[fic] j'en ai marre (kanda/lavi)
Title: J'en ai marre
Pairing: Kanda/Lavi
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: DGM belongs to Hoshino Katsura et al
A/N: High School AU Flashback!; soon after Theodore lets something slip, Kanda is faced with the consequences.
Kanda is dreaming. Why, it is not a nightmare about flying monsters and machineguns and both formers being attached to form the latter. It's not a nightmare in the sense that the latter is charging at him and he is faced with its punk attitude, in addition to his occasional rows with his father who for some wonderful reason isn't his father in these nightmares, so by that Kanda must conclude that they are indeed not very nightmarely. But anyway, Kanda is dreaming and finding it hard to breathe in this particular dream.
It all starts with the cookie hunt. He is on one of his secret cookie hunts, at the grocers, a grocers stocked full with all kinds of cookies, from floor to ceiling. Kanda is in one aisle out of a hundred, and he must make the most of it. Furthermore, he cannot decide which brand is best, and opts to go in a torrential search for his usual. He thinks, holy crap, with a French accent. Not in French, that is most absurd. He then says, merde, je dois les manger avant de Walker en mange! He is sure that he would like to eat the whole aisle, floor included.
He is sure that he is quite altogether, head-wise. It is there; that is all he needs to know right now.
And then he is faced with a woman and her basket of babies. The babies have babies, and those babies, teeny weeny cookies. Like snowdrops. Cold and uninviting, erg. Kanda pushes the basket away only to be met with sheer hostility for his turn-down of a crappy babysitting job. Mother of all that is crap, he does not make googoo eyes at -
The teeny weeny children are making googoo eyes at him. Those pissers! They are hateful and cute!
Kanda reaches out to prod one of them, and you wouldn't think this at first, but he is met with a poisonous bite! Really! This is happening to him! Oh no, he is in the middle of an aisle that stocks the worst cookies known to Kandakind and this is what he gets for his troubles. He would tell the egghead to go suck one of his own kind (eggkind, that is right!), but woe betide, he is not that kind of cold-hearted person.
They never give him the chance, see. The mother releases the hounds of hell from the basket - because that must be what they are, hounds and hounds with eggs for heads! Creeping him out! With red eyes, all gremlin-like.
Ack! Craptastic! He is in the doghouse! The doghouse of houndsville! This is a nightmare! This is not really happening!
He has already started to breathe funny and when he is on the floor (why? ask the funny man in the sky; no, in the ceiling, like a hidden camera bot), he looks up and there is stupid Father, stupid stupid Father, hair as wild as the day he evidently passed it onto Kanda, cooing and waving at him as if Kanda was such an accident at birth! That motherfucker!
Quite literally, mind.
Oy, enough of this. It's not everyday Kanda is molested by a deluge of malformed lovechildren, no matter how bestial or British or even friendly. He is not about to start now. (Being molested by them, that is.) It should only be commonly sensical of him to thwart them with a few beatings.
He says, laissez-moi passer! because this surely is the way to go about things, especially when one is in such a compromising position. Also he wants to tell him that he is having a week at the moment, please rage on some other idiot's baby daddy.
Something like that. He can't quite make it into French as it is. Perhaps he is having a bad month. Rife with an extreme taste for sadistic tendencies. Perhaps he should pin Walker to a dartboard. What is that game? Something with darts in it?
Cricket!
True enough, he doesn't know how to play and what's more, he really should learn one day, don't you think?
Well fuck, the molesters are on his ass again, biting it. Massaging it. Massaging it? He gasps and thinks the mother with the horny tendencies is making a rum out of him. That is quite craptastic. He hates rum. He's also never tried it.
Chirrup, she says, chirrup. So Kanda is slightly relieved for it to be her and not her gremlin babies. Is she possibly cheering him up with such foul language and fouler kneading, because that does feel a bit nice. Just a little. He really can't complain, can he?
Then suddenly she is making him assume the position frontward! And Kanda has a mind to complain, he does!
She is curvy; curvy like curry and good god help him? What about his cookies?! He only has so much to buy and in so little time! Time is money, you know!
So she grabs him by the chest and -
Chest. He breathes harder. Chest. Ack. Er. Ze chest.
He has les bazoomas. Also known as bazoomas. Otherwise known as girl parts! Ack! Double crap! And le crack, he sees.
He briefly admires the crack down his front. It is, like, what. Something cleaved in two. Big and rrround. He whines a bit and touches them, checking for visibility and bouncability. Just in case anybody should see him like this, except for of course the mother who is currently lacking the manly womanly touches and of course his father who is also currently lacking the manly . . . Well, anyway.
