Romantic Type
Pairing: LxC
A/N: Oneshot. For Dualism, Sorceress Fantasia, and The Writer You Fools- as always.
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It's not that I'm not the romantic type- it's just I like who I choose to.- Leon
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It was three in the goddamn morning. In a very cold place. On a very, very hard surface. And Leon was pissed.
Under normal circumstances, the sofa was quite comfortable- to sit on anyway. Had just the right amount of fluff in its cushions so as to prevent that irritating business of sinking into the cracks like an elephant in quicksand. The sofa was even soft synthetic leather; just like butter. But tonight, or rather, this morning, it felt like someone had taken his body to the chopping block in a cart.
Groaning unsatisfactorily, Leon attempted futilely to 'roll over,' as much as one can on a living room couch. Sometimes, it just sucked to have long legs. Infinitely. And if/when he ever got off this fucking sofa, he was going to heave it to the street, bring out the Gunblade, and do a little refurbishing. See how the damn thing liked the way it was treating him.
Of course, it being three in the goddamn morning, he forgave himself for his very... spontaneous thought-track. He even forgave himself his lack of socks.
Leon never went to bed without socks. Period.
But his current wardrobe was something he was fairly sure required alcohol in large quantities to forgive. Disgustedly, Leon picked at the pink-chocobo-print pyjamas like there was some invisible bug crawling all over them. Thank heavens he'd remembered to take off the top portion of the set; in his sleep no less. Though at this particular moment, he'd give anything to have it back right now.
He was cold damnit! Leon had not been cold in his own house in nearly a year. It was wrong, and very, very unnerving. Without further hesitation, he gave up the try to return to sleep and stretched. Immediately his legs swung themselves over the side of the sofa, forcing him to stand up (clearly ignoring his screaming back) and go make coffee. Coffee was life.
And it was three am. That meant he would be short on sleep! And all because he wasn't, 'the romantic type.'
What self respecting man was?
Pathetically, Leon trudged through the den, tripping first on the footstool and then the actual recliner. Cloud's recliner. And Cloud's footstool. He was about to launch a small internal pity party when his left little toe made an un-manly crinch as somehow the protuding corner wall had bashed it. For half a second, Leon just stared stupidly down in the darkness at the guessed location of his foot. Tiny explosions were starting to dance in front his eyes when abruptly, his toe was on fire. Fire. Most assuredly not the kind that was generated when with Cloud. No, this was a different sort of fire.
The very kind that made him screech in agony on a near-girly frequency.
After this inhuman sound, Leon decided he'd better do some reparation. Clearly not being the romantic type was a problem. A major problem. But first things first. He snaked his around the corner wall he had just crunched his little toe into, and found the kitchen light switch. Where the fuck was that three minutes ago?!
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Twenty minutes later, at now 3:24 AM, the brunette was again seated on the now-comfy sofa. He was, after all, sitting on it this time, not sleeping. There was an awkward-looking wrap around the entire front half of his foot, and it smelled of salve. A small splint protruded off on the left, where the broken little toe was. It was painful, and he'd had to saw off the handle of the broom to clench in his teeth, but at least he'd done it right.
Wasn't the first time he'd broken a toe. Though not for such an embarassing reason.
So here he sat, a legal pad in vicious yellow sitting on his right knee and an ink pen poised threateningly above it. Gods he was pissed now. Romantic type. The romantic type. Cloud wanted him to be the freaking romantic type.
Hadn't he made it quite clear to Cloud that he was not a frilly gay-boy?
Leon sighed heavily, deciding that today was a call-in-sick day. He pulled up his right leg, and shifted the pad of paper to it. So while Cloud slept happily upstairs in their bed, he was stuck down here trying to figure out how to appease his lover.
Life was such a bitch sometimes. In neat, careful script, Leon began to sketch out the perfect 'Romantic Type but not Frilly Boy' compromise.
To be a Leon Romantic Type:
Bring home caramel kisses with plenty of your own to your boyfriend when you come late and don't call.
Don't show up without a peck on the forehead, if not the lips, in public.
Never not keep his hand in yours or your hand around his waist in public.
In private, do all these things to excess.
