...051: Pleasure's Punishment
Title: Pleasure's Punishment
Fandom: Digimon
Characters: Yamato Ishida, Taichi Yagami
Prompt: 051: Smell
Word Count: 1485
Rating: PG
Summary: Yamato's beginning to regret what he and Taichi did last night.
Author's Notes: Yay, fic two of the 100 fic challenge! And I wrote this in, eh, an hour or so? Yay me!
Pleasure's Punishment
They were fighting. It wasn't that they were angry at each other, or even at themselves, but the two were frustrated with life as a whole. It was a dreadful situation the two had landed in, which they had placed themselves in accidentally. They hadn't meant to take it so far, yet they had, and now they suffered.
"Just one or two, okay?" Yamato asked in assurance, pale blue eyes looking at Taichi with mild curiosity, mild fear.
Taichi nodded. "Just one or two. Three, only maybe," he told him. "And that's only if we absolutely have to. But just one or two."
Yamato nodded, and the two reached forward, taking a synchronized breath.
"Okay... one... two... three!"
"You're a dumbass, Taichi," Yamato muttered, finally making his way out of the bathroom. His eyes were sullen, pale face taking an overall greenish tint. His baggy shirt was clean and white and hung off of one shoulder, displaying how quickly and recently he had placed it on. He had just changed, again, to rid himself of the horrible scent constantly wafting to him from last night's activities.
Yamato loved it. The euphoric warmth filling his insides, from his stomach, through his limbs, rising immediately to his head. It was like a foggy dream, lights swirling about, making intricate patterns upon the wall, glistening in his eyes.
"C'mon, Yama!" Taichi said, grabbing his arm. The older boy dragged him from their seat and the empty glasses, to the wooden floor in the center. Bumping and grinding, many people moved about, lost in their ecstacy of the night. "Up for it, Yamato?" Taichi asked.
Yamato was up for it. He smiled. He was just about up for anything now, already in his blissful dream.
His comrade in crime sat in the living room, still wearing what he had dawled himself in last night, still decorated to this morning in the same clothing. It smelled, reeked, burned Yamato's nostrils like it had earlier when he woke with the scent right in front of his nose.
He and Taichi had slept close last night - uncomforably close - and both still regretted it.
When they had returned home, the two had just crashed. A futon had been set up for Taichi, and Yamato would sleep in his bed like their usual sleepovers.
That hadn't happened. Yamato ended up crashing on the futon after almost drowning himself in a shower, and Taichi flopped on the bed, only to roll over and land on Yamato. The blonde only scooted over and was kicked in the side, only to wake up with the scent wafting to his nose. It was rotten and old, something used and abused and still lingering.
Taichi hadn't changed. He wore a plain pair of navy slacks and a white shirt where the left sleeve had a drying stain. The most he had done was taken off his black tie and jacket before he flopped down.
It might've been Taichi's arm draped over his chest or the boy breathing on his face which was so disgusting to smell. Yamato decided that it was both.
Taichi leaned back on the couch, holding a small ziploc bag of ice on his forehead. He had a pounding headache, now having lost the urge to empty whatever was left in his stomach, and now preferred moping in the living room, not even bothering to shower. Strangely, sadly, this reminded Yamato of his father, of how the man would crash from work on that couch with a beer and the television remote - the only differences were the silence, Taichi's groans, and the ice pack. The television was on mute.
They were fighting for the bathroom. Taichi sat in a corner, holding onto the wastebucket, as Yamato frowned and weakly argued that he should use the toilet, so it wouldn't smell. Taichi ignored him, and Yamato soon ignored the idea as he stuck his own head in the toilet. He wasn't a very clean person when it came to being sick, always accidentally messing up his shirt or sometimes his pants. And in his dizzy state, he had managed to do both, twice. Working on his third shirt, he shoved his head in the bowl and upchucked.
Taichi managed to stop, but kept the bucket at his reach, doing what any good friend would do, by holding the blonde's hair from his face. Yamato declared that this was all Taichi's fault, but he was to blame as well. After all, Yamato went along with it, and the two completely went over their limit.
It surprised him how they managed to make it home without walking into traffic. Maybe they were lucky to not get hit.
"I sure don't feel lucky," he muttered.
Taichi tilted his head to the side. "Wha, Yamato?"
"Nothing, dumbass."
"Dumbass." It was the word of the day.
The brunette barely turned his head, eyes moving to the corners as he peered at the blonde in the doorway. He gave him a dull, uncaring look. "So?" he asked. "What's your point?"
"Don't act as if this is nothing, dumbass!" Yamato said angrily, taking a few staggering steps forward. "You brought me there, and you told me we'd only have one or two!"
Before he could speak more, he was interrupted by his good friend.
"Look, Yama, I gave you a choice. I offered, you decided. You damn well knew this could happen." Taichi sighed. "Anyway, you know you liked it."
Yamato narrowed his eyes, but before he could say anything further, he found himself stopping, the colors on his face changing to an unnatural green as he bolted back into the bathroom. He could hear Taichi laughing softly as he clasped a hand over his mouth and hurried back over the toilet, throwing up whatever was left to empty before finally pulling away. He used mouthwash to rid himself of the taste, but the smell seemed to linger, even as he flushed the toilet.
