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Sep. 1st, 2004 06:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tacticianFandom: Samurai Deeper Kyo
Genre: General
Characters: Yukimura, Shindara
Warning: Same as before.
Disclaimer: Ditto.
“I didn't expect to find you here, of all people,” Shindara says, sweeping into the room without so much as a knock, coming toward the bed and staring down at the Sanada he used to serve. His eyes narrow as the other man looks up, a half-empty cup still in his hand, and smiles innocently. Yukimura is hardly intimidated. “What do you think you can accomplish by sneaking in here, Yukimura?”
His eyes are closed as he widens his smile. “I don't know what you're talking about, Shindara.” When he says it, he makes the name sounds bitter and vile. “I'm just here to help the Mibu. After all, with their power, I'm sure they can take care of the Sanada clan better than I can. I personally think I made a good choice. Plus, that's awfully mean, always thinking I have an ulterior motive!”
Shindara's eyes narrow, straining to focus on the familiar face rather than the familiar body. “It's because you do always have an ulterior motive, and I'm sure you have one now. Whatever you're planning, Yukimura, don't expect to get away with it. Everyone's watching you here; you're not amongst friends like you were back with Onime no Kyo.”
Yukimura feigns a gasp. “But I thought you were my friend, Shindara,” he begins, but his voice quickly degenerates into something more rough and lethal. He rises to his feet, invading what could be considered the juunishinshou's personal space, standing a precious two inches away. He lifts his face and smirks. “At the very least, we were something more than friends, before. Don't you think?”
Shindara notices three things. First, Yukimura is not drunk. Second, Yukimura forever smells like alcohol and clean sheets. Third, this is not before. There is a new person walking in his place now; there is nothing in this situation that is the same. He retreats politely without losing face and closes his treacherous eyes. “Your wiles no longer work on me, Sanada. Save them for your pets.”
“I have no pets,” the other answers, too easily and truthfully, “only friends.”
Shindara frowns. “Easily replaceable friends.”
“I have no friends who are easily replaceable. Enemies, however, come and go.” Yukimura says this with terrifying ease, without missing a beat, as if it were a mere observation. He says it so peacefully that it takes even Shindara a moment to remember who it applies to. When that moment passes, Shindara sneers, distorting the tattoo on his cheek, but Yukimura is relentless, cruel. “Would you like to hear about him?”
“Who?” He watches as Yukimura's face hardens into sharp edges that glint in the flickering light and knows the answer before it spills out of that elegant mouth. The room is lit by lanterns that cast shaky shadows on shaky people. There are crickets making a racket outside. The moon is only a sliver of white in the darkness; the stars shine brighter than she does. Once again, he is reminded that there is nothing the same.
“About my Sarutobi Sasuke,” the Sanada answers, reclining on the bed.
Shindara notices the intended yielding position, the purposely slanted look. He notices the pale skin, the smooth curve of Yukimura's back, the exact way his clothes fall on his form. He notices the new, cleverly concealed scars, the callouses on the fingers, the challenge in those eyes. More importantly, he notices the possessive, fond tone of that voice when it says the name he used to own. And there is nothing the same.
“No.” He leaves the room as quietly as he came.
Fandom: Samurai Deeper Kyo
Genre: General
Characters: Yukimura, Sasuke [Current]
Warning: M/M pairing, other than that, same as above.
Yukimura leans back on his elbows and downs the last drop of his rice wine with a sated sigh. It is winter, the air is brisk and cool, and outside, last night's snow begins to melt. Water drips in from his window, collecting on the floor. The puddle ripples, and Yukimura dons a winning smile. “That was very fast.”
From the shadows, Sarutobi Sasuke unfolds from his crouch and frowns disapprovingly. “I was nearby,” he says as an explanation, “and that's all. Saizou told me you wanted to see me. What do you want?”
Yukimura beckons him into the light pouring through the window. When he approaches, Yukimura reaches up, places one hand on his shoulder, and pulls him into a seated position using force of will rather than force of strength. “You shouldn't be so jumpy all the time, Sasuke. Especially today.”
Sasuke shrugs away. “Yukimura,” he says, exasperated, “what do you...!” He breaks off because his voice retreats into his chest, because when his back hits the floor and his muramasa digs into his spine, he loses his breath, because when those half-lidded eyes are so close, leering down, he can't focus on anything else.
