Drabble Trade: Hikago and Lee/Gaara
Apr. 28th, 2008 06:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tuesdayficarchivedUh, the first one is kind of stretching the "Lee/Gaara" category, but it includes them both? Some of you may recognize the card game in the second from Not Exactly Shakespeare, or The Fine Art of Running Away and Tactical Retreats.
*
The thing about sand and water mixing was that the sand clumped, became too difficult to manipulate. It weighed down with the water, refused to move until it dried out as though paralyzed.
So when Gaara said he did not want to go in the lake this last day of vacation and instead sat on a cloud of his sand a few inches from the shore, staring at the water with suspicion, Lee didn't insist. And when Naruto shoved him in anyway, laughing and shouting something about getting his feet wet, Lee helped fish the both out before they drowned.
Who tried to fight underwater anyway?
*
Red, blue, green. Lee flipped through the cards quickly, eyes shifting from one to the next to the next, before starting all over again.
"Hurry up and choose," came Neji's bored voice.
"I, I will!" Lee promised, fingering first the blue card, then switching swiftly back to the red. "Any moment now."
If he chose the blue, then he might still be able to--but no, what if Neji already had the shadow puppets? Lee would be utterly destroyed. Maybe the green? But he knew Neji was in possession of the Second and Third, and that way seemed certain death. That left the red, but it was entirely possible that--
"Don't choose the red one," Naruto spoke directly in Lee's ear, leaning over his shoulder to examine his cards.
Neji directed his deadpan glare Naruto's way. "You're out of the game. You're not allowed to help."
Naruto grinned at him. "I'm out of the game, so I can help as much as I want."
Tenten grimaced. "We all know Neji's going to win anyway. Give up already, Lee, so we can stop playing this damn game."
"No, I can still do this!" said Lee. "I won't give up!" He chose the red one.
Tenten groaned and said, "Typical."
It really, really was. From the other side of the red, Gaara of the Sand glowered back at him. This was what came of playing the new Assassins deck, Lee thought mournfully. Death by desert coffin.
"I don't actually look like that," said Gaara, leaning over Lee's other shoulder.
Neji put down his cards, allowing himself a small smirk that drove Lee insane. "He never needs to quit for me to beat him."
"I told you," said Naruto. "Red is your one true weakness."
Lee stared at Gaara--still leaning over his shoulder and brushing lightly against his back, entirely too close--and supposed it was kind of true.
*
Lee's hair was dark like coal and his smile bright like the flame that lit the night and burned to the touch. Gaara knew better than to reach out, knew what love meant and what attachment entailed—he knew more than anyone about flame licking at burned fingers and the terrible pain and deadening of sensation—but that didn't mean he could stop looking, watching that flickering light from the shadows.
And when Lee occasionally glanced Gaara’s way, smile glittering and friendship shining like a beacon, a lighthouse calling to an already broken ship, Gaara could still accept it, take it for his own. Gaara could still soak it in like a weed in the sun, knowing all the while it wasn't meant for him.
*
"Fine," Hikaru said and shoved Touya onto the bed. "Fine, but do you really think it'll change anything?" Touya bounced a little when he hit, breathing unsteady, and glared up at Hikaru in defiant response.
Hikaru unbuttoned Touya's ugly puce shirt (and God, what had Hikaru said about not letting Touya's mother do his clothes shopping? No one ever listened) with trembling fingers. Halfway down, Touya gave up, batted Hikaru's hands away, and tried pulling off the shirt himself, tangling his head and arms and revealing his stomach. Hikaru stepped in again once the flailing had calmed, and cleared where Touya had caught his hair on the buttons of one sleeve. Hikaru tossed the shirt to the side, ignored the way Touya's eyes expressed a will to murder as Hikaru climbed on the bed.
Hikaru stroked the smooth skin of Touya's stomach, his chest, raised his hand to Touya's neck and pulled him in to a kiss more teeth than tongue and lips.
Touya fumbled for the second light switch by the bed, flicked it off with one hand even as the other pressed under Hikaru's t-shirt. "Off," he mumbled into Hikaru's mouth.
