I haff a queer obsession with trees, weather, bishies, and making out, all mixed together in the Pot of No Plot and with a good deal of fluff thrown in for flavour. Dump a couple tablespoons of slash, one large pinch of Anima, and …
SUMMARY: Fluff. Fluffy fluff of the fluffy fluff demon of fluffdom and doom. Husky looks for Cooro in the rain. Husky finds Cooro. Snogging in a tree ensues. Cooro/Husky obviously, Anima, and slash, slashity slash slash slash. For Em-chan, because I can't mail her picture because I haven't bloody well coloured it yet. Rated PG, because, well, that'd be the first PG rating I've done for almost a year. b If you do not know the meaning of, disapprove of, or are disturbed by slash, bugger off. /b
DISCLAIMER: If you are the owner of Anima, I do not own Anima, nor do I intend to make a profit off this. This is written for my friend's birthday. Oh and, this is not beta-ed or edited in any way. And it has no plot.
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Refractions
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Before Dawn
That practicing bird is sharpening his callOn my sleep. I shall wring him feather from feather
And string up his pimple skin, and grind his beak
for sweep dust. I shall debird him. Hold.
On what do I sharpen my cry?
-- Ann Darr
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There are a lot of things Husky associates with Cooro. Circuses, mermaids, feathers and birds and flying and air and the wind whipping in his face, and laughter and sugar and summery light, and for reasons inexplicable cheese, and these are just a few.
At the moment, however, all he can think as he finally locates the boy and his wings through dripping eyelashes is, God, he's an idiot.
Husky glares up into the tree. Cooro is an idiot, and yes, he is an idiot thrice over, and what in the name of hell possessed him to fly off, utterly randomly, with no warning whatsoever, and sit in a tree whilst Husky is forced to stand under the branches and suffer dripping and try and persuade him to get the hell down?
"Cooro!" He shouts up, impatiently brushing straggling strands of silvery-blonde hair behind his ears and consequently out of his eyes. With this important operation executed, he is able to see Cooro more clearly, and the winged boy's bedraggled condition does not escape his sharp calculating look. Impatiently, he blinks hard to get the water and the image of Cooro curled into himself out of his eyes and shouts again, louder: "Cooro!"
This time, it appears, Cooro notices. This is evidenced by his startled jump, sending fat droplets of water shooting down from the tree and his wings, the majority of which seem to focus in on Husky and hit him. He gives something of a sigh and curses the mutual attraction of his body and water.
"Husky!" Says Cooro, looking somewhat unnerved. Obviously, he hadn't been paying terrible much attention to his surroundings, and the abrupt appearance of his friend has to all appearances shocked him out of his skin.
"That would be me, yes." Husky says, annoyed. "Now come down before I have to come get you."
Cooro blinks. "But, Husky, you don't like climbing trees." Which is true. Husky's Anima is a fish, not a bird or a bedamned squirrel, thank you, and no, Husky does not like climbing trees. Water stabilizes him because it holds him from all sides and he can breathe and move freely through its ephemeral flowing waves. Trees do not move. Nor do they hold you. Husky knows that one can quite easily fall from one's precarious perch should one become distracted by something, for example a pair of bright laughing eyes.
Not that Husky would know this from experience or anything.
Except Husky has fallen out of plenty of trees, mostly to get Cooro, and he does not want to suffer another feeling of free fall, because it seems he falls quite enough these days, and not surprisingly Cooro is the cause of this too.
"Good job noticing, Cooro," He snaps, swinging his wet hair off his face again. Cooro looks entranced by the movement, but then again, Cooro is entranced by most things shiny. Those bright eyes travel down slowly, reading things off his body, and Husky shivers. It must be the wetness and the cold.
"You're soaking." Cooro notes, looking not particularly attentive of anything but Husky's collarbone.
"No, Cooro, it's actually just your imagination, and I'm really warm and toasty and dry standing here in the rain because I was delegated by Nana to get your ass back to camp." Husky is actually lying, and not just about the condition of his clothes. In truth, Nana offered to go get Cooro, because she knows that Husky hates getting his clothes wet, but he had said … well, he had said something, the significance of which he can't remember now. And she'd let him go.