“Today is your sixteenth birthday, Sasuke,” he announces.
Yukimura's breath is achingly hot when it fans across his face; it makes Sasuke's head swim. Feebly, his mind attempts a last-ditch effort to save itself. “Get off, Yukimura, what do you think you're doing?” When he squirms, he is suddenly aware of the other's thumb hooking under the hem of his shirt and pressing into his hip and stills, eyes wide and golden.
Yukimura patiently watches as Sasuke's eyes slide towards the empty bottle nearby, watches as the childish features twist in distaste. “I'm not drunk,” Yukimura whispers.
“The hell you aren't,” Sasuke mutters unhappily.
There is nostalgia in the look Yukimura gives him. It reminds Sasuke of Shindara, of what Saizou told him about the ex-jyuyuushi when he had asked. It makes him angry and he shoves the suddenly unwelcome weight away. When he gets to his feet, he sees Yukimura on his back, blandly look at the ceiling and somewhere, it hurts. It's just his bruised back, he thinks.
“Thank you for the birthday wishes, Yukimura-sama, but I would rather not be used like that for your drunken fits,” he snaps, turning to storm out, but there is a hand grasping his in a grip so strong he can't tug away.
Yukimura sighs and pulls Sasuke off his feet, into his chest. A calloused pair of hands cups his face, effectively quieting him. It is a familiar motion; Sasuke remembers it from his youth.
“I'm not drunk,” he says fiercely, eyes clear and sober. As his expression eases into a gentle smile, he adds, “and I'm not using you. I thought I told you that a long time ago, never to say things like that again. Now, I'm going to wish you a happy birthday properly. Are you ready?”
The mischievous glint has returned and it makes the shinobi flush, sputtering as his defenses erode. “Stop kidding around with me!” he shouts, attempting to draw away as Yukimura closes the distance between them. One last pause, their gazes lock, and Sasuke feels the very last piece of his built-up admiration for the man crumble into something entirely different, sees the same strange thing in Yukimura's face, doesn't know what to do.
“I'm not,” and his lips crash down.
Genre: General
Characters: Yukimura, Shindara
Warning: Same as before.
Disclaimer: Ditto.
“I didn't expect to find you here, of all people,” Shindara says, sweeping into the room without so much as a knock, coming toward the bed and staring down at the Sanada he used to serve. His eyes narrow as the other man looks up, a half-empty cup still in his hand, and smiles innocently. Yukimura is hardly intimidated. “What do you think you can accomplish by sneaking in here, Yukimura?”
His eyes are closed as he widens his smile. “I don't know what you're talking about, Shindara.” When he says it, he makes the name sounds bitter and vile. “I'm just here to help the Mibu. After all, with their power, I'm sure they can take care of the Sanada clan better than I can. I personally think I made a good choice. Plus, that's awfully mean, always thinking I have an ulterior motive!”
Shindara's eyes narrow, straining to focus on the familiar face rather than the familiar body. “It's because you do always have an ulterior motive, and I'm sure you have one now. Whatever you're planning, Yukimura, don't expect to get away with it. Everyone's watching you here; you're not amongst friends like you were back with Onime no Kyo.”
Yukimura feigns a gasp. “But I thought you were my friend, Shindara,” he begins, but his voice quickly degenerates into something more rough and lethal. He rises to his feet, invading what could be considered the juunishinshou's personal space, standing a precious two inches away. He lifts his face and smirks. “At the very least, we were something more than friends, before. Don't you think?”
Shindara notices three things. First, Yukimura is not drunk. Second, Yukimura forever smells like alcohol and clean sheets. Third, this is not before. There is a new person walking in his place now; there is nothing in this situation that is the same. He retreats politely without losing face and closes his treacherous eyes. “Your wiles no longer work on me, Sanada. Save them for your pets.”
“I have no pets,” the other answers, too easily and truthfully, “only friends.”
Shindara frowns. “Easily replaceable friends.”
“I have no friends who are easily replaceable. Enemies, however, come and go.” Yukimura says this with terrifying ease, without missing a beat, as if it were a mere observation. He says it so peacefully that it takes even Shindara a moment to remember who it applies to. When that moment passes, Shindara sneers, distorting the tattoo on his cheek, but Yukimura is relentless, cruel. “Would you like to hear about him?”
