(no subject)
Title: The Art of Gifting
Author: sweeteglantine
Pairing: Oshitari/Atobe
Rating: PG
Words: 1,284
A/N: Written for theprerogative because she deserves to know how much she can inspire. The lines in italics are all hers. They were my inspiration for this fic because they struck me very, very hard when she said them, though I never told her so. <3 Feel better, Chrissie.
Atobe’s birthday was, without fail, headache for half the student population of Hyoutei. First and foremost, there was his swarm of fangirls, all fighting to stand out in gifting “their” great Atobe-sama. Then, there was the student government members who thought it wouldn’t hurt to be favored in a positive light by Atobe, who routinely rebuffed proposals without so much as three second’s glance. And then, of course, one could never leave out the sub-regular pool of the boy’s tennis club, all eager to gift Atobe into speaking to Kantoku about their ability as a regular the way Atobe had done for Shishido.
Shishido, it should be mentioned, was probably one of the only people who did not lose sleep over Atobe’s birthday. He could throw a lava lamp at Atobe, and Atobe would rant and rave over it just to be contrary and ruffle Shishido’s feathers.
It should also be mentioned that, though he would shrug and be his unspeakably insouciant self, Oshitari was not entirely untroubled by Atobe’s birthday. After all, what one gave to someone who had everything - and probably more - was a question he had yet to answer. This was not a problem that watching The Way We Were or Dirty Dancing would solve, much to Oshitari’s disappointment and undisclosed distress.
“You’re coming over on Sunday, right?”
Oshitari stopped doodling on his notebook. What was Sunday? “Your party’s on Saturday, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Oshitari prompted, “So…?”
“You forgot.” Atobe sounded on edge, and Oshitari racked his brains furiously for what he could have possibly promised to do with Atobe on Sunday.
“What was I supposed to remember?”
“You are sitting in with me through the family birthday dinner on Sunday so that I do not dig out my father’s eyes with my soup spoon. On Monday after practice, you promised you would.”
Oshitari frowned. “I can’t Sunday. I have a violin recital, remember?”
“You’re going to leave me to die on my own?”
“If it’s any consolation, it sounds like your father’s going to be the one doing the dying.”
Oshitari could hear Atobe fuming, and he realized that silence did indeed make a sound.
“Atobe - ”
“It’s fine,” Atobe said. “You would probably end up being thrown out of the house like last time anyways.”
“I thought you said last time was a success?”
Atobe probably looked very appalled on the other end of the phone. “You struck a conversation with my father about Ghost and were relentlessly obnoxious throughout dinner. You tell me if that’s a success.”
“Like any healthy young man, I like to see things I initiate to a finish.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously brilliant? Why, thank you.”
“Ridiculously ridiculous, you…lumpish dread-bolted wagtail.”
“Shakespearean insults! Talk classy to me some more,” Oshitari purred, and wasn’t surprised when, after a long pause, he was met with a snappish click and then dial tone.
He chuckled quietly to himself, not bothering to replace the phone in the cradle because in no less than a minute, Atobe would call back, as they were Not Finished and he was most likely Not Amused. Tapping his pen against the calculus he had not yet touched save for to doodle on, Oshitari stared out the window at a little girl with braids who was chasing an even littler boy wearing kiddie overalls. They were playing tag.
What do you give to someone who has everything?
Outside, the little girl latched on to one of the straps of the boy’s overalls, sending them both stumbling backwards. Fifteen or so years older, they would look like a young couple in love. Oshitari looked back at the little stick person he was etching onto his math homework.
Well.
--------------------------------------------
As soon as Atobe’s father had dismissed everyone with a curt “We are finished,” Atobe hauled Oshitari into his room and slammed the door shut.
“That did not just happen.”
“Sure it did.” Oshitari looked at Atobe’s hands on either side of his head, and smirked in a way that was too lewd to be considered suggestive. “You aren't usually this aggressive late at night, Atobe.”
“Well, you don’t usually appear unannounced on my doorstep with your violin,” Atobe retorted, but dropped his hands and plopped himself down on the bed, lying down with his legs dangling over the edge. He slung an arm over his eyes.
“I thought you’d like it.”
Atobe lifted his arm, and peeked over the curve of his nose to see Oshitari sit down on the adjacent side of the bed. He considered this statement-question. “I did. But you said you had a violin recital tonight.”
“I did,” Oshitari said, Atobe’s echo, “just a few minutes ago, in fact. I had a full two people gain in audience today.” The grin on Oshitari’s face was cheeky and it made Atobe want to Tannhäuser serve him across the room.
“Don’t lie to me,” Atobe said, throwing a sloppy punch at Oshitari’s shoulder, but missing and hitting his elbow instead. “You usually have a whole auditorium of people watching.”
