Title: In Quiet Spaces
Pairing: Neji/Shikamaru
Warnings: None, this is pure WAFF.
Notes: This is from the Naruto anon meme, under the prompt; content. So enjoy some totally angstless ShikaNeji.
A hand drags through Neji's hair, and smoke drifts over his head in lazy pattern, growing thin in the late summer air. He has said nothing about the habit, bad though it may be he is not his lover's keeper. He watches as the smoke is pulled apart by the wind. Makeshift clouds indeed.
Quite frankly he has not quite gotten the hang of cloud watching yet, his eyes always drifting over to watch his partner. People assume someone so stationary must be boring to watch, Neji would beg to differ but he doesn't really want to the competition. The hand drags through his hair again and he grabs it, absently bring it to his lips to kiss the back of strong, tanned fingers.
This prompts an amused chuckle from himself at the sentimentality of the gesture even as Shikamaru looks down at him, eyebrow quirked in a well known expression. "What was that about?" he asks. The other shrugs as best as he can when in a semi-prone position.
"I think I'm happy, is all."
A deep smoke filled breath and a long exhale passes before the dark haired man speaks again. "You only think?"
He keeps his face straight as he replies, "I am new at it," as if telling a great secret. It is only half a joke, half a confession.
The cigarette is not even half way smoked, but it's crushed out carefully against a rock. A deliberate nicotine scented kiss is placed on his brow, warm breath fogging the cool metal of the hitai-ate. "You can practice with me, if you want."
He smiles, soft and almost invisible in the dying sunlight, and tugs at a piece of hair which has escaped its tie. The other retaliates, giving a tiny painless yank to the very end of a long bang.
"There is no one else I could practice with," he says softly, "even if I were so inclined." The other hums and leans back, supported by a gnarled old tree. Neither say anything until the sun is nothing more than a tiny sliver painting the horizon blood red. Above them the clouds have grown heavy and dark, laying low in the sky,
"It is going to rain," he tells the other softly.
"Mmm, do you want to go home?"
He thinks for a moment and shakes his head. He knows, without a doubt, there will be blades of grass in it when he finally gets up, but despite the rumours he is not fussy about his hair. "I like this," he says. "Let's stay."
So they do.