Be sensitive to your boyfriend's needs. Don't ever forget to ask about his day, or offer to help him out in whatever he's doing.
NEVER INSULT CHOCOBOS IN EARSHOT OF YOUR BOYFRIEND.
He thought he pretty much covered it. The Chocobo Incident had happened two days ago, when in passing he'd said that chocobos had to be one of the most annoying creatures on the face of the earth.
Bad move, on his part.
So yesterday, he'd been late getting home after work because he'd gone and bought a pair of chocobo pajamas. He'd been tired! So he forgot the caramel kisses! It wasn't enough to label a man as 'un-romantic' was it?
And he always asked about Cloud's day, whether or not he knew he'd been working or just lazing about at home. He always hugged Cloud, kissed Cloud, and draped himself all over Cloud protectively in public. Not the 'romantic type' Cloud's hot ass.
In defeat, Leon chucked the legal pad across the room, got up (careful of his wounded left foot), and padded lopsidely back to the kitchen to drink coffee until the sun came up.
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The first thing Cloud saw at six a.m., was the legal pad sitting retardedly at the foot of the living room wall. And then he looked over to the couch to find a chocobo pajama top (and strangely it wasn't his) and a discarded blanket. A discarded militairy blanket, if his eyes weren't deceiving him. No wonder it'd been cast aside.
The second thing he noticed was a rather interesting dent on the corner wall. Small, yet significantly deep. That would need some fixing. He'd just have Leon do it as part of his 'make-up.' Clad in his own chocobo pajamas (only in blue, not frilly gay-boy pink for crying out loud), Cloud meandered through the otherwise-spotless living room to the lit kitchen.
Only to find the obvious owner of the pink chocobo pajamas sprawled across the kitchen table, coffee cup in one hand and pen in the other. His elbow propped his cheek as a pillow, his torso shirt-less and slowly rising and falling to his sleeping heartbeat.
Cloud had been mad at Leon, with that there was no doubt. Through not as angry as he had undoubtedly assumed. Leon had always taken some things just a bit too serious. He smiled gently, and then remembered the pad of paper. So he trudged sleepily back out of the kitchen (mindful of the corner wall) to hunt down the pad of paper he'd seen earlier.
The first page was instantly recognized as the one he was looking for, as Leon's beautiful script filled in its lines. Reading each statement carefully, he knew his heart was warming to each word. The last one made him chuckle softly. So that's why he was wearing chocobo pajamas, and why there'd been a parcel (wrapped in brown paper) under his arm last night when he'd come home late.
Silly Leon. Cloud grinned happily to himself, and hummed sweetly.
"Cloud?"
He turned and spotted Leon, standing off-balanced against the corner wall, left foot raised slightly. One quick grin to his lover had Leon attempting to cross the room to Cloud, but soon stopped as Cloud came to him.
But not for a hug, as he'd hoped for.
"What did you do?!" The little blonde erupted, the gentle smile gone and replaced by frantic worry. Leon furrowed his brow. What was he talking about? There wasn't shattered glass or anything on the floor so what-
"Ah. So that's why there's a dent on the wall." Cloud spoke quietly, looking down at the pathetic left foot. "Are you alright?" A smirk appeared on Leon's lips, and he bent down to match them to Cloud's.
Only to find empty air.
"Uh... I'm fine. Just smashed my toe this morning in the dark..." And then he noticed the legal pad, sitting properly on the table. That was definitely not where he'd left it. Which meant...
There was another smile tugging at Cloud's lips, and suddenly he was hugging Leon like no tomorrow, head against his chest. He mumbled something, his breath brushing over Leon's exposed torso in sensual waves.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear that." He tipped his beauty's chin up, forcing the smile to bloom brightly on his lover's face.
Cloud leaned up on his tip-toes, and brushed his lips in a small kiss against Leon's. "I said, you're the perfect romantic type."
The broken toe was forgotten.
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Oneshot, because Up Or Down is sucking my ideas away. This needed writing. Obviously it needs lots of fixing- detail/flow/etc. I'm too tired right now. The world can live with it. And because 'Romantic Type' by The Pigeon Detectives rocks, it's here. Reviews, anyone?
-Nescentia