"Oh," says Cooro, looking back up at Husky's face with exaggerated slowness. A droplet of water inches down Husky's neck, into the hollow of his collarbone, and he flicks it off. And look, Cooro's mind is gone elsewhere again, evident in the blankness of his face.
"Come on, Cooro." Husky grumbles, and catches hold of the base of the tree. Gritting his teeth and blinking hard to clear his eyes from the onslaught of rain and Cooro, he pulls himself up, lithe young muscles moving visibly under the white shirt plastered to his torso. Cooro blinks, hard, and this close Husky can tell that his is flushed from cold.
"Um," says Cooro faintly, looking as though he might fall off his branch any second. Husky looks concerned for the first time, brow wrinkling slightly above silvery eyes.
"Oi, Cooro, you don't look too good." He says, settling himself onto the branch Cooro is on. "You're probably catching cold. Move already, and we can go to camp and find you something dry to put on." Notably, he mentions nothing about dry clothes for himself. Cooro reaches out a hand and awkwardly grabs onto a close-by branch, balancing himself.
Husky looks worried now, at least until Cooro says, "Husky, don't you like rain?"
It may be a poor attempt to change the topic, but sadly enough, Husky is drawn in anyway. It is a mark of how tolerant he has become in the years he has been travelling with Cooro that he allows himself to follow the random flow of the dark-haired boy's conversations.
"I don't dislike it." He says, sensibly enough. "I wouldn't mind it if I didn't have the bother of wet and heavy clothes to drag around. I mean, maybe if I could just run around naked in the rain, or something, I would enjoy a good rainfall." This is another milestone of being dragged hither and thither by Cooro – Husky, furthering random conversations of his own volition.
Husky frowns. "Cooro, you don't look good at all," He contends, stripping his right hand of its glove and laying it against Cooro's forehead. "You're burning up!"
"I'm – fine -" Cooro manages forcedly, still quite red, and Husky is far from convinced. He tolerates the boy, which translated from Husky language that he likes him a great deal, and perhaps recently he has come to realize that he likes him a great deal more than he himself had suspected, and probably more than Cooro suspected, and maybe the way that Nana suggested, and all this incoherence is meant to add up to the fact that should Cooro die of fever, Husky would be very sad indeed.
He holds his finger under Cooro's nose, and says sternly, "Breathe out." Cooro does so, shakily, and Husky is relieved to find that his breath is normal and not at all indicative of fever. "Well, you don't have a fever," He begins, this statement affirmed by Cooro's energetic nods, but continues, "But you are awfully red. And warm. What's wrong with you?"
It is quite characteristic of Husky to add 'with you', in that accusatory manner, to 'what's wrong', which might otherwise be mistaken for a kind and caring comment. Cooro, however, is used to Husky's idiosyncrasies, and to an extent is very fond of them. Well, very fond of them to all extents.
"Can we stay out here then?" He asks, restored to cheerfulness by the ascertaining of his non-sickness. Husky stares blankly at him.
"Stay?" He repeats dumbly. "Out here? In the pouring rain?"
Cooro nods. "We won't get wet!" He declares, and spreads his black wings over both boys, simultaneously blocking out the rain, and drawing Husky in closer. This latter is very much unintended, and as Husky loses his balance the way he is wont to do in high places, unlucky Cooro ends up with a lapful of scowling silver-haired Anima, and a blush that threatens to implode his head.
Perhaps not so unlucky.
"Erg," says Husky coherently through a mouthful of Cooro's rain-heavy shirt. "Good going, idiot."
"I'm sorry!" Cooro squeaks, looking as though he is torn between bringing Husky in closer and flying as fast he possibly can off into the storm. A few minutes later, it looks as though his wings have decided for him, and Husky find himself crushed up against Cooro's chest, which is surprisingly warm under the wet.
"Cooro, what the hell are you doing?" He grumbles, reaching out for some handhold or balancing thing (reminded again why he doesn't like trees – water allows free movement) and his palms come to rest on the trunk of the tree. And he stares straight into Cooro's eyes, which are rather closer to his own than he usually allows. And he is still sitting in Cooro's lap.
