two short fics inspired by cousteau lyrics
been drabbling lately. not good, this quick fixing -- but must clear brain. clutter overload.
= first off, the sanayuki. the first stanza made me snicker and go *pika* at the same time; the "military hands" reference was actually what put this drabble together. [ click for low-quality mp3 ]
Look out now, lumpy hero
With your military hands
Whatever that they told you
No don't hold true
Around these lands
There's signals in the morning
The freeze has caught the dew
As fragile as she's thorny
Careful don't storm in
Like you do
'Cause she bruise easy
You'll break the spell
And she won't come around
Where tenterhooks, slender hopes
Won't make no sound
Wouldn't you know it
Couldn't you tell?
Now she's not far away
Rising up, wising up
To leave you
someday
The first thing he does is remove the black bands you wear. And afterwards his fingertips slide across the familiar indentations on your wrists.
The lightness never fails to surprise you. You sometimes forget it's only in private, like this, that he assumes the sort of touch that makes flowers grow, carefully breaks soft earth.
He smiles shyly up at you, then averts his gaze. He looks for a second like he has changed his mind; his face is a picture of the thought niggling at the back of your head -- that this is a mistake, that there is no turning back. You should never have gotten to this point. The both of you should have known better.
His fingers slowly pull back, untangling from yours. Already you feel something ending...
So you lift one hand. The ease makes you hesitate; without the black weight around your wrists, it's somewhat uncomfortable. Naked, is the word that comes to your mind for the feeling. One wall down.
Your hand moves through the thick air between you. Careful. This is touching him without restraint. Your palm makes contact with the cool, smooth skin of his cheek.
This isn't the first time for you to do this, but this is the first time for it to feel real. You've never tried touching each other without those wrist weights before. Your hand feels rough, as always, on his skin -- as if it matters when his hands, though longer and more slender, are also coarse and callused...
He closes his eyes and lets his breath out in a long, quiet sigh. He cranes his neck so your palm slides from his cheek. You fear for a second that the friction had hurt him, but it doesn't seem to matter. He catches your hand, and guides it even further down.
You've let him do this before.
"Here. Don't you feel it?"
His hand on top of yours, pushing down with a steady gentleness, until your palm touches the ground. You sense only the loose patch of earth surrendering. This is his garden, and while it is home to him, everything inside it makes you feel foreign.
It's alive, he wants you to see. It breathes. It responds.
"...No. I don't feel anything."
His stare on your face, sadness beneath. Don't you really? His hand still on yours, holding it down with a subtle pressure you could break away from at any time.
Time slowing to a stop, waiting for your answer.
Under your palm, there is a fast, uneven beating. You look into his eyes again and see his reluctance. A last chance at being reasonable. A dare to deny that your heart also races against his touch.
You know he's tougher, he could take anything you give, all your awkwardness and rough fumbling. But for some reason, something about the readiness, the yielding, scares you. The heat from his skin, the light in his eyes, wander over your surfaces, warmer than the core of your soul.
And for all your longing for him, all of a sudden you fear him drawing closer. For then you will have to move away or shatter.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
= and this is yanayuki. so okay, this doesn't exactly have anything to do with the lyrics that inspired it, but the song in general reminds me of jazzband!yanayuki.
this is part of a(n alleged) longer fic entitled "Light for Heat." which i dunno when i'll ever write. i want to help build a story around the rikkai jazzband idea...if it's okay with tongari and midorinomizu, of course... i also need help consolidating my...er, data... so all our fics for this 'verse will blend together.
inspired now by "peculiarly you." no mp3 samples for this one, sorry. i love this song, though, it drones a despondent kind of beguiled... and it just has renji's voice all over, which is hee <3
The way you arch your back
And comb your hair
The way you only come
When no-one else is there...
Like the patron saint
Of some great cause
Clothes heaped in battles
Round the bedroom floor...
The way you're sacrificing
Light for heat
Worlds collide
When others rarely meet
The way you look like you might
tell a secret
There's not a lot I can do
It's peculiarly you
In the end he was the one who came looking for Renji, and he had walked through the door like a whisper.
It would have been a genuine shock if he had come in a few minutes and two shots earlier. But as it was, it was half-expected that anyone would be coming in through the door at all. Renji's calculations were working inebriated: there was an 80% chance...no, taking external factors (like certain rich, bratty patrons) into consideration, it would be 60%...that Genichirou would call late and realize he hadn't come home yet. But that Genichirou would come for him...if anyone would still want to come for him...
