Xmas drabbles 2003

fandom Hikaru no Go
characters Tsutsui, Kaga
for rhoe


Tsutsui doesn’t like the smell of cigarettes.

He remembers exactly when and why he first started feeling this way, and even so many years later, he gets this tight feeling in his chest whenever he thinks about it.

His parents didn’t mean to leave him behind, of course. But with all the relatives and friends and noise in the restaurant, they didn’t notice him going to the bathroom. And when he returned to the empty table, and sat there as the restaurant staff cleared the plates, he could feel fear rising like bile in his throat. The cigarette smoke that lingered in the air stung his eyes, and when his parents came back, worried and apologetic, that was the explanation he gave them for his tears.

Kaga’s uniform always smells like cigarettes. He smokes before school, during the lunch period, after school, and sometimes when he should be in class. He never smokes around Tsutsui, though, because he knows that Tsutsui doesn’t like it.

Tsutsui wonders how the other boy knows this.

But Kaga’s uniform always smells like cigarettes, and when he drapes his arm over Tsutsui’s shoulders, Tsutsui doesn’t pull away, doesn’t breathe more shallowly, doesn’t dislike the smell of cigarettes and aftershave and Kaga.

Tsutsui wonders how the other boy knows this, too.



fandom Slam Dunk
characters Sendoh, Maki
for shirochan


His mouth tastes bitter, like morning breath, like drinking too much alcohol and then washing it down with milk. But it isn’t morning and he isn’t in bed; it’s late afternoon, and he’s standing in the middle of a basketball court, under lights so bright that his eyes flinch shut.

He can feel the tears waiting to fall, and so he lifts the edge of his jersey and wipes the sweat from his cheeks. Hands without faces pat him on the back, and voices that are distantly familiar call to him. He follows these voices to the side of the court, his eyes still lowered; the lights are harsh.

A hand settles on his shoulder, somehow more sympathetic than the others in that it lingers, perhaps attempting to provide support? So he looks up, and sees understanding in the face of Fujima.

“You still have next year, Sendoh.” Said quietly, without pity, and somehow more reassuring than the wooden floorboards beneath his feet. Fujima slips away, to shake hands with Taoka-sensei, to celebrate with his teammates, to stare up into the lights with a relieved smile on his lips.

He turns away, and squints into the stands, into the shadows.

And he doesn’t know how he gets home that night; all he knows is that his apartment is dark. He collapses on to the unmade bed, buries his face in a pillow, and feels the warmth of Maki’s body behind him, anchoring him to consciousness.

They lie there silently, waiting, waiting, and the clock on the wall ticks so loudly in his ears.

“You still have next year.” Said quietly, without pity, and as Maki’s arms tighten around him, the first tear falls.



fandom Naruto
characters Team Seven
for myth720


Uzumaki Naruto is the bane of Sakura’s existence. He’s the pimple in her otherwise blemish-free life, he’s the bad-hair day in a good-hair week. After all, she could swear before the Hokage monument that Sasuke-kun likes her; so how does one explain the incredible phenomenon of why they aren’t already a rabu-rabu couple?

Sakura has spent hours angsting over this very question. She isn’t one to blow her own trumpet, but she knows that she’s certainly not stupid; and yet this mystery has stumped her. Is it her hair, her eyes, her non-hips, her somewhat chubby fingers? Ino-pig would say that it’s Sakura’s huge forehead, but seeing as Sasuke-kun has never even looked twice at Ino-pig, she can hardly be considered an expert in what he likes.

Sakura’s sure that she’s finally figured it out, though.

The first clue: one morning when Kakashi-sensei was apparently waylaid by bears, it was just her and Sasuke-kun waiting at the bridge, standing a certain distance away from each other, but sharing those glances out of the corners of their eyes which Sakura once heard is a definite indication of love. And then he said, “Sakura…”, in that exasperated tone of his which Sakura once read is a sign of embarrassment at being in love. And then, amazingly enough, he almost smiled at her (it actually looked kind of creepy, but she figures that he just needs to practise a bit).