Well, oh, my. What a compromising scene. Should Nana show up, there will be a good deal of double-entendre-style comments. However, Nana does not show up, and the two boys, deprived of any distraction, sit there dumbly staring at each other.
"Er," says Cooro after some time. "Husky, are you going to move?"
"No," says Husky bluntly. "I can't. Your wings have me, and that aside, you're warm, and I'm cold, and seeing as you probably won't move, I'd rather stay warm."
"… Oh." Cooro blinks, digesting this. Evidently rain makes Husky talkative and touchy-feely, or Husky is simply drunk on too much Cooro. While the mermaid – er, man – might insist upon the former, the truth is probably closer the latter. Cooro says, "So you aren't getting off?"
"That is what all that meant." Husky mutters irritably, and settles in closer, resting his head on Cooro's shoulder. Well, he is tired. He's not molesting anyone. Nor is he looking for an excuse to touch Cooro any more than he already is. And he does see you laughing!
"… Oh." Cooro says, again. Silence swoops in on its prey and happily settles upon their shoulders. Uncomfortable decides to tag along for the ride and joins silence, settling just as happily upon the same shoulders.
"So, say something." Husky grumbles.
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Pick one of your random subjects or something. You have to always be thinking of something, right? Say whatever you're thinking right now, because the silence is getting on my nerves." Actually, Husky is doing this because he likes the sound of Cooro's voice. But catch him admitting that.
"Er," says Cooro in a flustered sort of way. Whatever is on his mind – well, if that's what Husky wants, then – "What does a kiss taste like?"
Husky chokes on his breath. "What?" He says, incredulous.
"What does a kiss taste like?" Cooro asks, big eyes all sincerity and innocent questioning. Husky hopes his face isn't red, but knowing his luck …
"It – well – I don't know." Husky mutters. "Why are you asking me?"
"Well, I wanted you to tell me." Cooro says, as if this is obvious. "If I didn't want to know, why would I ask?"
"I don't know." Husky says flatly. "Ask someone who knows."
"But I already asked Nana and Senri!" Cooro complains.
Husky almost falls off the branch and only remains there by sheer willpower and the strength of Cooro's grip on his shoulders. He refuses to look Cooro in the eye, because if he does he'll waver and Cooro will pounce on the opportunity and take advantage of Husky, which is a good thing, or wait, no, a bad thing – or a good thing, if you look at it that way, and he is spiralling into complete incoherence so he says, "What did they say?"
"Senri didn't say anything." Husky rolls his eyes. Well, what did you expect? "Nana laughed at me." Husky shakes his head. Cooro really has no clue whom to ask for things like this. "Then she told me to ask you and something about a demonstration."
Husky chokes again and winds up with a coughing fit. Cooro looks at him curiously.
"A what?" The poor merman manages. "I'm going to kill her! I'm going to hold her underwater until she turns blue – no, purple – no, green! I'm going to cut off her thumbs and make her eat them!"
Cooro blinks. "That's gross," He informs Husky. "And how would she hold a fork?"
Husky grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, "Mere technicalities."
Cooro eyes Husky, nervous again. Husky shifts uncomfortably under the stare, and uncomfortable silence, which had been disturbed by Husky's indignation, zeroes in on its prey once more.
"What?" Husky says finally.
"… So?"
"… So … ?"
"… Will you show me?"
Husky splutters incomprehensibly. "No!" He says. "I – no!" That is so not how he wanted his first kiss, he thinks. Stupid Nana. Couldn't she have set up something slightly more romantic? Husky blinks and pretends really hard that he didn't just think that. Shut up! Stop laughing!
"But …" Cooro begins, widening his eyes into the puppy-face-impending look. Husky cringes, but he can't move. Somewhere along the line Cooro snuck his arms around Husky's waist and is holding him either for warmth or for – well, other things, and Husky doesn't want to think about that because he might agree. Randomly he thinks that if he were a girl he could slap Cooro for getting fresh, but since he is a guy he has to deal with it, and how does that make sense?