“They’re watching, but they never see.” Rolling left on his hips toward Atobe, Oshitari flopped back. They bumped heads awkwardly, but didn’t move apart. “Your mother, on the other hand, seemed very engaged.”
“She’s very married,” Atobe corrected. “And please stop looking leery.” He didn’t even need to turn his head to see the look on Oshitari’s face; he had a pretty good idea. “You are not allowed to think of my mother like that when I’m in the room - or ever, actually. She treats you like a son, and you’re not Oedipus the King.”
“Are you jealous?”
Atobe sat up quickly and gave Oshitari a disgusted shove. “Of my mother? No. What is the matter with you? You’re not usually this stupid.”
“I think it’s as a result of how often you hit me over the head with 10kg plus objects.” Oshitari blinked pathetically at Atobe. He faked a better kicked puppy face than Jirou when he tried. “The number of brain cells I lose accumulatively over a three-month period is staggering, you know.”
Shooting Oshitari a withering glance, Atobe swung his legs onto the bed and laid back down. Their bodies were set like two parallel lines heading in opposite directions. “And yet somehow you still manage to survive and be knowingly insufferable. Are you expecting a prize?”
“I’d like that.” The wide grin was still on Oshitari’s face, but his voice had softened into a whisper.
Oshitari’s gaze smoked through his glasses, and Atobe couldn’t look away. The only other thing more captivating was the way Oshitari’s lips moved, like ripples over water. “Funny. I thought I was supposed to be the one receiving a gift.”
Oshitari cocked his head. The distance between their noses narrowed. “Didn’t you?”
Atobe considered this - or, at least, tried to. “Your violin teacher is going to hunt you down with an axe and murder you in your sleep.”
Chuckling, Oshitari lowered his eyelids until he was looking at Atobe through azure slits and the image was sharper, more precise. “Would you miss me?”
A groan erupted in Atobe’s throat as he tugged Oshitari in by his tie, the silky fabric wrinkling in folds underneath his fingers. Their lips moved in harmony between the linear straights of their bodies. Read between the lines indeed.
It was as they bent slowly into soft curves so that the parallel was lost and replaced by roundness and fullness that Oshitari smiled into Atobe’s mouth. Atobe wasn’t sure what he was smiling about, but he smiled back anyway.
So what do you give to someone who has everything?
The answer was simpler than Oshitari had anticipated.
Yourself.
Author: sweeteglantine
Pairing: Oshitari/Atobe
Rating: PG
Words: 1,284
A/N: Written for theprerogative because she deserves to know how much she can inspire. The lines in italics are all hers. They were my inspiration for this fic because they struck me very, very hard when she said them, though I never told her so. <3 Feel better, Chrissie.
Atobe’s birthday was, without fail, headache for half the student population of Hyoutei. First and foremost, there was his swarm of fangirls, all fighting to stand out in gifting “their” great Atobe-sama. Then, there was the student government members who thought it wouldn’t hurt to be favored in a positive light by Atobe, who routinely rebuffed proposals without so much as three second’s glance. And then, of course, one could never leave out the sub-regular pool of the boy’s tennis club, all eager to gift Atobe into speaking to Kantoku about their ability as a regular the way Atobe had done for Shishido.
Shishido, it should be mentioned, was probably one of the only people who did not lose sleep over Atobe’s birthday. He could throw a lava lamp at Atobe, and Atobe would rant and rave over it just to be contrary and ruffle Shishido’s feathers.
It should also be mentioned that, though he would shrug and be his unspeakably insouciant self, Oshitari was not entirely untroubled by Atobe’s birthday. After all, what one gave to someone who had everything - and probably more - was a question he had yet to answer. This was not a problem that watching The Way We Were or Dirty Dancing would solve, much to Oshitari’s disappointment and undisclosed distress.
“You’re coming over on Sunday, right?”
Oshitari stopped doodling on his notebook. What was Sunday? “Your party’s on Saturday, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Oshitari prompted, “So…?”
“You forgot.” Atobe sounded on edge, and Oshitari racked his brains furiously for what he could have possibly promised to do with Atobe on Sunday.
“What was I supposed to remember?”
“You are sitting in with me through the family birthday dinner on Sunday so that I do not dig out my father’s eyes with my soup spoon. On Monday after practice, you promised you would.”
Oshitari frowned. “I can’t Sunday. I have a violin recital, remember?”
“You’re going to leave me to die on my own?”
“If it’s any consolation, it sounds like your father’s going to be the one doing the dying.”
Oshitari could hear Atobe fuming, and he realized that silence did indeed make a sound.
“Atobe - ”
“It’s fine,” Atobe said. “You would probably end up being thrown out of the house like last time anyways.”