But then who should suddenly show up behind her but Naruto, ruining what she’s sure would’ve been the perfect doki-doki moment.

The second clue: the three of them were doing chakra training, and as usual, Sakura was finished way before the boys were. So she sat down in a pleasant grassy spot, and proceeded to indulge in her favourite activity of staring at Sasuke-kun without blinking. He was pretending not to notice her, though, and instead was arguing with Naruto, until they came to actual blows. Next thing she knew, Sasuke-kun had thrown Naruto to the ground and was straddling him around the waist, and just as she was about to cheer for her hero’s victory, Kakashi-sensei appeared before her in a puff of smoke and whisked her away, muttering something about “privacy” and “not for young girls’ eyes”.

That was a little strange; but then again, so was Kakashi-sensei.

The third clue: Sakura was on her way home after a late dinner with her parents, and they just so happened to pass by Naruto’s building. And who should she glimpse climbing stealthily through Naruto’s window, but Sasuke-kun; he was clearly hoping to catch Naruto unawares, and prove his superiority once and for all. Down below, Sakura was barely able to restrain the urge to call out “Sasuke-kun!”, but she certainly didn’t want to ruin his surprise attack, and so she followed her parents home and waited impatiently for the next day to arrive.

The next day, when Sasuke-kun and Naruto showed up at the bridge together, bickering as always, she was surprised to see no bruises, no broken bones, barely even a limp. Well, Naruto was walking funny, and Sasuke-kun had a few red marks on his neck, but that was it.

So the answer that Sakura’s hours of angsting have come up with is this: the reason why Sasuke-kun is always too busy to pay attention to her is clearly Uzumaki Naruto.

She can wait, though; rivalry is a childhood thing, but true love is forever.



fandom Slam Dunk
characters Sendoh, Sakuragi
for pastles


Sendoh glances around furtively, clutching his wicker basket almost protectively. He jumps at every minute sound, imagining that it’s a certain redhead that he hopes won’t come home until much later, and he performs his task with an eye to speed rather than care. No, Sendoh doesn’t look suspicious. Not at all.

And that’s exactly what Sakuragi is thinking as he creeps up behind his boyfriend; but then why would a not-suspicious person shout like that when Sakuragi blows gently on the back of their neck?

“Shit!” The profanity slips out of Sendoh’s mouth before he can stop it, and both boys look surprised. Sendoh clutches his basket even more tightly, and forces a sheepish smile to his face. “Eh… sorry. You surprised me, Hana-kun.”

“Yes,” Sakuragi replies slowly, dragging the word out. “That was the whole point.”

And even as Sendoh is hoping that the other boy won’t notice what’s in his arms, Sakuragi points to what’s in his arms and asks, “What’s all that green stuff?”

Sendoh casts about for an answer that won’t get him maimed. Or worse, cut off. “Herbs?”

“Herbs… and why are you sticking them above the doorways?” Sakuragi sounds innocently curious, but then Sendoh can never quite tell when the other boy is pulling his leg or not. Surely nobody is that naïve, though, not even this boy.

Sendoh has always been good at thinking quickly, but right now his mind is spectacularly blank. Apparently thinking quickly is a skill he has only when there’s an orange ball in his hands. To buy time, he repeats, “Above the doorways?”

“Yes, above the doorways,” Sakuragi nods. “Why?”

“Above the doorways… to protect us from colds!” Sendoh finally finds an answer, and announces it triumphantly. His smile is brilliant. “Y’know, like people used to do in the middle ages.”

Sakuragi is dubious. “This is the twenty-first century, Akira. We have electric heating.”

And Sendoh’s lie shatters into guilty pieces at his feet. He’s never been good at it; as a child, he’d be the one who stole a cookie and then admitted to his crime with the crumbs still on his face. “Alright, so they’re not herbs. It’s mistletoe.”

“Mistletoe.” It’s Sakuragi’s turn to repeat the other boy’s words, as if to buy time. They stand there silently for long moments, during which Sendoh tortures himself with thoughts of cold winter nights without sex.