Hikaru helped pull off his shirt, his belt, push down his pants and boxers. "Fuck, Touya. You—"
Touya flipped them, and what little Hikaru could see of him in the dim light from the open window was definitely moving down the bed, to—oh.
"Touya, wait, don't—"—and there were the lips and tongue, the go-callused fingers gripping Hikaru's thighs to spread them determinedly apart. Hikaru clutched the rough thread of his sheets and tried to think of formations, progressions, old kifu. What if he'd attacked on the right instead of the left, or placed in the opening five spaces ov—
It was over quickly.
Touya withdrew entirely, footsteps thudding against the wood floor, and it took Hikaru too long to pull up his pants and follow. Touya was already smudging the bathroom mirror with the oil of his hair and forehead, clinging to the sink as he'd clung to the sheets the week before, desperate and just as unable to change things.
"I'm sorry," Hikaru said, hands spread uncertain on Touya's too tense shoulders. "You don't have to, to . . . it's oka—"
"It's not okay." Touya kept his eyes down. He turned on the faucet. They waited a few minutes. Touya turned it off. "It's not okay."
Hikaru kept his hands on Touya's back, pressed his own turned head against Touya's.
--
The next morning, they play two games of go without a single word. After the third, Akira leaves with what little shreds of dignity that remain, tamping down hard on the regret and self-disgust. The next four years, they play only in go parlors and at official tournaments. One fifth of May, Hikaru finally tells him about Sai, and Akira wishes fervently, once more, that he really was gay.
*
"I can't believe you lost it," Touya repeated, still in a snit.
"I said I'm sorry!" Hikaru waved his hands. "How was I supposed to know the tickets were in there?"
"It was a bag! It holds things!" Touya seemed to be restraining himself from some handwaving of his own, or perhaps from smacking Hikaru. His hands were clenched in fists at his side, and Hikaru took a judicious step away, his own hands raised.
"But Touya," he said, perhaps unwisely. "That still doesn't explain why you were carrying a purse in the first place."
"Messenger bag! It was a messenger bag!" And then Touya really did hit him.
*
Tomorrow, locked Lee-as-Hokage.
*
The thing about sand and water mixing was that the sand clumped, became too difficult to manipulate. It weighed down with the water, refused to move until it dried out as though paralyzed.
So when Gaara said he did not want to go in the lake this last day of vacation and instead sat on a cloud of his sand a few inches from the shore, staring at the water with suspicion, Lee didn't insist. And when Naruto shoved him in anyway, laughing and shouting something about getting his feet wet, Lee helped fish the both out before they drowned.
Who tried to fight underwater anyway?
*
Red, blue, green. Lee flipped through the cards quickly, eyes shifting from one to the next to the next, before starting all over again.
"Hurry up and choose," came Neji's bored voice.
"I, I will!" Lee promised, fingering first the blue card, then switching swiftly back to the red. "Any moment now."
If he chose the blue, then he might still be able to--but no, what if Neji already had the shadow puppets? Lee would be utterly destroyed. Maybe the green? But he knew Neji was in possession of the Second and Third, and that way seemed certain death. That left the red, but it was entirely possible that--
"Don't choose the red one," Naruto spoke directly in Lee's ear, leaning over his shoulder to examine his cards.
Neji directed his deadpan glare Naruto's way. "You're out of the game. You're not allowed to help."
Naruto grinned at him. "I'm out of the game, so I can help as much as I want."
Tenten grimaced. "We all know Neji's going to win anyway. Give up already, Lee, so we can stop playing this damn game."
"No, I can still do this!" said Lee. "I won't give up!" He chose the red one.
Tenten groaned and said, "Typical."
It really, really was. From the other side of the red, Gaara of the Sand glowered back at him. This was what came of playing the new Assassins deck, Lee thought mournfully. Death by desert coffin.
"I don't actually look like that," said Gaara, leaning over Lee's other shoulder.
Neji put down his cards, allowing himself a small smirk that drove Lee insane. "He never needs to quit for me to beat him."