Kanda admires his chest, thinking, oh mon dieu ces va me tuer! Because breasts tend to have that . . . tendency. One time Lenalee's were growing and she had asked him to make certain that they were matching and -
Rrround. Ow! Just ow! Bleeding fucker of all that is a mother of le crap!
He is crying for his mother when he is blinking his eyes open. Oh, it is a ceiling without the eyesore in the sky. Well, then - and gasping for utter breath quite utterly! His heart! His lungs! Aploosh!
"Fuck," Kanda says, staring at the ceiling. He pats himself on the chest; he pats something hairier than his own head. Oh no, he didn't! He didn't grow - ?! "Damn cat!" he groans, shoving it.
That Damned Cat chirrrrs and must be thinking that Kanda is one really naked pushover. It shoves back until Kanda is forced to resign to the inevitable. He pretends to die. That Damned Cat relocates to Kanda's stomach and Kanda thinks, in English, that it is in fact, very much in fact, trying to murder him. To his face, even. The cat, in Kanda's humble opinion, has many testicules.
"I'll step on you when I get up," he tells it. "Don't forget to remind me."
The warm body next to him is shuddering awake. Kanda half-hopes Lavi is not humping his leg again in all his sleepy merriment.
"Whassammonmmm?" says Lavi, very smartly. His hand wanders. Wandering along.
"It's nothing, go back to sleep."
"Budilossmekins."
Okay. Yes, you do that. Shut up and sleep.
Lavi drapes against his side (he has his uses, as sparse as they are), finally resting his hand over Kanda's crotch. Nakedly. Both are. Hmm.
Kanda shall not complain.
He is, after all, reassured to have sticky-outy parts down there, as well as non-sticky-outy parts up here, where there are a few nail indentions and perhaps a few nails themselves. (Painfully embedded. His chest, not the bed.)
Precisely? Overall, he is lacking in the bazooma department, also known as Deathwish Sink-or-Swim Devices.
But he is not lacking in the bazooka department, and that is quite the reassurance.
(Now, how will he ever go home to face that rogue-priest-artist-piece-of-poultry-whatever you would call your ex-father? Plus, ex-father-who-passes-down-bad-hair-to-good-children. Namely, Kanda Yuudachi. He will surely have to break this fickle pickle.)
Pairing: Kanda/Lavi
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: DGM belongs to Hoshino Katsura et al
A/N: High School AU Flashback!; soon after Theodore lets something slip, Kanda is faced with the consequences.
Kanda is dreaming. Why, it is not a nightmare about flying monsters and machineguns and both formers being attached to form the latter. It's not a nightmare in the sense that the latter is charging at him and he is faced with its punk attitude, in addition to his occasional rows with his father who for some wonderful reason isn't his father in these nightmares, so by that Kanda must conclude that they are indeed not very nightmarely. But anyway, Kanda is dreaming and finding it hard to breathe in this particular dream.
It all starts with the cookie hunt. He is on one of his secret cookie hunts, at the grocers, a grocers stocked full with all kinds of cookies, from floor to ceiling. Kanda is in one aisle out of a hundred, and he must make the most of it. Furthermore, he cannot decide which brand is best, and opts to go in a torrential search for his usual. He thinks, holy crap, with a French accent. Not in French, that is most absurd. He then says, merde, je dois les manger avant de Walker en mange! He is sure that he would like to eat the whole aisle, floor included.
He is sure that he is quite altogether, head-wise. It is there; that is all he needs to know right now.
And then he is faced with a woman and her basket of babies. The babies have babies, and those babies, teeny weeny cookies. Like snowdrops. Cold and uninviting, erg. Kanda pushes the basket away only to be met with sheer hostility for his turn-down of a crappy babysitting job. Mother of all that is crap, he does not make googoo eyes at -
The teeny weeny children are making googoo eyes at him. Those pissers! They are hateful and cute!
Kanda reaches out to prod one of them, and you wouldn't think this at first, but he is met with a poisonous bite! Really! This is happening to him! Oh no, he is in the middle of an aisle that stocks the worst cookies known to Kandakind and this is what he gets for his troubles. He would tell the egghead to go suck one of his own kind (eggkind, that is right!), but woe betide, he is not that kind of cold-hearted person.
They never give him the chance, see. The mother releases the hounds of hell from the basket - because that must be what they are, hounds and hounds with eggs for heads! Creeping him out! With red eyes, all gremlin-like.
Ack! Craptastic! He is in the doghouse! The doghouse of houndsville! This is a nightmare! This is not really happening!
