birthday kisses
379 words
It was his birthday (the birthday) and he had grudgingly allowed a few things he normally would not have. Dear Ra, what a gigantic mistake. He plucked rather pathetically at the confetti lodged in his hair, and then tugged a little more resolutely at the back of the person-in-his-lap's shirt.
Just then, said person sat back (just a little), licked his lips, and declared, "And forty-seven for special kinky sex on Thursdays…."
Malik shot a look of desperation to the other side of the room, to where the others had retreated. As if it hadn't been awkward enough before. Goodness.
Ryou returned the look with a falsely-sympathetic-actually-amused sorry, can't help you there sort of expression on his face. Bitch.
"Forty-eight for going to the supermarket for candy sometimes…."
It had started with the regular eighteen after cake and presents, and then came the expected "twenty for luck" (Mariku was still working on his counting a teeny bit). "Twenty-one for extra luck," "twenty-two for world domination," "twenty-three for getting more money (methods unspecified)," and "twenty-four for no more Isis" were tolerated. So were "twenty-seven for extra lucky world domination" and "twenty-five for squishing pipsqueaks this year."
They became even more unconventional after "thirty-zero" for something or another. "Thirty-seven for good taste in clothes" was silly like the next few ("thirty-six for cute things") and then it was just downright stupid.
Meanwhile, "forty-nine for being pretty" was being planted on his throat. Malik started to recount the tiles on the ceiling.
"And… fifty-one for bubble baths!" It wasn't just a bad-excuse-for-a-snog anymore; it was rather, Malik mused, more like fucking foreplay. See, there was a nip. Two.
The next one turned into a vicious bite. Right above the collarbone. Malik yelped.
"Okay, that's it," he announced loudly, shoving Mariku out of his lap. "No more birthday kisses."
Mariku frowned and said something about at least letting him make it fifty. Malik immediately vetoed.
"No. My lips hurt and I'm bleeding. And you –" he poked Mariku in the chest, hard, jabbing accusatorily with every word "– are fucking terrible at counting."
He slapped Mariku's hand away when he made to touch the bleeding mark on Malik's neck. "Stop."
"Later?"
Malik gave it some consideration, head cocked and bruised lips pursed.
"Maybe."
the story was forced, based off of a clichéd notion. sorryyy.
suggestions questions comments thoughts? )
7.8.07. -- found it in a dusty corner of the hard drive + uploading spree today. hence the date.