A few of the requests

[ciircee]

I invited you lot to pick a story and bid me continue on as to what happened after that. Well, you did. And I did. Meet results one and two. Three, four, and five are on the way. Ten spots remain open.

ickaimp asked for a follow up to a donut I ninja'd at ysabet. She even made art for it! I squeaked at her, I think.



You have got to be kidding me, Doumeki thought, staring at Watanuki.

Watanuki stared back at him and then hiccupped drunkenly. "So? Huh?" he asked, swaying where he stood.

"You could just sleep in your clothes," he said, fingers itching. Oh, he knew better. He knew so much better than to accept the offer of helping Watanuki out of his clothing.

"No, I can't," Watanuki said waspishly, managing to wrangle a loose grip on Doumeki's hands. Not that he fought him off. Much. "There are buttons." Doumeki knew he should have struggled rather than let Watanuki bring their hands to his chest. "You can't sleep in buttons."

Doumeki seized on that like a life-line. "There is not any bad luck associated with that," he said, remembering the thing about nail clipping at night. "I'd know. If there is anything that is bad luck, temple brats know."

"I didn't say it was bad luck. Buttons hurt when you sleep on them, that's all." Watanuki let go of his hands and Doumeki pretended that he forgot where his hand were and left them on the sylphlike expanse of Watanuki's chest, just left of the buttons on his shirt. He didn't really mean to grab a few handfuls of fabric when Watanuki's hands settled on his face. "I won't yell at you. It's not perverted if I ask."

He looked so sweetly sincere that Doumeki gave in to the worst of his impulses. "Whatever," he muttered roughly, finding the first button and slipping it easily with his not-so-drunk reflexes. "I want eel tomorrow, then."

"Sure." Watanuki beamed at him, patted his face, and then undid the top button on Doumeki's shirt.

"Hey!"

Watanuki gave him a cross look. "You can't sleep with buttons on."

Doumeki opened the last of Watanuki's buttons and tried to ignore the lovely, pale skin he'd uncovered. "You can't, maybe. I can."

"You can't if you're sleeping with me," Watanuki said, shaking his head as though Doumeki were some errant toddler who needed explaining to. "And you are."

It took a moment to process that statement, since those words had coincided with Watanuki resting his head on Doumeki and the words had sent a skitter-sly chill of air over the hollow of his throat. "I are what?" he asked dizzily. "And I thought you needed help getting out of your clothes," he added, not pointing out the fact that Watanuki was wrecking havoc on his shirtfront in case it made him stop.

Watanuki beamed at him. "You am sleeping with me," he said brightly. "And I need help out of my clothes because I can't see my buttons. I can see yours just fine. Pants too."

"No."

"There's a button and a zipper."

Absolutely not, Doumeki thought. He might have drawn a line in the sand, but he knew damn well that he'd drawn one. "I'm not—" he cut off with a sharp hiss as Watanuki's clever, slender fingers yanked his zipper down and shoved his pants off his hips.

"Now do me!"

Oh, yes, his blood sang, hammering out the thoughts like Morse code in his veins, oh, yes, please. "You have to promise you won't yell at me in the morning and call me a pervert," he said roughly, slipping his shaking fingers under the waistband of Watanuki's pants so that he could thumb the button open.

"I already said I wouldn't," Watanuki peeked up at him, blue eyes glowing in the sodium arc from the streetlamp outside. Doumeki didn't ever realize he'd lowered the zipper until Watanuki wriggled and they were left standing there in nothing but their underwear, so close together that Doumeki could feel the heat of their bodies mingling between them. "Man, I'm tired!" Watanuki broke the moment by flopping back onto his bed with a creaking bounce.

Doumeki swallowed hard. "This is totally innocent because we're both drunk," he said to nobody in particular.

Watanuki pulled the blankets back and patted the futon mattress invitingly. "Sure," he said easily. "And I don't have any other furniture and since you're drunk you can't sleep on the floor; you'd get sick."

"And it's innocent," Doumeki added uneasily as he crawled in under the sheets, trying to ignore the excessive quantities of naked boy-skin lying all around him. He was not going to take advantage of Watanuki. He'd rather cut off several highly regarded appendages than take advantage. "OKAY, IT'S NOT SO INNOCENT!" he yelped as Watanuki rolled over and threw most of his body over most of his own, like a living blanket.

"Shhhh," Watanuki hummed in his ear. He cuddled in, draping one of Doumeki's arms over his shoulder. "I'm glad you're my friend, Doumeki. And if you tell me I said that tomorrow, I'm going to yell at you."