He has already started to breathe funny and when he is on the floor (why? ask the funny man in the sky; no, in the ceiling, like a hidden camera bot), he looks up and there is stupid Father, stupid stupid Father, hair as wild as the day he evidently passed it onto Kanda, cooing and waving at him as if Kanda was such an accident at birth! That motherfucker!
Quite literally, mind.
Oy, enough of this. It's not everyday Kanda is molested by a deluge of malformed lovechildren, no matter how bestial or British or even friendly. He is not about to start now. (Being molested by them, that is.) It should only be commonly sensical of him to thwart them with a few beatings.
He says, laissez-moi passer! because this surely is the way to go about things, especially when one is in such a compromising position. Also he wants to tell him that he is having a week at the moment, please rage on some other idiot's baby daddy.
Something like that. He can't quite make it into French as it is. Perhaps he is having a bad month. Rife with an extreme taste for sadistic tendencies. Perhaps he should pin Walker to a dartboard. What is that game? Something with darts in it?
Cricket!
True enough, he doesn't know how to play and what's more, he really should learn one day, don't you think?
Well fuck, the molesters are on his ass again, biting it. Massaging it. Massaging it? He gasps and thinks the mother with the horny tendencies is making a rum out of him. That is quite craptastic. He hates rum. He's also never tried it.
Chirrup, she says, chirrup. So Kanda is slightly relieved for it to be her and not her gremlin babies. Is she possibly cheering him up with such foul language and fouler kneading, because that does feel a bit nice. Just a little. He really can't complain, can he?
Then suddenly she is making him assume the position frontward! And Kanda has a mind to complain, he does!
She is curvy; curvy like curry and good god help him? What about his cookies?! He only has so much to buy and in so little time! Time is money, you know!
So she grabs him by the chest and -
Chest. He breathes harder. Chest. Ack. Er. Ze chest.
He has les bazoomas. Also known as bazoomas. Otherwise known as girl parts! Ack! Double crap! And le crack, he sees.
He briefly admires the crack down his front. It is, like, what. Something cleaved in two. Big and rrround. He whines a bit and touches them, checking for visibility and bouncability. Just in case anybody should see him like this, except for of course the mother who is currently lacking the manly womanly touches and of course his father who is also currently lacking the manly . . . Well, anyway.
Kanda admires his chest, thinking, oh mon dieu ces va me tuer! Because breasts tend to have that . . . tendency. One time Lenalee's were growing and she had asked him to make certain that they were matching and -
Rrround. Ow! Just ow! Bleeding fucker of all that is a mother of le crap!
He is crying for his mother when he is blinking his eyes open. Oh, it is a ceiling without the eyesore in the sky. Well, then - and gasping for utter breath quite utterly! His heart! His lungs! Aploosh!
"Fuck," Kanda says, staring at the ceiling. He pats himself on the chest; he pats something hairier than his own head. Oh no, he didn't! He didn't grow - ?! "Damn cat!" he groans, shoving it.
That Damned Cat chirrrrs and must be thinking that Kanda is one really naked pushover. It shoves back until Kanda is forced to resign to the inevitable. He pretends to die. That Damned Cat relocates to Kanda's stomach and Kanda thinks, in English, that it is in fact, very much in fact, trying to murder him. To his face, even. The cat, in Kanda's humble opinion, has many testicules.
"I'll step on you when I get up," he tells it. "Don't forget to remind me."
The warm body next to him is shuddering awake. Kanda half-hopes Lavi is not humping his leg again in all his sleepy merriment.
"Whassammonmmm?" says Lavi, very smartly. His hand wanders. Wandering along.
"It's nothing, go back to sleep."
"Budilossmekins."
Okay. Yes, you do that. Shut up and sleep.
Lavi drapes against his side (he has his uses, as sparse as they are), finally resting his hand over Kanda's crotch. Nakedly. Both are. Hmm.
Kanda shall not complain.
He is, after all, reassured to have sticky-outy parts down there, as well as non-sticky-outy parts up here, where there are a few nail indentions and perhaps a few nails themselves. (Painfully embedded. His chest, not the bed.)
Precisely? Overall, he is lacking in the bazooma department, also known as Deathwish Sink-or-Swim Devices.
But he is not lacking in the bazooka department, and that is quite the reassurance.
(Now, how will he ever go home to face that rogue-priest-artist-piece-of-poultry-whatever you would call your ex-father? Plus, ex-father-who-passes-down-bad-hair-to-good-children. Namely, Kanda Yuudachi. He will surely have to break this fickle pickle.)