“I thought you said last time was a success?”
Atobe probably looked very appalled on the other end of the phone. “You struck a conversation with my father about Ghost and were relentlessly obnoxious throughout dinner. You tell me if that’s a success.”
“Like any healthy young man, I like to see things I initiate to a finish.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously brilliant? Why, thank you.”
“Ridiculously ridiculous, you…lumpish dread-bolted wagtail.”
“Shakespearean insults! Talk classy to me some more,” Oshitari purred, and wasn’t surprised when, after a long pause, he was met with a snappish click and then dial tone.
He chuckled quietly to himself, not bothering to replace the phone in the cradle because in no less than a minute, Atobe would call back, as they were Not Finished and he was most likely Not Amused. Tapping his pen against the calculus he had not yet touched save for to doodle on, Oshitari stared out the window at a little girl with braids who was chasing an even littler boy wearing kiddie overalls. They were playing tag.
What do you give to someone who has everything?
Outside, the little girl latched on to one of the straps of the boy’s overalls, sending them both stumbling backwards. Fifteen or so years older, they would look like a young couple in love. Oshitari looked back at the little stick person he was etching onto his math homework.
Well.
--------------------------------------------
As soon as Atobe’s father had dismissed everyone with a curt “We are finished,” Atobe hauled Oshitari into his room and slammed the door shut.
“That did not just happen.”
“Sure it did.” Oshitari looked at Atobe’s hands on either side of his head, and smirked in a way that was too lewd to be considered suggestive. “You aren't usually this aggressive late at night, Atobe.”
“Well, you don’t usually appear unannounced on my doorstep with your violin,” Atobe retorted, but dropped his hands and plopped himself down on the bed, lying down with his legs dangling over the edge. He slung an arm over his eyes.
“I thought you’d like it.”
Atobe lifted his arm, and peeked over the curve of his nose to see Oshitari sit down on the adjacent side of the bed. He considered this statement-question. “I did. But you said you had a violin recital tonight.”
“I did,” Oshitari said, Atobe’s echo, “just a few minutes ago, in fact. I had a full two people gain in audience today.” The grin on Oshitari’s face was cheeky and it made Atobe want to Tannhäuser serve him across the room.
“Don’t lie to me,” Atobe said, throwing a sloppy punch at Oshitari’s shoulder, but missing and hitting his elbow instead. “You usually have a whole auditorium of people watching.”
“They’re watching, but they never see.” Rolling left on his hips toward Atobe, Oshitari flopped back. They bumped heads awkwardly, but didn’t move apart. “Your mother, on the other hand, seemed very engaged.”
“She’s very married,” Atobe corrected. “And please stop looking leery.” He didn’t even need to turn his head to see the look on Oshitari’s face; he had a pretty good idea. “You are not allowed to think of my mother like that when I’m in the room - or ever, actually. She treats you like a son, and you’re not Oedipus the King.”
“Are you jealous?”
Atobe sat up quickly and gave Oshitari a disgusted shove. “Of my mother? No. What is the matter with you? You’re not usually this stupid.”
“I think it’s as a result of how often you hit me over the head with 10kg plus objects.” Oshitari blinked pathetically at Atobe. He faked a better kicked puppy face than Jirou when he tried. “The number of brain cells I lose accumulatively over a three-month period is staggering, you know.”
Shooting Oshitari a withering glance, Atobe swung his legs onto the bed and laid back down. Their bodies were set like two parallel lines heading in opposite directions. “And yet somehow you still manage to survive and be knowingly insufferable. Are you expecting a prize?”
“I’d like that.” The wide grin was still on Oshitari’s face, but his voice had softened into a whisper.
Oshitari’s gaze smoked through his glasses, and Atobe couldn’t look away. The only other thing more captivating was the way Oshitari’s lips moved, like ripples over water. “Funny. I thought I was supposed to be the one receiving a gift.”
Oshitari cocked his head. The distance between their noses narrowed. “Didn’t you?”
Atobe considered this - or, at least, tried to. “Your violin teacher is going to hunt you down with an axe and murder you in your sleep.”
Chuckling, Oshitari lowered his eyelids until he was looking at Atobe through azure slits and the image was sharper, more precise. “Would you miss me?”
A groan erupted in Atobe’s throat as he tugged Oshitari in by his tie, the silky fabric wrinkling in folds underneath his fingers. Their lips moved in harmony between the linear straights of their bodies. Read between the lines indeed.
It was as they bent slowly into soft curves so that the parallel was lost and replaced by roundness and fullness that Oshitari smiled into Atobe’s mouth. Atobe wasn’t sure what he was smiling about, but he smiled back anyway.
So what do you give to someone who has everything?
The answer was simpler than Oshitari had anticipated.
Yourself.