of his own. “The Catholics do, and most o’ the women, and the men whose wives and babies are alive ‘cause you was there.”
“That sounds like a pretty comprehensive list, nemeshkwethiwa,” Clement said gently.
“Yeah,” Wujing admitted. “But the ones that don’t, you know the kind of horseshit they say.”
Clement did. And ventured the sort of joke he didn’t often dare. “Shall I turn into a giant bear then, and devour the naysayers?”
Wujing barked a slightly shocked laugh.
“Naw,” he said, “look where that got you.”
“It got me here, eventually,” Clement said mildly and leaned in to kiss him.
Wujing made a surprised noise, and then a hungry one, and put down the last tin dish on the side of the sink. One arm went around Clement’s back, and one up so Wujing could sink his fingers arousingly in Clement’s hair. Clement let his own hands slip up from Wujing’s waist, under the open vest he habitually wore, to slide deliciously against warm bare skin.
Clement felt a moan rise in his throat, and pushed in closer as Wujing deepened their kisses. Wujing’s fingers tangled with the string that kept Clement’s eye patch on and Clement made an impatient noise and reached up to remove it, something even Wujing was not allowed to do without permission, and stuffed it one handed into the pocket of his trousers.
There was an advantage to being nearly of a height-they could kiss and kiss while standing and neither would suffer from a cricked neck. That said . . .
“Bed,” Wujing broke off to say, breathless.
“My thoughts exactly,” Clement panted, and grinned at him, and Wujing laughed, and they turned as one and crossed the small distance to their bedroom door and beyond at a near run.