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ciirceeMeg will recognize this for the cheat it is. The truth is that I wrote this several weeks ago and not today--but I edited it today, so does that count a little?
A desire softly sleeping
Doumeki thinks that he'd like to teach Watanuki archery. It's not that he believes Watanuki would be able to drive off spirits on his own if he could shoot—though who knows what might be possible?—but because he'd like to watch Watanuki shoot.
It is an intensely revealing, intimate thing, archery.
There are a thousand things that Watanuki says and does everyday that describe him perfectly. The snappish, two-fingered shove that adjusts his glasses, the fading, quick glance over his left shoulder as though looking for somebody behind him, the wildly energetic flailings, the smoothing of his thumb along the outside edge of his chopsticks right before he selects his first bite of lunch.
And he's seen Watanuki cook. All his energy focused on the small details. It's like watching a poem flower across a page, seeing Watanuki working in the kitchen. Watanuki's thin hands are deft and quick on the knife—Doumeki has personally seen the HomeEc teacher cry because Watanuki can not only tell the difference between coarse and fine in cutting but can also actually dice, mince, julienne, slice, and filet. Fruits lose their peels in sinuous, continuous stretches that, if re-coiled, could reconstruct their shape exactly. His mixing bowls get cradled in the crook of his arm while the contents are whipped to within an inch of their life, running smooth as silk at his persuasion. The point of his folded kerchief touches precisely to the pale back of his neck, his hair dark and smooth beneath it and it's so domestic but he wears it like a king with a crown. Under his rule, dough rises, pots simmer, things brown evenly to gold, scents waft enticingly and everything cools or warms or rolls into place like calligraphy off a master's pen.
Cooking requires focus on a dozen things. Doumeki knows this because he burns almost everything he attempts as he forgets one thing after another and gets caught up in picking eggshells out of his mixes.
Kyudo requires internal focus, awareness of a single moment for every movement. Slow deliberation. Thought for every action until thought and action is the same thing. It is one moment, one action, one thought and it is the whole world until the next moment, the next action, the next thought. Every arrow exists in the quiver, in the hand, and in the target all at the same time, the archer the target as much as the mato.
He still wants to see Watanuki shoot. He wants to see those deceptively delicate looking fingers curl naked around the hemp of the string. He wants to watch Watanuki's slender back flex and, unbent, make the bow curve to fit him. He wants to watch him hold the full draw and release it like a deep breath of air, an unseen rush of life. He wants to see Watanuki focused and still. He wants to see Watanuki in his purest form, undistracted by life as he exists wholly within it for once. He's sure the moment will change him in some unalterable way.
Like all the guys and girls in the club, Doumeki is serene in a way the other kids aren't. They are the still waters that run swift and powerful without showing their strength on the surface. The grace required on the range follows them off, even as they slip into the ocean of everyday life. Not one of his teammates thinks Watanuki would make a very good archer. Watanuki is too noisy and busy—a shallow stream that makes a lot of noise while having almost no strength, flowing around the rocks, rather than over.
Doumeki knows that they're wrong. He noticed it right away about Watanuki and it was this that caused the fight that started them on the path they are now—because he wanted to see Watanuki shoot the first moment he saw him. Perhaps telling him You should join archery, it'd help you calm down was the wrong approach, but he'd meant it sincerely. Because while Watanuki is loud and furious his strength runs deeper than his own, Doumeki thinks. Watanuki is no burbling brook; he is a raging river, a floodwater, an ocean tide, a tsunami.
At first he could hardly picture Watanuki in the keiko-gi or the hakama and every time he pictured Watanuki holding the bow he fumbled it. But the image becomes easier and smoother the more he gets to know Watanuki until he can see it clearly. Doumeki's teammates subject him to some good-natured ribbing when he shoots while thinking about teaching Watanuki to shoot. He must be thinking about his love, they tease, his bow is singing today. They're right. It sings of furious, fluid strength in a shot not yet fallen, the untouched target that's already housing the flight. When his bow sings, it's because Watanuki has already loosed the arrow.
