Day 4, LOVELESS, Ritsuka/Soubi (G)
Dec. 28th, 2006 03:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ciirceeThe idea for this fic, if not the first few lines, came from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
31_days' November theme set as well. It was sparked by the 9th's 'scattered pearls'. It's morphed quite a bit from that time but I feel that the theme holds.
Four A.M. Words
Soubi's mobile phone rings in the chill middle hours of the night and he answers it before his eyes even open, his fingers knowing instinctively where the call is coming from. He listens to the slightly jerky breathing on the other end that meets his greeting and then the thin whisper that follows almost inaudibly after. He leaves his bed, dresses, and is gone—phone still in hand and turned on and listening—before the clock can change from one minute to the next.
It's too late to borrow a car, too early for a bus or a train, so he walks. It's a fair night and the spill of white light from the full moon mixes with the orange lights of the streetlamps, painting the world in a summer dreamsicle shade. He'd have made the walk even if it had been pitch black in the middle of a howling typhoon. Not that he says this to the hitching breath on his phone.
Instead, he listens to the shallow sounds of life on the other side of his connection and wonders if his own soft noises can be heard in the deafening silence between them. Wondering if anybody is listening for them. Not that it matters. He follows the commands in the wordless breaths like a river heeding the call of the ocean tide, irresistibly drawn to the hissing rush of in-and-out air, like waves against a shifting-sand beach.
For a while, this is Soubi's whole existence.
And then Ritsuka melts out of the deep shadows that lurk under his open window. Soubi can see no new gashes or bruises and can detect no new stiffness or careful arrangement of his bearing and yet to his eyes, so accustomed to the dimness, Ritsuka looks cold and brittle weary, like old frost. But when Ritsuka's face lifts, when he lifts a heavy looking backpack out of the darkness beside him, Soubi thinks that it is frost laid over manganese steel. He finally snaps shut his phone, ending their long call as he kneels before Ritsuka. It's not because he has to. It's not because he can't not. It's because he wants nothing more than to be whatever Ritsuka might need.
He takes the bulky pack out of Ritsuka's unresisting hands and places it over his own shoulders. Ritsuka's thin arms go around his shoulders suddenly and his quick breaths stir the hair at the crown of Soubi's head. Soubi's arms move without thought to encircle Ritsuka's waist and he buries his own face against Ritsuka's chest. Ritsuka smells like the cool night air but he's warm everywhere that Soubi can reach. It's an embrace that is over quickly, in less time than it takes to say a name, and when it ends Soubi stands and catches Ritsuka's hand in his.
The walk back home is resonant with their sounds—breathing and joined hands swishing and the cacophony of zippers on Ritsuka's packed bag. It goes by faster than the walk to Ritsuka's house, as far as Soubi knows. Fancifully, Soubi thinks that it's because the return distance is split between two.
Soubi doesn't bother with house slippers when the front door closes behind Ritsuka. He toes his shoes off and walks barefooted to his bedroom, setting Ritsuka's things at the end of his bed. He can hear the whisper of stocking feet padding into the room behind him and he unzips Ritsuka's bag, removing the pair of pajamas that are neatly folded on the very top of the other contents. He sets them on the bed and does not look up as he empties the bag, putting the other clothes into the empty drawer in his dresser, the assorted toiletry items on the shelf in his bathroom, and laying the schoolbooks on his bedside table.
When he's done, he undresses. He doesn't care that Ritsuka is watching him with those big, blue, pre-dawn eyes as he strips down to his skin. He thinks it doesn't matter. He thinks whatever you need, Ritsuka, whatever you want, anything, everything, Ritsuka, and puts on the shorts he discarded earlier when the call woke him.
Ritsuka rolls over in the bed, presenting Soubi with his back and a wide, open space. Soubi crawls into it, curving naturally around Ritsuka's still and quiet warmth. Ritsuka's tail curls over his leg comforting and soft, a whisper in their secret language of touch.
Soubi falls asleep when Ritsuka does, before the clock can flip between one hour and the next, his hand pressed over the beat of his heart in Ritsuka's chest. He doesn't have a clue where he's put his cellular phone.
**************************************************************************
For the curious, manganese steel is simply one type of steel that, when abraded, forms an incredibly hard skin that is very resistant to wearing. It's commonly used in making tank treads, bulldozer blades--specifically the edges, and the jaws of life. Why yes, I AM a big geek.