Renji hadn't even been sure that he'd wanted to be alone. But by the time Seiichi came in, Renji had downed enough scotch to believe that he was doing the right thing. No one was waiting for him at home. No one would mind. No one was going to ask him what was troubling him, or question the "logic" of staying out so late, and coming back smelling of alcohol.
It was far better this, than trying to sleep with so many things failing to make sense.
There was something about the new pianist that opened old wounds. And all he had to do was sit there. Renji wasn't sure how Genichirou had found him -- he had to praise Genichirou's ear for talent, but questioned his ability to keep internal affairs together. Genichirou should have at least noticed that Renji, his best friend, hadn't been singing up to par since the new pianist came in --
Or, rather, he hadn't been singing the way he used to.
And to Renji, that added up to "worse."
"You should've been home hours ago," Seiichi greeted, beneath his breath. The bartender standing a few steps away, cleaning glasses, would surely not have heard something that softly said.
Renji smiled down at the glass in his hands. "I don't think I'll be missed," he said.
The new pianist sat on the stool beside Renji's, rested his elbows on the surface of the bar and hunched his broad shoulders, mimicking Renji's pose.
"How can you say that?" Seiichi asked with just the right shade of concern, wearing a knowing look untempered by a chiding smile. "I tried calling you. You weren't answering the phone, so I decided to see if you hadn't left the club yet. I was worried."
Renji looked over at him, careful to keep his face blank. "Amazing how you can say that to me with a straight face," he said, before he could help himself. "You don't even know me."
What was it about the new pianist that made him say stupid things?
Seiichi, aptly surprised by the remark, drew himself up, carefully hiding behind an impassive stare.
"...I'm sorry," Renji said. "It's just...I don't think you should even be talking to me right now."
"And why is that?" It didn't sound challenging at all.
"Some sins can't be lived down."
Seiichi showed no sign of understanding. Or of going away. But he smiled over at Renji with a shy, tentative smile, almost saying You can hurt me, and in fact you have, but it doesn't matter...
"People care about you now, no matter what you've done."
Words spilled from his lips like ancient wisdom, sad and sure. Renji met his companion's kind stare, searching for words where there were none.
Then he signalled to the bartender for another shot.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
actually, i suck at self-beta. am only shooting for respectable ^^v
PS: wondering now if drabble 1 will serve as a response to pengie's question command >P
= first off, the sanayuki. the first stanza made me snicker and go *pika* at the same time; the "military hands" reference was actually what put this drabble together. [ click for low-quality mp3 ]
Look out now, lumpy hero
With your military hands
Whatever that they told you
No don't hold true
Around these lands
There's signals in the morning
The freeze has caught the dew
As fragile as she's thorny
Careful don't storm in
Like you do
'Cause she bruise easy
You'll break the spell
And she won't come around
Where tenterhooks, slender hopes
Won't make no sound
Wouldn't you know it
Couldn't you tell?
Now she's not far away
Rising up, wising up
To leave you
someday
The first thing he does is remove the black bands you wear. And afterwards his fingertips slide across the familiar indentations on your wrists.
The lightness never fails to surprise you. You sometimes forget it's only in private, like this, that he assumes the sort of touch that makes flowers grow, carefully breaks soft earth.
He smiles shyly up at you, then averts his gaze. He looks for a second like he has changed his mind; his face is a picture of the thought niggling at the back of your head -- that this is a mistake, that there is no turning back. You should never have gotten to this point. The both of you should have known better.
His fingers slowly pull back, untangling from yours. Already you feel something ending...
So you lift one hand. The ease makes you hesitate; without the black weight around your wrists, it's somewhat uncomfortable. Naked, is the word that comes to your mind for the feeling. One wall down.
Your hand moves through the thick air between you. Careful. This is touching him without restraint. Your palm makes contact with the cool, smooth skin of his cheek.
This isn't the first time for you to do this, but this is the first time for it to feel real. You've never tried touching each other without those wrist weights before. Your hand feels rough, as always, on his skin -- as if it matters when his hands, though longer and more slender, are also coarse and callused...
He closes his eyes and lets his breath out in a long, quiet sigh. He cranes his neck so your palm slides from his cheek. You fear for a second that the friction had hurt him, but it doesn't seem to matter. He catches your hand, and guides it even further down.
You've let him do this before.
"Here. Don't you feel it?"
His hand on top of yours, pushing down with a steady gentleness, until your palm touches the ground. You sense only the loose patch of earth surrendering. This is his garden, and while it is home to him, everything inside it makes you feel foreign.