"Okay," he murmured, brushing his cheek against the down-soft skin of Watanuki's shoulder. The parts of him that had been thinking of silk kimono and soft sighs curled up, the warmth of other feelings—more complicated longings—easing them to sleep.

"Roll me off of you in the morning if you wake up before I do, please," Watanuki yawned.

Doumeki tightened his hold on the other boy. "Sure."

ETA: The above story has a sequel: and it's porn so be careful, kids.

And this one is a follow up to Ocean, as requested by ii_hanashi.



"Here."

Watanuki looked up as a small, square package was dangled into his view. He took it, batting Doumeki's hand aside as he did. "I'm not thanking you until I know what it is."

Doumeki dropped down onto the grass beside him. "Then you're not thanking me, because I don't know. My father sent it for you."

"Oh!" Watanuki felt the box a little and grinned. "Well, then, thank you." He smirked as Doumeki looked at him. He shook the box at him. "Thanks ever so. Does he want it back?"

Doumeki gave him a suspicious look and then lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. "He didn't say." He squinted into the distance and then frowned slightly, rubbing his forehead. "Can you taunt me about that," he gestured at the package, "later? I have a headache."

Watanuki looked from the boy beside him to the wrapped video tape. He sighed loudly. "Have you had your eyes checked?"

"My eyes are fine," Doumeki muttered, closing one eye rubbing harder at his temple.

Huffing irritably, Watanuki pulled an ink pen out of his pencil case and grabbed Doumeki's free hand. He turned it over and began to write on the inside of Doumeki's wrist. "You're squinting and have headaches, so it's probably just that you need glasses," he said, scribbling. "This is my prescription," he said, tapping the point of the pen under the numbers he'd written, "and the phone number of the doctor who takes care of my eyes. He's…a little special, so he'll understand."

When he looked up, Doumeki was frowning at him. "What makes you think it's my eyes?"

"Too vain for glasses?" Watanuki rolled his eyes. Glanced meaningfully at the package and said, "Something your father told me when I was at your house, that's all."

Doumeki made a sound that was suspiciously like a groan. "My father says a lot of stuff," he said, looking from Watanuki to the package and back. "He says some really weird things."

"Yeah," Watanuki agreed, writing a brief set of directions under his optometrists' name. "He told me to call him 'Dad'." He froze when Doumeki gasped, his arm going tense so that the muscles felt like steel under his hand. "I don't know why he said that," he said quickly, feeling his heart pound violently in his chest as he…lied. Because he did know. Because why else hadn't he asked who'd taken care of him in the Doumeki household? Because why else, when he'd taken Doumeki's arm, had he felt his pulse shiver under his fingers? "That's crazy. Call him 'Dad'," he rambled on.

Beside him Doumeki breathed carefully in and out, like he was meditating or something. "Well, he always said he wanted another son," he said and his voice sounded monotone, a hysterical monotone.

The implications of that statement sank in and Watanuki hoped like hell he wasn't stabbing Doumeki in the arm with the pen as he stared at him and Doumeki stared back, wide-eyed.

"He probably meant a different son," Watanuki gibbered, unable to let go of Doumeki's hand. "Because you're…you."

"Yeah." Doumeki nodded. "Somebody more like him, who babbles and…" he stopped abruptly and looked away.

Watanuki looked away too. "I HAVE NO CLUE WHY YOUR FATHER WOULD SAY ANYTHING ABOUT BEING CALLED 'DAD' BY A BOY WHO IS NOT HIS SON," he said after a minute because he and Doumeki were just digging themselves in to a hole. He face was burning under what must surely have been a stupendous blush.

"Me neither."

"YOU HAVE NEVER GIVEN HIM THE IDEA THAT HE MIGHT WANT ANY OTHER TYPE OF SON OF ANY KIND."

"No. Not at all."

"Okay."

"All right."

Watanuki stood up and dusted himself off. "I'm going home," he announced, "to be by myself. Because I like that."

"Yeah. I'm going to get glasses," Doumeki said, sounding faintly absent (and absently faint).

Completely ignoring the fact that Doumeki was moving rather more rapidly than usual, Watanuki sprinted off towards home. It was only when he was safely locked into his apartment, that he realized he was still clutching the tape that Doumeki's father had sent for him. He set it carefully on the video player and went to bed without opening it.

Doumekis were dangerous and he wasn't going to chance encountering one until his heart quit racing.