“Who?” He watches as Yukimura's face hardens into sharp edges that glint in the flickering light and knows the answer before it spills out of that elegant mouth. The room is lit by lanterns that cast shaky shadows on shaky people. There are crickets making a racket outside. The moon is only a sliver of white in the darkness; the stars shine brighter than she does. Once again, he is reminded that there is nothing the same.
“About my Sarutobi Sasuke,” the Sanada answers, reclining on the bed.
Shindara notices the intended yielding position, the purposely slanted look. He notices the pale skin, the smooth curve of Yukimura's back, the exact way his clothes fall on his form. He notices the new, cleverly concealed scars, the callouses on the fingers, the challenge in those eyes. More importantly, he notices the possessive, fond tone of that voice when it says the name he used to own. And there is nothing the same.
“No.” He leaves the room as quietly as he came.
Fandom: Samurai Deeper Kyo
Genre: General
Characters: Yukimura, Sasuke [Current]
Warning: M/M pairing, other than that, same as above.
Yukimura leans back on his elbows and downs the last drop of his rice wine with a sated sigh. It is winter, the air is brisk and cool, and outside, last night's snow begins to melt. Water drips in from his window, collecting on the floor. The puddle ripples, and Yukimura dons a winning smile. “That was very fast.”
From the shadows, Sarutobi Sasuke unfolds from his crouch and frowns disapprovingly. “I was nearby,” he says as an explanation, “and that's all. Saizou told me you wanted to see me. What do you want?”
Yukimura beckons him into the light pouring through the window. When he approaches, Yukimura reaches up, places one hand on his shoulder, and pulls him into a seated position using force of will rather than force of strength. “You shouldn't be so jumpy all the time, Sasuke. Especially today.”
Sasuke shrugs away. “Yukimura,” he says, exasperated, “what do you...!” He breaks off because his voice retreats into his chest, because when his back hits the floor and his muramasa digs into his spine, he loses his breath, because when those half-lidded eyes are so close, leering down, he can't focus on anything else.
“Today is your sixteenth birthday, Sasuke,” he announces.
Yukimura's breath is achingly hot when it fans across his face; it makes Sasuke's head swim. Feebly, his mind attempts a last-ditch effort to save itself. “Get off, Yukimura, what do you think you're doing?” When he squirms, he is suddenly aware of the other's thumb hooking under the hem of his shirt and pressing into his hip and stills, eyes wide and golden.
Yukimura patiently watches as Sasuke's eyes slide towards the empty bottle nearby, watches as the childish features twist in distaste. “I'm not drunk,” Yukimura whispers.
“The hell you aren't,” Sasuke mutters unhappily.
There is nostalgia in the look Yukimura gives him. It reminds Sasuke of Shindara, of what Saizou told him about the ex-jyuyuushi when he had asked. It makes him angry and he shoves the suddenly unwelcome weight away. When he gets to his feet, he sees Yukimura on his back, blandly look at the ceiling and somewhere, it hurts. It's just his bruised back, he thinks.
“Thank you for the birthday wishes, Yukimura-sama, but I would rather not be used like that for your drunken fits,” he snaps, turning to storm out, but there is a hand grasping his in a grip so strong he can't tug away.
Yukimura sighs and pulls Sasuke off his feet, into his chest. A calloused pair of hands cups his face, effectively quieting him. It is a familiar motion; Sasuke remembers it from his youth.
“I'm not drunk,” he says fiercely, eyes clear and sober. As his expression eases into a gentle smile, he adds, “and I'm not using you. I thought I told you that a long time ago, never to say things like that again. Now, I'm going to wish you a happy birthday properly. Are you ready?”
The mischievous glint has returned and it makes the shinobi flush, sputtering as his defenses erode. “Stop kidding around with me!” he shouts, attempting to draw away as Yukimura closes the distance between them. One last pause, their gazes lock, and Sasuke feels the very last piece of his built-up admiration for the man crumble into something entirely different, sees the same strange thing in Yukimura's face, doesn't know what to do.
“I'm not,” and his lips crash down.