And then Sakuragi asks, “Why?”



fandom Love Mode
characters Izumi, Takamiya
cross-posted love_mode
for kaijou


Takamiya sleeps like a log. That’s the way the saying goes, right? I’ve always thought it sounded kind of strange, seeing as logs don’t exactly sleep. Maybe if I said that Takamiya sleeps like a dead pig, though, that might be more accurate.

It’s not that he snores; in fact, he’s very silent. And he isn’t still, either; more often than not I wake up to find him wrapped around me (he’s a damned pervert even when he’s unconscious), when the night before he would’ve been all the way on the other side of the bed. It’s just that when he’s sleeping, well and truly asleep, he doesn’t wake up even when I kick him in the ass (that was an accident; I was having a nightmare. Really).

Somehow, for some reason, the idea of Takamiya being completely oblivious bothers me. And I lie in bed, listening to the clock on the wall tick, tick, tick, and I don’t need to open my eyes to know that it’s just after two in the morning. The idea that Takamiya can’t feel anything right now, not even if I were to trail my fingertips down the arched curve of his spine, runs through my mind. The thought that I could kiss him anywhere, the sensitive nape of his neck, the spot below his navel that makes him snort with laughter, refuses to leave.

And I watch, almost as if from a distance, as my hand reaches out and places itself flat against the small of Takamiya’s back; the skin there is soft, smoother than anywhere else except perhaps the insides of his thighs. His recent weight loss is evident in the more pronounced curve of his waist, and an involuntary smile tugs at my lips. The smile fades, though, and even in the dark, even when I know that Takamiya will never know, my face burns with heat as I let my fingers slide further down, under the bed sheet. The curve of his ass is cool against my skin; I take a deep breath, and then my hand slips around to the front of his body.

Takamiya really can’t feel anything. Sure, he always wakes up with an overly eager morning erection, but then he’s a pervert; he probably can’t help it. But when we lie in the darkness, when I listen to the clock ticking, when I hold him soft in my hand, there is intimacy.

I count the seconds as they pass, and carefully let go when my eyes finally begin to tire, because otherwise I’d fall asleep with my heart on my sleeve (not that I’m wearing any sleeves, but Takamiya would probably see it there anyway).

Takamiya sleeps like a dead pig, and he’ll never know that there’s a short period between two and three o’clock every morning when I hold his world in my hand, and whisper three little words into the area of skin between his shoulderblades.



fandom Naruto
characters Naruto, Iruka
for fataliste


They were at the ramen place, as always. And they were eating and talking at the same time, as always. And Naruto was slurping at his miso soup, and every so often a small blob of half-chewed ramen would come flying out of his mouth, and Iruka would scowl and say “That’s gross, Naruto!”, and that was normal too.

Then the topic of conversation changed, and it wasn’t so normal after all.

“Why don’t I have any parents, Iruka-sensei?” Naruto asked, with unusually serious eyes and a huge wad of chewed-up food sitting inside his mouth.

Iruka winced slightly, both at the question and the horrid table manners. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

So Naruto quickly swallowed, then accused, “Don’t evade the question!”

Knowing that he was evading the question, and Naruto’s eyes, Iruka stared down into the murky depths of his bowl, and sighed. “What brought this up all of a sudden, anyway?”

“Nothing,” Naruto mumbled, fiddling with his chopsticks, his teacup, the pepper shaker. And then he stared up at Iruka with fierce blue eyes, as if willing the older man to give him an answer. “S’just… some people have been asking me the same thing, and I wanna know.”

But this was an answer that Iruka couldn’t give, even if he had wanted to. “I don’t know. I never asked the Sandaime, and now…”

He cleared his throat, embarrassed at the lump that had risen in it. And then he diverted the topic, yet again. “But what do you mean by ‘some people’? If the villagers are picking on you again, I’ll kick their–”

And Naruto suddenly giggled, which caused his anger to deflate with alacrity, and confusion was its replacement.

“What? What’re you laughing at? Do I have something on my nose?” Iruka’s eyes crossed slightly as he glanced down.

