Carved and Uncarved [4/4, Tora/Shou]
We were thirty in February when Kazamasa invited me to his apartment. There was no occasion, just a few hours of booze and grilled beef and endless talking, an afternoon to midnight interval of long-lasting friendship. Yet there was something wrong, I noticed, as we faced the television with fake interest, about him that day - the way he talked, the way his eyes blinked more than they usually did, the way his words seemed jutted out like spikes from a frightened porcupine. He was unusually quiet, too - he would rant as if it was his last day on earth, then fall into deep, stressful silence until something in him decided to kick his vocal chords.
Music videos were playing on the television - was it MTV? I didn’t know. He didn’t know. Neither of us knew. There was a brief period of heavy silence as we gazed half-hazily at Koda Kumi and B’z. I waited for him to speak again, but he never did.
“Eto,” was all I could say, in the end. His head turned slowly at me, and the look on his face could have killed like a shotgun to the heart: Kazamasa was crying.
“K-Kazamasa-kun…?” My voice lingered mid-air, falling bit by bit in the space between us. The tears fell faster, his sobs inaudible, sending invisible echoes reflecting everywhere.
I was at a loss for both words and actions - what should I do, what was going through his mind?
His lips barely moved, just the scraping of plush, slightly chapped skin against skin. Yet I could hear him just as easily as one would hear the pounding of rainy pellets hitting the window in the midst of a typhoon: he was whispering my name, a sole three-syllable curse tangled in a hoarse voice forever caught in a spider’s web of shrouded weeping.
I leaned in and took his head in one hand, the ends of his hair tickling the centre of my palm. His sobs were half-muffled in my chest, fingers clenched tight at the fabric of my shirt. He said nothing, just clenched and sobbed and clutched and cried.
But he did begin to stop - when I pressed my lips to the side of his head.
- - - - - - - -
“Shinji-kun?”
“Yeah?”
He fumbled around; I could make out his eyes squinting a little as he tried to get used to the dark. The fumbling continued for a short moment, his feet occasionally giving my shin an accidental kick, the covers dragged here and there. Then he stopped, and I felt a pair of lips caressing my ear, familiar arms wrapping around my shoulders.
“My life is a tablet made of stone,” he whispered, tongue flicking out at my lobe, not on purpose, “and you’re carving it into heaven.”
- - - - - - - -
AN: OMG. It's done. Finished. Over. First completed chapter-story, and it's featuring my beloved OTP. ... ... I'm so proud, I could cry... not that I didn't do that... well, no, surprisingly... all my tears were used up yesterday at Toy Story 3.
If anyone's waiting for an Aquablaze update... don't expect one soon; I have to feel hyper to even start writing it, and I'm definitely not in an okay mood these days. It's as if my whole vacation is effecting this.
Anyhow, I've planned another Tora/Shou story. Nine chapters. Inspired by Tchaikovsky. Swans are involved. Oh, and did I mention Shou's motherfucking eyepatch?
BTW, I have an urge to create a community for Tora and Shou... but I discarded the idea due to not being able to make skin layouts.
Music videos were playing on the television - was it MTV? I didn’t know. He didn’t know. Neither of us knew. There was a brief period of heavy silence as we gazed half-hazily at Koda Kumi and B’z. I waited for him to speak again, but he never did.
“Eto,” was all I could say, in the end. His head turned slowly at me, and the look on his face could have killed like a shotgun to the heart: Kazamasa was crying.
“K-Kazamasa-kun…?” My voice lingered mid-air, falling bit by bit in the space between us. The tears fell faster, his sobs inaudible, sending invisible echoes reflecting everywhere.
I was at a loss for both words and actions - what should I do, what was going through his mind?
His lips barely moved, just the scraping of plush, slightly chapped skin against skin. Yet I could hear him just as easily as one would hear the pounding of rainy pellets hitting the window in the midst of a typhoon: he was whispering my name, a sole three-syllable curse tangled in a hoarse voice forever caught in a spider’s web of shrouded weeping.
I leaned in and took his head in one hand, the ends of his hair tickling the centre of my palm. His sobs were half-muffled in my chest, fingers clenched tight at the fabric of my shirt. He said nothing, just clenched and sobbed and clutched and cried.
But he did begin to stop - when I pressed my lips to the side of his head.
- - - - - - - -
“Shinji-kun?”
“Yeah?”
He fumbled around; I could make out his eyes squinting a little as he tried to get used to the dark. The fumbling continued for a short moment, his feet occasionally giving my shin an accidental kick, the covers dragged here and there. Then he stopped, and I felt a pair of lips caressing my ear, familiar arms wrapping around my shoulders.
“My life is a tablet made of stone,” he whispered, tongue flicking out at my lobe, not on purpose, “and you’re carving it into heaven.”
- - - - - - - -
AN: OMG. It's done. Finished. Over. First completed chapter-story, and it's featuring my beloved OTP. ... ... I'm so proud, I could cry... not that I didn't do that... well, no, surprisingly... all my tears were used up yesterday at Toy Story 3.
If anyone's waiting for an Aquablaze update... don't expect one soon; I have to feel hyper to even start writing it, and I'm definitely not in an okay mood these days. It's as if my whole vacation is effecting this.
Anyhow, I've planned another Tora/Shou story. Nine chapters. Inspired by Tchaikovsky. Swans are involved. Oh, and did I mention Shou's motherfucking eyepatch?
BTW, I have an urge to create a community for Tora and Shou... but I discarded the idea due to not being able to make skin layouts.