I thought about it a little bit and, since I'm giving you a cheat, I decided to give you TWO cheats. This is another thing I wrote for Meg in the run up to December 12th. I edited this one a bit today too. I bet you can guess by the title what might happen.
A fish that watched us *beep*ing
Watanuki kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He'd never been in a worse position in his life. And if he'd been anybody else with anybody else, he'd never have been in it to begin with. There was a trick to it, he decided a tad hysterically. If he just kept his eyes screwed shut and breathed evenly, everything would be okay. He wouldn't see the under-water world around him, he wouldn't notice the deep scent of sandalwood and cinnamon and cloves. If he could just focus on this breathing and not looking around he would be fine.
"What the hell is that doing digging into my hip?" he demanded.
Above him (over him, around him, behind him) Doumeki sighed resignedly. "Do you need an anatomy lesson or is that rhetorical?" he asked. He shifted slightly in their cramped quarters and that…thing…rubbed up against him.
"Why is it there?"
"Again, is that rhetorical or do you need a refresher course?" Doumeki paused. "Or The Talk?"
If he could have turned over, he'd have strangled him. He settled for shouting. "We're stuck in a one-man box—"
"It's more like a bubble."
"—at the bottom of a fish tank—"
"Koi pond."
"—because a fish ate us—"
"Swallowed."
"—and you…you're…you have a…a…you've got—"
"An erection?"
"—poking me in… my person!"
"I have been here the whole time," Doumeki said placidly.
Watanuki swallowed back the inarticulate noise of rage he could feel building in his chest. It was loud in their little bubble. "If I could reach you I would kill you dead. I can't believe you're so casual about your…your…"
"You know," Doumeki interrupted, "we don't have to talk about my erection. We could both ignore it."
"Easy for you to say," Watanuki snapped. "Do you have any clue what part of me you're touching with your…self."
There was a short silence and then Doumeki said wryly, "Yes."
"Well quit thinking about it!"
"If you could quit moving it, that would make it easier."
"I'm trying to get comfortable!"
Doumeki's sigh ruffled through the short hair at the nape of his neck and Watanuki twitched. "Look, we're in a bubble at the bottom of a koi pond waiting for a twenty-foot goldfish to come back with something for your boss and swallow us so that we can be spit back into your boss's bathtub. I don't think it's possible for either of us to be comfortable."
"I'm going to be comfortable if it kills you!" Watanuki huffed. "And quit breathing on me!"
"I'm not going to hold my breath."
"Quit poking me with your…pants…and quit breathing in my e-mphf!" Watanuki lost his breath as Doumeki's full weight coming down on his back forced it out of him. "What the hell are you doing?!"
Again, Doumeki's breath chilled over his skin. "You're not going to shut up, so I might as well make myself as comfortable as possible. My elbows were starting to hurt."
"You're on me," Watanuki grumbled, pushing back against Doumeki's weight, trying to shift him. Against his butt, other parts of Doumeki shifted. "You're on me."
"And you're squirming around and making it worse," Doumeki replied. "So either quit moving or quit complaining."
"Just shut up," Watanuki muttered. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to think about it. And he didn't know what to do about it, either. He couldn't seem to get comfortable or ignore it. More than anything, he couldn't seem to stay still, either. The hard length of Doumeki's erection was pressing into him, hot against the seat of his pants. The slick surface of the bubble had a little give to it, but not enough to put any sort of distance anywhere. He shifted again and suddenly, Doumeki's hips pushed forward against his own. Barely perceptible, but definitely noticeable. Barely breathing, Watanuki moved again, fighting the bubble for space before letting it put him back in place. And again, Doumeki's body answered his movement.
"Shut up!"
"I didn't say anything," Doumeki's words brushed over his ear.
Watanuki shivered. He couldn't breathe in the bubble. The lack of air was making his head swim. "Shut up," he repeated. "Until that damn fish comes back, just shut up. Don't talk. Don't say anything."