Also, today is my twenty-ninth birthday! Thank you all for putting up with me and for reading my stuff!
31_days' November theme set as well. It was sparked by the 9th's 'scattered pearls'. It's morphed quite a bit from that time but I feel that the theme holds. Four A.M. Words
Soubi's mobile phone rings in the chill middle hours of the night and he answers it before his eyes even open, his fingers knowing instinctively where the call is coming from. He listens to the slightly jerky breathing on the other end that meets his greeting and then the thin whisper that follows almost inaudibly after. He leaves his bed, dresses, and is gone—phone still in hand and turned on and listening—before the clock can change from one minute to the next.
It's too late to borrow a car, too early for a bus or a train, so he walks. It's a fair night and the spill of white light from the full moon mixes with the orange lights of the streetlamps, painting the world in a summer dreamsicle shade. He'd have made the walk even if it had been pitch black in the middle of a howling typhoon. Not that he says this to the hitching breath on his phone.
Instead, he listens to the shallow sounds of life on the other side of his connection and wonders if his own soft noises can be heard in the deafening silence between them. Wondering if anybody is listening for them. Not that it matters. He follows the commands in the wordless breaths like a river heeding the call of the ocean tide, irresistibly drawn to the hissing rush of in-and-out air, like waves against a shifting-sand beach.
For a while, this is Soubi's whole existence.
And then Ritsuka melts out of the deep shadows that lurk under his open window. Soubi can see no new gashes or bruises and can detect no new stiffness or careful arrangement of his bearing and yet to his eyes, so accustomed to the dimness, Ritsuka looks cold and brittle weary, like old frost. But when Ritsuka's face lifts, when he lifts a heavy looking backpack out of the darkness beside him, Soubi thinks that it is frost laid over manganese steel. He finally snaps shut his phone, ending their long call as he kneels before Ritsuka. It's not because he has to. It's not because he can't not. It's because he wants nothing more than to be whatever Ritsuka might need.
He takes the bulky pack out of Ritsuka's unresisting hands and places it over his own shoulders. Ritsuka's thin arms go around his shoulders suddenly and his quick breaths stir the hair at the crown of Soubi's head. Soubi's arms move without thought to encircle Ritsuka's waist and he buries his own face against Ritsuka's chest. Ritsuka smells like the cool night air but he's warm everywhere that Soubi can reach. It's an embrace that is over quickly, in less time than it takes to say a name, and when it ends Soubi stands and catches Ritsuka's hand in his.
The walk back home is resonant with their sounds—breathing and joined hands swishing and the cacophony of zippers on Ritsuka's packed bag. It goes by faster than the walk to Ritsuka's house, as far as Soubi knows. Fancifully, Soubi thinks that it's because the return distance is split between two.
Soubi doesn't bother with house slippers when the front door closes behind Ritsuka. He toes his shoes off and walks barefooted to his bedroom, setting Ritsuka's things at the end of his bed. He can hear the whisper of stocking feet padding into the room behind him and he unzips Ritsuka's bag, removing the pair of pajamas that are neatly folded on the very top of the other contents. He sets them on the bed and does not look up as he empties the bag, putting the other clothes into the empty drawer in his dresser, the assorted toiletry items on the shelf in his bathroom, and laying the schoolbooks on his bedside table.
When he's done, he undresses. He doesn't care that Ritsuka is watching him with those big, blue, pre-dawn eyes as he strips down to his skin. He thinks it doesn't matter. He thinks whatever you need, Ritsuka, whatever you want, anything, everything, Ritsuka, and puts on the shorts he discarded earlier when the call woke him.
Ritsuka rolls over in the bed, presenting Soubi with his back and a wide, open space. Soubi crawls into it, curving naturally around Ritsuka's still and quiet warmth. Ritsuka's tail curls over his leg comforting and soft, a whisper in their secret language of touch.
Soubi falls asleep when Ritsuka does, before the clock can flip between one hour and the next, his hand pressed over the beat of his heart in Ritsuka's chest. He doesn't have a clue where he's put his cellular phone.
**************************************************************************
For the curious, manganese steel is simply one type of steel that, when abraded, forms an incredibly hard skin that is very resistant to wearing. It's commonly used in making tank treads, bulldozer blades--specifically the edges, and the jaws of life. Why yes, I AM a big geek.
Also, today is my twenty-ninth birthday! Thank you all for putting up with me and for reading my stuff!
