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Fandom: Kishidan
Title: Fanta!
Pairing(s): Ranma x Matsu
Rating: G alskhf;leiyfhjka;hfg
Warnings: None. Well, maybe a bit of immaturity. D;
Summary: Ranma and Matsu... drink Fanta. Yeah.
Ranma and Matsu studied the can presented to them with apprehension.
Show, in his own special way, had decided that the best thing for writing a visual-kei song would be a singular can of fizzy orange drink. Oh, but not just any old fizzy drink.
Fanta.
Imported from jolly England, because, according to Show’s infinite wisdom, “English food tastes bad, so their drinks must taste better.”
He couldn’t have gotten a can of what was likely to be exactly the same orange flavoured drink from downstairs in the vending machine, could he?
Matsu wiped a sticky hand on his pants and opened the can hesitantly. There was a sad, quiet hiss, and then nothing. With a nudge from Ranma, he lifted the can up to his lips and took a sip.
Ranma broke the silence that followed with a whimper.
“Are you okay?” he asked, as Matsu took another, longer drink from the foreign can before sitting it down on the table. “It’s not past the use-by date, is it?”
Matsu looked up after another minute of silence. “Can Fanta go off?” he questioned inwardly, his heart-shaped lips pursed in thought. “Would we know if it was off?”
These mumbled questions plunged Ranma into a new world of worry. Would they know if it was off indeed… “You feel okay?”
“… Well yeah.”
“Not sick or anything?”
“No.”
“No faintness, dizziness… ?”
“It’s Fanta.”
“But it’s foreign!” Ranma exclaimed, soon adding “And from Show, too!”
“Show wouldn’t poison us.”
Ranma didn’t answer that. But nor did he protest (much) when Matsu pushed the can up against his lips, a smudge of chocolate icing from the bassist’s morning tea mingling with the very ordinary taste of unrefrigerated Fanta.
It took all of Ranma’s strength to not lick his lips as he pushed the can down, lest the other man thought he actually liked the drink.
“Tastes like Fanta.” Ranma commented after a moment.
Matsu nodded. “Yeah. You dead?”
“Nah, don’t think so.”
Matsu paused, then narrowed his eyes. “You been stealing my cake?”
This caught Ranma a little off-guard. “N-no?”
“Well, what do you call this?!”
A sticky finger brushed against Ranma’s top lip, lingering ever so slightly, and then was wiped on his nose.
“Brown nose!” Matsu teased, and Ranma responded with an unintelligible splutter.
With that, the bassist turned away and went back to writing lyrics, something he had insisted on doing. Deadly oranges, or something like that.
Ranma wasn’t exactly sure why, but right now, he didn’t mind. He just took a sip of room-temperature Fanta and dreamt of what it would be like if Matsu was as tall as Tommy.
Title: Fanta!
Pairing(s): Ranma x Matsu
Rating: G alskhf;leiyfhjka;hfg
Warnings: None. Well, maybe a bit of immaturity. D;
Summary: Ranma and Matsu... drink Fanta. Yeah.
Ranma and Matsu studied the can presented to them with apprehension.
Show, in his own special way, had decided that the best thing for writing a visual-kei song would be a singular can of fizzy orange drink. Oh, but not just any old fizzy drink.
Fanta.
Imported from jolly England, because, according to Show’s infinite wisdom, “English food tastes bad, so their drinks must taste better.”
He couldn’t have gotten a can of what was likely to be exactly the same orange flavoured drink from downstairs in the vending machine, could he?
Matsu wiped a sticky hand on his pants and opened the can hesitantly. There was a sad, quiet hiss, and then nothing. With a nudge from Ranma, he lifted the can up to his lips and took a sip.
Ranma broke the silence that followed with a whimper.
“Are you okay?” he asked, as Matsu took another, longer drink from the foreign can before sitting it down on the table. “It’s not past the use-by date, is it?”
Matsu looked up after another minute of silence. “Can Fanta go off?” he questioned inwardly, his heart-shaped lips pursed in thought. “Would we know if it was off?”
These mumbled questions plunged Ranma into a new world of worry. Would they know if it was off indeed… “You feel okay?”
“… Well yeah.”
“Not sick or anything?”
“No.”
“No faintness, dizziness… ?”
“It’s Fanta.”
“But it’s foreign!” Ranma exclaimed, soon adding “And from Show, too!”
“Show wouldn’t poison us.”
Ranma didn’t answer that. But nor did he protest (much) when Matsu pushed the can up against his lips, a smudge of chocolate icing from the bassist’s morning tea mingling with the very ordinary taste of unrefrigerated Fanta.
It took all of Ranma’s strength to not lick his lips as he pushed the can down, lest the other man thought he actually liked the drink.
“Tastes like Fanta.” Ranma commented after a moment.
Matsu nodded. “Yeah. You dead?”
“Nah, don’t think so.”
Matsu paused, then narrowed his eyes. “You been stealing my cake?”
This caught Ranma a little off-guard. “N-no?”
“Well, what do you call this?!”
A sticky finger brushed against Ranma’s top lip, lingering ever so slightly, and then was wiped on his nose.
“Brown nose!” Matsu teased, and Ranma responded with an unintelligible splutter.
With that, the bassist turned away and went back to writing lyrics, something he had insisted on doing. Deadly oranges, or something like that.
Ranma wasn’t exactly sure why, but right now, he didn’t mind. He just took a sip of room-temperature Fanta and dreamt of what it would be like if Matsu was as tall as Tommy.