He felt Doumeki's faint nod and tried to relax. If Doumeki didn't say anything they could each just pretend that they were alone or something. Watanuki shifted his lower body again. Doumeki not being there was going to give him a bruise in a very tender area if he didn't manage to get it someplace else.
Behind him (above him, around him, why did he occupy so much space) Doumeki breathed slowly and deeply, his chest moving close and tight against Watanuki's back with every breath. And every deep, even breath seemed to push minutely at him, each one a fractional increase of pressure from below the waist.
Trying to catch a decent sized breath of his own, Watanuki shifted again. His mouth dropped open and a breathless, wordless, soundless cry tore from his throat. He'd managed to move Doumeki's erection to someplace else. It was a place far removed from 'comfortable'. Watanuki squeezed his eyes shut until he saw fireworks and kept wriggling. The fact that he was wriggling in time with Doumeki's deep, deep breathing was purely coincidental. Purely.
He wriggled more forcefully, ignoring the way his silent breaths were echoing loudly in the air around them.
Doumeki held as still as he could, trying to maintain his composure. Watanuki's earlier wiggles had dissolved into slow, steady, backward thrusts against him. It took everything he had not to fall into Watanuki's rhythm. Daring, he shifted his weight just enough to slide one hand down, underneath Watanuki's moving body. Watanuki's throat worked but no sound emerged as Watanuki's teeth raked over his lower lip, making it wet and bruised looking.
He curled his fingers tightly around the heated length that he found, but he couldn't move beyond that due to the exceedingly sharp confines of the bubble. And he was off balance enough that he couldn't have moved even if he'd had the room. Every move was going to have to be Watanuki's—his choice, his pace, his silence.
Watanuki's hips moved, slow and shallow, pushing first into his hand and then back against his body. Doumeki fought against the instinctive desire to close his eyes as the firm, round curve of Watanuki's rear end rubbed against the delirious ache in his groin.
Instead he kept his eyes open and watched Watanuki's face in the pale, watery light that managed to filter down to them. He could see every hitch and gasp of Watanuki's breathing tremble across his parted lips. Every tiny movement of his body was matched by the flutter of his lace-fan eyelashes, his eyes expressive even when locked closed.
A faint blush was spilling across his cheeks, staining them pink. The color rose with every shivery twist of their hips and Doumeki had to look away or he was going to say something. He kissed the delicate curve of Watanuki's ear, the elegant line of his neck, unafraid. If Watanuki hadn't protested the location of his hand, there was very little chance he'd complain about the location of his lips. Still, he kept the contact light.
The whispered sound of their breathing had given way to soft, quiet sounds. Half strangled noises caught in Watanuki's throat, uncontainable sighs, the sounds of effort and longing. Suddenly the strain on Watanuki's face eased and he moaned—quietly but unrestrained. Doumeki felt him jerk against his hand and spreading warmth that was damp to the touch.
He buried his lips against the sweet nape of Watanuki's neck and shuddered. Watanuki's body bucked back against him one, twice, a third time, sharp and hard and all everything that Doumeki needed. He muffled his own would-be moans in Watanuki's soft, tender skin. He let his eyes fall shut, the image of Watanuki's face in pleasure sparkling behind the lids.
"Doumeki?" Watanuki opened his eyes when Doumeki went still.
"I'm not poking you anywhere with anything," Doumeki said, sounding both sleepy and cross.
Watanuki huffed. "Not anymore but—"
"Shut up," Doumeki ordered. "At least until the damn fish comes back."
"I said that," he reminded him.
"Then what's the problem?"
Watanuki glared. "The fish is back." Behind the soap-bubble barrier, the fish smiled. "It's watching us."
"Oh," said Doumeki. Then, "Did you want to come back to the temple with me and get some dry clothes?"
The temple was in the opposite direction from home and just about as far. "You owe me dry clothes," Watanuki said, just before Yuuko's customer popped their bubble.