"I told you," said Naruto. "Red is your one true weakness."
Lee stared at Gaara--still leaning over his shoulder and brushing lightly against his back, entirely too close--and supposed it was kind of true.
*
Lee's hair was dark like coal and his smile bright like the flame that lit the night and burned to the touch. Gaara knew better than to reach out, knew what love meant and what attachment entailed—he knew more than anyone about flame licking at burned fingers and the terrible pain and deadening of sensation—but that didn't mean he could stop looking, watching that flickering light from the shadows.
And when Lee occasionally glanced Gaara’s way, smile glittering and friendship shining like a beacon, a lighthouse calling to an already broken ship, Gaara could still accept it, take it for his own. Gaara could still soak it in like a weed in the sun, knowing all the while it wasn't meant for him.
*
"Fine," Hikaru said and shoved Touya onto the bed. "Fine, but do you really think it'll change anything?" Touya bounced a little when he hit, breathing unsteady, and glared up at Hikaru in defiant response.
Hikaru unbuttoned Touya's ugly puce shirt (and God, what had Hikaru said about not letting Touya's mother do his clothes shopping? No one ever listened) with trembling fingers. Halfway down, Touya gave up, batted Hikaru's hands away, and tried pulling off the shirt himself, tangling his head and arms and revealing his stomach. Hikaru stepped in again once the flailing had calmed, and cleared where Touya had caught his hair on the buttons of one sleeve. Hikaru tossed the shirt to the side, ignored the way Touya's eyes expressed a will to murder as Hikaru climbed on the bed.
Hikaru stroked the smooth skin of Touya's stomach, his chest, raised his hand to Touya's neck and pulled him in to a kiss more teeth than tongue and lips.
Touya fumbled for the second light switch by the bed, flicked it off with one hand even as the other pressed under Hikaru's t-shirt. "Off," he mumbled into Hikaru's mouth.
Hikaru helped pull off his shirt, his belt, push down his pants and boxers. "Fuck, Touya. You—"
Touya flipped them, and what little Hikaru could see of him in the dim light from the open window was definitely moving down the bed, to—oh.
"Touya, wait, don't—"—and there were the lips and tongue, the go-callused fingers gripping Hikaru's thighs to spread them determinedly apart. Hikaru clutched the rough thread of his sheets and tried to think of formations, progressions, old kifu. What if he'd attacked on the right instead of the left, or placed in the opening five spaces ov—
It was over quickly.
Touya withdrew entirely, footsteps thudding against the wood floor, and it took Hikaru too long to pull up his pants and follow. Touya was already smudging the bathroom mirror with the oil of his hair and forehead, clinging to the sink as he'd clung to the sheets the week before, desperate and just as unable to change things.
"I'm sorry," Hikaru said, hands spread uncertain on Touya's too tense shoulders. "You don't have to, to . . . it's oka—"
"It's not okay." Touya kept his eyes down. He turned on the faucet. They waited a few minutes. Touya turned it off. "It's not okay."
Hikaru kept his hands on Touya's back, pressed his own turned head against Touya's.
--
The next morning, they play two games of go without a single word. After the third, Akira leaves with what little shreds of dignity that remain, tamping down hard on the regret and self-disgust. The next four years, they play only in go parlors and at official tournaments. One fifth of May, Hikaru finally tells him about Sai, and Akira wishes fervently, once more, that he really was gay.
*
"I can't believe you lost it," Touya repeated, still in a snit.
"I said I'm sorry!" Hikaru waved his hands. "How was I supposed to know the tickets were in there?"
"It was a bag! It holds things!" Touya seemed to be restraining himself from some handwaving of his own, or perhaps from smacking Hikaru. His hands were clenched in fists at his side, and Hikaru took a judicious step away, his own hands raised.
"But Touya," he said, perhaps unwisely. "That still doesn't explain why you were carrying a purse in the first place."
"Messenger bag! It was a messenger bag!" And then Touya really did hit him.
*
Tomorrow, locked Lee-as-Hokage.