That retched scent...
"Four suicides, please."
"You sure?" the man asked. He looked a little unsure. "You're both kinda young."
Taichi smirked and nodded. "Yep. C'mon now, we've got a newb here."
The first thing Yamato noticed was the combination's strong odor as he watched the man make it in front of his eyes.
It seemed permanently plastered under his nose. Glancing down, he realized he had dirtied this shirt also. Yanking it off, he decided that shirts just weren't worth it. From there, he headed back into the living room.
Taichi was still just sitting there, on the couch, in yesterday's clothes, with a bag of ice on his forehead. Yamato hated that.
"Go change, you smell!" he demanded.
The brunette only smiled. "Nah... I like these jeans."
"I don't care. Take them off."
That sparked Taichi's attention. "Why?" he asked curiously, pushing himself to sit up. He smirked seductively at his taller friend. "Do you... need something?" Taichi lowered the ice pack, then began to undo his shirt buttons.
Yamato stared, unsure if he was dreaming this or if Taichi was really doing this.
Taichi gave up on his shirt upon the second button, but soon lowered his hand to his pants. Two fingers flipped open the fly, two others slid down the zipper.
"Oh God, stop. Right now!" Yamato said suddenly, taking a step back.
Taichi began laughing, leaning back on the couch. "You should've seen the look on your face!" he snorted. "You really thought - Yama, you're a riot!" Lifting a hand, he returned the bag of ice to his forehead.
Yamato sighed and dropped to sit next to him, laying his head back on the couch. He grabbed the remote, slowly turning up the volume so it could barely be heard, yet somewhat audible to their ears. For a few minutes, the two watched the news, mildly interested in the traffic report on television and the seventeen accidents on four major highways that killed eight people.
That was when a lightbulb flashed in Yamato's head.
Calmly, he took the ice bag from Taichi and placed it at his own forehead. Taichi didn't seem to care much, only dropping his arms to the sides of the couch. He sighed, and the two continued to watch.
Yamato then dropped the bag of ice onto Taichi's lap, bag open, ice falling into the boy's open pants. Taichi panicked, jumping up as he did a small jig in the attempt of shaking away the ice. He then ran from Yamato, to the bathroom, where Yamato could hear him tugging off the jeans and screaming "Oh shit" and "So damn cold" at the top of his lungs or between grinding teeth.
Victory and revenge came in one package. He smiled and flipped the channel. "Now that you can't wear those, change already!" he called to his bushy-haired friend with a gleeful laugh, "You really smell, Tai!"
Fandom: Digimon
Characters: Yamato Ishida, Taichi Yagami
Prompt: 051: Smell
Word Count: 1485
Rating: PG
Summary: Yamato's beginning to regret what he and Taichi did last night.
Author's Notes: Yay, fic two of the 100 fic challenge! And I wrote this in, eh, an hour or so? Yay me!
Pleasure's Punishment
They were fighting. It wasn't that they were angry at each other, or even at themselves, but the two were frustrated with life as a whole. It was a dreadful situation the two had landed in, which they had placed themselves in accidentally. They hadn't meant to take it so far, yet they had, and now they suffered.
"Just one or two, okay?" Yamato asked in assurance, pale blue eyes looking at Taichi with mild curiosity, mild fear.
Taichi nodded. "Just one or two. Three, only maybe," he told him. "And that's only if we absolutely have to. But just one or two."
Yamato nodded, and the two reached forward, taking a synchronized breath.
"Okay... one... two... three!"
"You're a dumbass, Taichi," Yamato muttered, finally making his way out of the bathroom. His eyes were sullen, pale face taking an overall greenish tint. His baggy shirt was clean and white and hung off of one shoulder, displaying how quickly and recently he had placed it on. He had just changed, again, to rid himself of the horrible scent constantly wafting to him from last night's activities.
Yamato loved it. The euphoric warmth filling his insides, from his stomach, through his limbs, rising immediately to his head. It was like a foggy dream, lights swirling about, making intricate patterns upon the wall, glistening in his eyes.
"C'mon, Yama!" Taichi said, grabbing his arm. The older boy dragged him from their seat and the empty glasses, to the wooden floor in the center. Bumping and grinding, many people moved about, lost in their ecstacy of the night. "Up for it, Yamato?" Taichi asked.
Yamato was up for it. He smiled. He was just about up for anything now, already in his blissful dream.
His comrade in crime sat in the living room, still wearing what he had dawled himself in last night, still decorated to this morning in the same clothing. It smelled, reeked, burned Yamato's nostrils like it had earlier when he woke with the scent right in front of his nose.
He and Taichi had slept close last night - uncomforably close - and both still regretted it.
When they had returned home, the two had just crashed. A futon had been set up for Taichi, and Yamato would sleep in his bed like their usual sleepovers.
That hadn't happened. Yamato ended up crashing on the futon after almost drowning himself in a shower, and Taichi flopped on the bed, only to roll over and land on Yamato. The blonde only scooted over and was kicked in the side, only to wake up with the scent wafting to his nose. It was rotten and old, something used and abused and still lingering.