A desire softly sleeping
Doumeki thinks that he'd like to teach Watanuki archery. It's not that he believes Watanuki would be able to drive off spirits on his own if he could shoot—though who knows what might be possible?—but because he'd like to watch Watanuki shoot.
It is an intensely revealing, intimate thing, archery.
There are a thousand things that Watanuki says and does everyday that describe him perfectly. The snappish, two-fingered shove that adjusts his glasses, the fading, quick glance over his left shoulder as though looking for somebody behind him, the wildly energetic flailings, the smoothing of his thumb along the outside edge of his chopsticks right before he selects his first bite of lunch.
And he's seen Watanuki cook. All his energy focused on the small details. It's like watching a poem flower across a page, seeing Watanuki working in the kitchen. Watanuki's thin hands are deft and quick on the knife—Doumeki has personally seen the HomeEc teacher cry because Watanuki can not only tell the difference between coarse and fine in cutting but can also actually dice, mince, julienne, slice, and filet. Fruits lose their peels in sinuous, continuous stretches that, if re-coiled, could reconstruct their shape exactly. His mixing bowls get cradled in the crook of his arm while the contents are whipped to within an inch of their life, running smooth as silk at his persuasion. The point of his folded kerchief touches precisely to the pale back of his neck, his hair dark and smooth beneath it and it's so domestic but he wears it like a king with a crown. Under his rule, dough rises, pots simmer, things brown evenly to gold, scents waft enticingly and everything cools or warms or rolls into place like calligraphy off a master's pen.
Cooking requires focus on a dozen things. Doumeki knows this because he burns almost everything he attempts as he forgets one thing after another and gets caught up in picking eggshells out of his mixes.
Kyudo requires internal focus, awareness of a single moment for every movement. Slow deliberation. Thought for every action until thought and action is the same thing. It is one moment, one action, one thought and it is the whole world until the next moment, the next action, the next thought. Every arrow exists in the quiver, in the hand, and in the target all at the same time, the archer the target as much as the mato.
He still wants to see Watanuki shoot. He wants to see those deceptively delicate looking fingers curl naked around the hemp of the string. He wants to watch Watanuki's slender back flex and, unbent, make the bow curve to fit him. He wants to watch him hold the full draw and release it like a deep breath of air, an unseen rush of life. He wants to see Watanuki focused and still. He wants to see Watanuki in his purest form, undistracted by life as he exists wholly within it for once. He's sure the moment will change him in some unalterable way.
Like all the guys and girls in the club, Doumeki is serene in a way the other kids aren't. They are the still waters that run swift and powerful without showing their strength on the surface. The grace required on the range follows them off, even as they slip into the ocean of everyday life. Not one of his teammates thinks Watanuki would make a very good archer. Watanuki is too noisy and busy—a shallow stream that makes a lot of noise while having almost no strength, flowing around the rocks, rather than over.
Doumeki knows that they're wrong. He noticed it right away about Watanuki and it was this that caused the fight that started them on the path they are now—because he wanted to see Watanuki shoot the first moment he saw him. Perhaps telling him You should join archery, it'd help you calm down was the wrong approach, but he'd meant it sincerely. Because while Watanuki is loud and furious his strength runs deeper than his own, Doumeki thinks. Watanuki is no burbling brook; he is a raging river, a floodwater, an ocean tide, a tsunami.
At first he could hardly picture Watanuki in the keiko-gi or the hakama and every time he pictured Watanuki holding the bow he fumbled it. But the image becomes easier and smoother the more he gets to know Watanuki until he can see it clearly. Doumeki's teammates subject him to some good-natured ribbing when he shoots while thinking about teaching Watanuki to shoot. He must be thinking about his love, they tease, his bow is singing today. They're right. It sings of furious, fluid strength in a shot not yet fallen, the untouched target that's already housing the flight. When his bow sings, it's because Watanuki has already loosed the arrow.