Naruto grinned, the whisker-like marks on his cheeks visibly creasing. “Y’know, Shikamaru was probably right. I don’t need real parents, cos you’re my mother.”

And it was Iruka’s turn to spray miso ramen across the surface of the table, his face red, his eyes bulging. “Wha– why– that Shikamaru!”

“Yes, that Shikamaru,” Naruto repeated cheerfully, not quite aware that he was consigning his friend to death by slow, slow torture. And as if to make sure that Shikamaru would never see another cloud again, he added, “Which makes Kakashi-sensei my father.”

Iruka was a quiet person by nature, but that was not to say that he couldn’t shout as loud as the next person. And shout he did, with Naruto’s laughter as his accompaniment, and annoyed yells of “Shut up over there!”. The man leaning against the wall outside turned the page of his book, and smiled underneath his mask.



fandom Slam Dunk
characters Maki, Kiyota
for hanase


The final siren is loud, so loud in Maki’s ears. He hasn’t been watching the clock; he’s been too occupied with his opponent, too occupied with guarding the ball, too occupied with strategies to recover those four points. And yet when the final siren sounds, he isn’t surprised; somewhere inside, he knew, and those four points are suddenly a gulf that can never be breached.

And he discovers that he can be bitter, after all.

“Good game, Maki. We’ll be meeting again next year, at university?”

“Yes.”

And they shake hands, and this is yet another occasion on which Maki has led his team to a defeat. Jin is quiet, perhaps more subdued than usual, but accepting; he still has next year. Takasago can’t hold back the tears. And neither can Kiyota.

Maki reaches out, and his hand is gentle on Kiyota’s sweat-soaked hair. Under the bright lights, surrounded by the noise of three hundred spectators, his voice is a murmur that slices through the grief.

“You have time.”

Kiyota’s sobs quiet down, gradually. Then he looks up at Maki with eyes that are sad, sadder than Maki has ever seen them, and he whispers, “But not with you.”

And it hurts, more than the fact that four points is both too little and too much.

“No. Not with me.”



fandom Naruto
characters Lee, Neji
for afuna


It hurt to move, but Lee tried anyway. He hadn’t given up yet, not yet, not yet. But then there was the foot in his back, pressing down inexorably, heavy with superiority and contempt. His eyes squeezed shut, in an effort to hold back the tears; but one escaped, sliding down his dirt-smeared cheek.

“Are we done?” Neji sounded bored, and perhaps he was. The fight had been over in three minutes and forty-seven seconds, just when Lee had thought he’d finally landed a blow, just when Lee had thought he’d finally improved.

It was only an illusion, of course. Staring into eyes as white as pure snow, Lee often thought he saw things that weren’t really there, couldn’t be there.

He didn’t speak, didn’t give either affirmative or negative reply to the question, but his forehead hitting the ground with a dull thud was all the answer Neji needed. The foot eased off his back, and Lee found that he could breathe again, but was the rasp of oxygen in his lungs painful because of his bruised ribs, or because of the cruelty in Neji’s eyes?

“Stop challenging me. The end result will never change.” Neji wasn’t sweating, nor was the rhythm of his breathing unsteady; his shirt was clean after a day of missions and training and three minutes and forty-seven seconds of sparring. And Lee lay on the ground, feeling so tired and broken that he wondered if he would lie there for the rest of the night. He knew Neji would leave him there.

“Gai-sensei… Gai-sensei said that if I just work harder…” Lee broke off when he heard his own voice, and instantly wished with every fibre of his being that Neji hadn’t also heard him sound so pitiful and small.

“Gai-sensei is a fool,” Neji dismissed Lee’s aspiration and inspiration with barely a flick of his head. “You are what you are. No amount of hard work can ever change that.”

And more than Neji’s harsh words, more than the foot he could somehow still feel against his back, Lee hurt because Neji hurt, because Neji refused to see past the cage that he clutched on to for fear of falling into the unknown.

“With eyes that can see so much,” Lee’s voice was quiet, “How can you be so blind?”

Neji left him lying there, broken in the dust.