It's alive, he wants you to see. It breathes. It responds.
"...No. I don't feel anything."
His stare on your face, sadness beneath. Don't you really? His hand still on yours, holding it down with a subtle pressure you could break away from at any time.
Time slowing to a stop, waiting for your answer.
Under your palm, there is a fast, uneven beating. You look into his eyes again and see his reluctance. A last chance at being reasonable. A dare to deny that your heart also races against his touch.
You know he's tougher, he could take anything you give, all your awkwardness and rough fumbling. But for some reason, something about the readiness, the yielding, scares you. The heat from his skin, the light in his eyes, wander over your surfaces, warmer than the core of your soul.
And for all your longing for him, all of a sudden you fear him drawing closer. For then you will have to move away or shatter.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
= and this is yanayuki. so okay, this doesn't exactly have anything to do with the lyrics that inspired it, but the song in general reminds me of jazzband!yanayuki.
this is part of a(n alleged) longer fic entitled "Light for Heat." which i dunno when i'll ever write. i want to help build a story around the rikkai jazzband idea...if it's okay with tongari and midorinomizu, of course... i also need help consolidating my...er, data... so all our fics for this 'verse will blend together.
inspired now by "peculiarly you." no mp3 samples for this one, sorry. i love this song, though, it drones a despondent kind of beguiled... and it just has renji's voice all over, which is hee <3
The way you arch your back
And comb your hair
The way you only come
When no-one else is there...
Like the patron saint
Of some great cause
Clothes heaped in battles
Round the bedroom floor...
The way you're sacrificing
Light for heat
Worlds collide
When others rarely meet
The way you look like you might
tell a secret
There's not a lot I can do
It's peculiarly you
In the end he was the one who came looking for Renji, and he had walked through the door like a whisper.
It would have been a genuine shock if he had come in a few minutes and two shots earlier. But as it was, it was half-expected that anyone would be coming in through the door at all. Renji's calculations were working inebriated: there was an 80% chance...no, taking external factors (like certain rich, bratty patrons) into consideration, it would be 60%...that Genichirou would call late and realize he hadn't come home yet. But that Genichirou would come for him...if anyone would still want to come for him...
Renji hadn't even been sure that he'd wanted to be alone. But by the time Seiichi came in, Renji had downed enough scotch to believe that he was doing the right thing. No one was waiting for him at home. No one would mind. No one was going to ask him what was troubling him, or question the "logic" of staying out so late, and coming back smelling of alcohol.
It was far better this, than trying to sleep with so many things failing to make sense.
There was something about the new pianist that opened old wounds. And all he had to do was sit there. Renji wasn't sure how Genichirou had found him -- he had to praise Genichirou's ear for talent, but questioned his ability to keep internal affairs together. Genichirou should have at least noticed that Renji, his best friend, hadn't been singing up to par since the new pianist came in --
Or, rather, he hadn't been singing the way he used to.
And to Renji, that added up to "worse."
"You should've been home hours ago," Seiichi greeted, beneath his breath. The bartender standing a few steps away, cleaning glasses, would surely not have heard something that softly said.
Renji smiled down at the glass in his hands. "I don't think I'll be missed," he said.
The new pianist sat on the stool beside Renji's, rested his elbows on the surface of the bar and hunched his broad shoulders, mimicking Renji's pose.
"How can you say that?" Seiichi asked with just the right shade of concern, wearing a knowing look untempered by a chiding smile. "I tried calling you. You weren't answering the phone, so I decided to see if you hadn't left the club yet. I was worried."
Renji looked over at him, careful to keep his face blank. "Amazing how you can say that to me with a straight face," he said, before he could help himself. "You don't even know me."
What was it about the new pianist that made him say stupid things?
Seiichi, aptly surprised by the remark, drew himself up, carefully hiding behind an impassive stare.
"...I'm sorry," Renji said. "It's just...I don't think you should even be talking to me right now."
"And why is that?" It didn't sound challenging at all.
"Some sins can't be lived down."
Seiichi showed no sign of understanding. Or of going away. But he smiled over at Renji with a shy, tentative smile, almost saying You can hurt me, and in fact you have, but it doesn't matter...
"People care about you now, no matter what you've done."
Words spilled from his lips like ancient wisdom, sad and sure. Renji met his companion's kind stare, searching for words where there were none.
Then he signalled to the bartender for another shot.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
actually, i suck at self-beta. am only shooting for respectable ^^v
PS: wondering now if drabble 1 will serve as a response to pengie's question command >P