I thought about it a little bit and, since I'm giving you a cheat, I decided to give you TWO cheats. This is another thing I wrote for Meg in the run up to December 12th. I edited this one a bit today too. I bet you can guess by the title what might happen.
A fish that watched us *beep*ing
Watanuki kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He'd never been in a worse position in his life. And if he'd been anybody else with anybody else, he'd never have been in it to begin with. There was a trick to it, he decided a tad hysterically. If he just kept his eyes screwed shut and breathed evenly, everything would be okay. He wouldn't see the under-water world around him, he wouldn't notice the deep scent of sandalwood and cinnamon and cloves. If he could just focus on this breathing and not looking around he would be fine.
"What the hell is that doing digging into my hip?" he demanded.
Above him (over him, around him, behind him) Doumeki sighed resignedly. "Do you need an anatomy lesson or is that rhetorical?" he asked. He shifted slightly in their cramped quarters and that…thing…rubbed up against him.
"Why is it there?"
"Again, is that rhetorical or do you need a refresher course?" Doumeki paused. "Or The Talk?"
If he could have turned over, he'd have strangled him. He settled for shouting. "We're stuck in a one-man box—"
"It's more like a bubble."
"—at the bottom of a fish tank—"
"Koi pond."
"—because a fish ate us—"
"Swallowed."
"—and you…you're…you have a…a…you've got—"
"An erection?"
"—poking me in… my person!"
"I have been here the whole time," Doumeki said placidly.
Watanuki swallowed back the inarticulate noise of rage he could feel building in his chest. It was loud in their little bubble. "If I could reach you I would kill you dead. I can't believe you're so casual about your…your…"
"You know," Doumeki interrupted, "we don't have to talk about my erection. We could both ignore it."
"Easy for you to say," Watanuki snapped. "Do you have any clue what part of me you're touching with your…self."
There was a short silence and then Doumeki said wryly, "Yes."
"Well quit thinking about it!"
"If you could quit moving it, that would make it easier."
"I'm trying to get comfortable!"
Doumeki's sigh ruffled through the short hair at the nape of his neck and Watanuki twitched. "Look, we're in a bubble at the bottom of a koi pond waiting for a twenty-foot goldfish to come back with something for your boss and swallow us so that we can be spit back into your boss's bathtub. I don't think it's possible for either of us to be comfortable."
"I'm going to be comfortable if it kills you!" Watanuki huffed. "And quit breathing on me!"
"I'm not going to hold my breath."
"Quit poking me with your…pants…and quit breathing in my e-mphf!" Watanuki lost his breath as Doumeki's full weight coming down on his back forced it out of him. "What the hell are you doing?!"
Again, Doumeki's breath chilled over his skin. "You're not going to shut up, so I might as well make myself as comfortable as possible. My elbows were starting to hurt."
"You're on me," Watanuki grumbled, pushing back against Doumeki's weight, trying to shift him. Against his butt, other parts of Doumeki shifted. "You're on me."
"And you're squirming around and making it worse," Doumeki replied. "So either quit moving or quit complaining."
"Just shut up," Watanuki muttered. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to think about it. And he didn't know what to do about it, either. He couldn't seem to get comfortable or ignore it. More than anything, he couldn't seem to stay still, either. The hard length of Doumeki's erection was pressing into him, hot against the seat of his pants. The slick surface of the bubble had a little give to it, but not enough to put any sort of distance anywhere. He shifted again and suddenly, Doumeki's hips pushed forward against his own. Barely perceptible, but definitely noticeable. Barely breathing, Watanuki moved again, fighting the bubble for space before letting it put him back in place. And again, Doumeki's body answered his movement.
"Shut up!"
"I didn't say anything," Doumeki's words brushed over his ear.
Watanuki shivered. He couldn't breathe in the bubble. The lack of air was making his head swim. "Shut up," he repeated. "Until that damn fish comes back, just shut up. Don't talk. Don't say anything."