Taichi hadn't changed. He wore a plain pair of navy slacks and a white shirt where the left sleeve had a drying stain. The most he had done was taken off his black tie and jacket before he flopped down.
It might've been Taichi's arm draped over his chest or the boy breathing on his face which was so disgusting to smell. Yamato decided that it was both.
Taichi leaned back on the couch, holding a small ziploc bag of ice on his forehead. He had a pounding headache, now having lost the urge to empty whatever was left in his stomach, and now preferred moping in the living room, not even bothering to shower. Strangely, sadly, this reminded Yamato of his father, of how the man would crash from work on that couch with a beer and the television remote - the only differences were the silence, Taichi's groans, and the ice pack. The television was on mute.
They were fighting for the bathroom. Taichi sat in a corner, holding onto the wastebucket, as Yamato frowned and weakly argued that he should use the toilet, so it wouldn't smell. Taichi ignored him, and Yamato soon ignored the idea as he stuck his own head in the toilet. He wasn't a very clean person when it came to being sick, always accidentally messing up his shirt or sometimes his pants. And in his dizzy state, he had managed to do both, twice. Working on his third shirt, he shoved his head in the bowl and upchucked.
Taichi managed to stop, but kept the bucket at his reach, doing what any good friend would do, by holding the blonde's hair from his face. Yamato declared that this was all Taichi's fault, but he was to blame as well. After all, Yamato went along with it, and the two completely went over their limit.
It surprised him how they managed to make it home without walking into traffic. Maybe they were lucky to not get hit.
"I sure don't feel lucky," he muttered.
Taichi tilted his head to the side. "Wha, Yamato?"
"Nothing, dumbass."
"Dumbass." It was the word of the day.
The brunette barely turned his head, eyes moving to the corners as he peered at the blonde in the doorway. He gave him a dull, uncaring look. "So?" he asked. "What's your point?"
"Don't act as if this is nothing, dumbass!" Yamato said angrily, taking a few staggering steps forward. "You brought me there, and you told me we'd only have one or two!"
Before he could speak more, he was interrupted by his good friend.
"Look, Yama, I gave you a choice. I offered, you decided. You damn well knew this could happen." Taichi sighed. "Anyway, you know you liked it."
Yamato narrowed his eyes, but before he could say anything further, he found himself stopping, the colors on his face changing to an unnatural green as he bolted back into the bathroom. He could hear Taichi laughing softly as he clasped a hand over his mouth and hurried back over the toilet, throwing up whatever was left to empty before finally pulling away. He used mouthwash to rid himself of the taste, but the smell seemed to linger, even as he flushed the toilet.
That retched scent...
"Four suicides, please."
"You sure?" the man asked. He looked a little unsure. "You're both kinda young."
Taichi smirked and nodded. "Yep. C'mon now, we've got a newb here."
The first thing Yamato noticed was the combination's strong odor as he watched the man make it in front of his eyes.
It seemed permanently plastered under his nose. Glancing down, he realized he had dirtied this shirt also. Yanking it off, he decided that shirts just weren't worth it. From there, he headed back into the living room.
Taichi was still just sitting there, on the couch, in yesterday's clothes, with a bag of ice on his forehead. Yamato hated that.
"Go change, you smell!" he demanded.
The brunette only smiled. "Nah... I like these jeans."
"I don't care. Take them off."
That sparked Taichi's attention. "Why?" he asked curiously, pushing himself to sit up. He smirked seductively at his taller friend. "Do you... need something?" Taichi lowered the ice pack, then began to undo his shirt buttons.
Yamato stared, unsure if he was dreaming this or if Taichi was really doing this.
Taichi gave up on his shirt upon the second button, but soon lowered his hand to his pants. Two fingers flipped open the fly, two others slid down the zipper.
"Oh God, stop. Right now!" Yamato said suddenly, taking a step back.
Taichi began laughing, leaning back on the couch. "You should've seen the look on your face!" he snorted. "You really thought - Yama, you're a riot!" Lifting a hand, he returned the bag of ice to his forehead.
Yamato sighed and dropped to sit next to him, laying his head back on the couch. He grabbed the remote, slowly turning up the volume so it could barely be heard, yet somewhat audible to their ears. For a few minutes, the two watched the news, mildly interested in the traffic report on television and the seventeen accidents on four major highways that killed eight people.
That was when a lightbulb flashed in Yamato's head.
Calmly, he took the ice bag from Taichi and placed it at his own forehead. Taichi didn't seem to care much, only dropping his arms to the sides of the couch. He sighed, and the two continued to watch.
Yamato then dropped the bag of ice onto Taichi's lap, bag open, ice falling into the boy's open pants. Taichi panicked, jumping up as he did a small jig in the attempt of shaking away the ice. He then ran from Yamato, to the bathroom, where Yamato could hear him tugging off the jeans and screaming "Oh shit" and "So damn cold" at the top of his lungs or between grinding teeth.
Victory and revenge came in one package. He smiled and flipped the channel. "Now that you can't wear those, change already!" he called to his bushy-haired friend with a gleeful laugh, "You really smell, Tai!"