He felt Doumeki's faint nod and tried to relax. If Doumeki didn't say anything they could each just pretend that they were alone or something. Watanuki shifted his lower body again. Doumeki not being there was going to give him a bruise in a very tender area if he didn't manage to get it someplace else.
Behind him (above him, around him, why did he occupy so much space) Doumeki breathed slowly and deeply, his chest moving close and tight against Watanuki's back with every breath. And every deep, even breath seemed to push minutely at him, each one a fractional increase of pressure from below the waist.
Trying to catch a decent sized breath of his own, Watanuki shifted again. His mouth dropped open and a breathless, wordless, soundless cry tore from his throat. He'd managed to move Doumeki's erection to someplace else. It was a place far removed from 'comfortable'. Watanuki squeezed his eyes shut until he saw fireworks and kept wriggling. The fact that he was wriggling in time with Doumeki's deep, deep breathing was purely coincidental. Purely.
He wriggled more forcefully, ignoring the way his silent breaths were echoing loudly in the air around them.
Doumeki held as still as he could, trying to maintain his composure. Watanuki's earlier wiggles had dissolved into slow, steady, backward thrusts against him. It took everything he had not to fall into Watanuki's rhythm. Daring, he shifted his weight just enough to slide one hand down, underneath Watanuki's moving body. Watanuki's throat worked but no sound emerged as Watanuki's teeth raked over his lower lip, making it wet and bruised looking.
He curled his fingers tightly around the heated length that he found, but he couldn't move beyond that due to the exceedingly sharp confines of the bubble. And he was off balance enough that he couldn't have moved even if he'd had the room. Every move was going to have to be Watanuki's—his choice, his pace, his silence.
Watanuki's hips moved, slow and shallow, pushing first into his hand and then back against his body. Doumeki fought against the instinctive desire to close his eyes as the firm, round curve of Watanuki's rear end rubbed against the delirious ache in his groin.
Instead he kept his eyes open and watched Watanuki's face in the pale, watery light that managed to filter down to them. He could see every hitch and gasp of Watanuki's breathing tremble across his parted lips. Every tiny movement of his body was matched by the flutter of his lace-fan eyelashes, his eyes expressive even when locked closed.
A faint blush was spilling across his cheeks, staining them pink. The color rose with every shivery twist of their hips and Doumeki had to look away or he was going to say something. He kissed the delicate curve of Watanuki's ear, the elegant line of his neck, unafraid. If Watanuki hadn't protested the location of his hand, there was very little chance he'd complain about the location of his lips. Still, he kept the contact light.
The whispered sound of their breathing had given way to soft, quiet sounds. Half strangled noises caught in Watanuki's throat, uncontainable sighs, the sounds of effort and longing. Suddenly the strain on Watanuki's face eased and he moaned—quietly but unrestrained. Doumeki felt him jerk against his hand and spreading warmth that was damp to the touch.
He buried his lips against the sweet nape of Watanuki's neck and shuddered. Watanuki's body bucked back against him one, twice, a third time, sharp and hard and all everything that Doumeki needed. He muffled his own would-be moans in Watanuki's soft, tender skin. He let his eyes fall shut, the image of Watanuki's face in pleasure sparkling behind the lids.
"Doumeki?" Watanuki opened his eyes when Doumeki went still.
"I'm not poking you anywhere with anything," Doumeki said, sounding both sleepy and cross.
Watanuki huffed. "Not anymore but—"
"Shut up," Doumeki ordered. "At least until the damn fish comes back."
"I said that," he reminded him.
"Then what's the problem?"
Watanuki glared. "The fish is back." Behind the soap-bubble barrier, the fish smiled. "It's watching us."
"Oh," said Doumeki. Then, "Did you want to come back to the temple with me and get some dry clothes?"
The temple was in the opposite direction from home and just about as far. "You owe me dry clothes," Watanuki said, just before Yuuko's customer popped their bubble.
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Date: 2009-07-13 02:23 pm (UTC)