"Husky … I wanna know!" Cooro starts. "Everyone my age knows! Nana is always making fun of me for never having been kissed and for being a virgin. I don't know what a virgin is but she makes it sound bad! I don't wanna be anything bad! And kissing looks fun! I wanna kiss! Why can't you tell me? And if you don't know you can just show me! What's wrong with that? Why won't you just help me for once, Husky? And if you won't do that you can help me to not be a virgin – Husky, are you okay? Stop coughing! Are you catching a cold? Okay. Nana says virgins are too innocent and that's a bad thing … I'll tell Nana you said that about her if you don't tell me what a kiss tastes like."
Husky gasps a breath (a coughing fit tends to kill one's normal breathing rate) and glares, unsuccessfully. Cooro is evidently too used to the Death Glare of DOOM™. Absently Husky thinks he needs to come up with something more disturbing. What about a pink feather boa and … not following that train of thought. Not.
Cooro's still going, and Husky's getting a headache. Cooro's voice can hit pitches usually unreachable for males when he's annoyed, and the way things are going it looks as though Cooro is terribly annoyed.
"It doesn't taste bad, does it? I bet it's really good and you're just being selfish and want to keep it for yourself. Does it taste like fruit? Blueberries? Oh, I know, goat's cheese! Why are you laughing, Husky? Maybe it does! That'd be good. If you taste like goat's cheese, can I kiss you every day? Don't stop breathing! Ahh! Husky, you're turning blue! … That's better. So? So? But Huskyyyyyyyyy …"
Ah, the extended 'y'. It looks as though Husky is slowly going insane. Insanity is good, especially when it attacks Husky and those in the fangirl black market happen to be about. Reason shuffles off Husky's shoulder and takes off for an afternoon nap, replaced with its close cousin Senselessness and possibly Lust. Cooro looks good wet. Really good wet. Droplets-of-water-sliding-down-lickable-neck good wet.
"You're so selfish. I bet you know exactly what a kiss tastes like. Well no, you said you don't, so I guess you don't, but we could find out! Let's do that, Husky! Let's go together and find out what a kiss tastes like – Husky? Say something! Say – mmmph – mm – mm …"
When Common Sense (of which Husky sadly has too much of and Cooro has none) finally gets through the rain and Cooro's very soft, very plaint mouth and very flexible tongue that can do very interesting things, Husky makes a noise between a shriek and a moan and tries to pull away, only to find that Cooro has his hands wrapped tightly around Husky's neck and is not about to let go.
Luckily, Cooro needs to breathe, and when he finally figures out that this is why his head seems even dizzier than before he leans his head back against the tree, gasping, and eyeing Husky's red and slightly swollen lips with an eerie sort of satisfaction. Husky feels terribly lucky that he is naturally good at the entire holding-of-breath thing. Cooro looks pleased. Too pleased.
"You planned this," Husky accuses, anger beginning to flare. "You knew, didn't you? And you had to - "
Another long moment while we look the other way, because our nervous systems are overloading at the sight of exactly how Cooro planned things to go. Although angry Husky, while unexpected, is always a plus.
Common Sense makes an insulted noise and flutters off importantly, and thusly this time it is Husky who dizzily tries to recapture Cooro when they part.
"Hmm," He says in a voice that is dangerously close to a whine. "Cooro …"
"Sorry," Says Cooro, starting to feel abashed. Cooro's emotions and moral code really intrudes at the worst possible times, Husky thinks. Couldn't he have had the attack of ethics before all this, or a long, long time after? The winged Anima tries to back away, but as he is already against the trunk of the tree and he can't quite shove himself through that, he is forced to stay with a Husky who's emotions are decidedly undecided.
"Hmph." Says Husky. "What for?"
Cooro blinks again, cutely. Husky did not just think the word 'cute' and 'Cooro' in the same sentence. Of course not. "Well, for – um. Planning. This. Thing. You. Um. Plan. Thing."
Husky shrugs. "Okay."
Cooro blinks again. "Huh?"
"Okay," Husky says again, enunciating. "I forgive you."
Even under normal circumstances, this ready forgiveness would have been terribly disturbing. As it is, with Husky's lips still tender from ravaging, Cooro feels sort of threatened, and has the vague animalistic urge to run away as fast as he can.
"I don't taste like goat's cheese," Husky muses. Cooro's mind blanks out at this total strangeness and decides to just take a leave of absence, since it has been overworked in the past five minutes and needs to cool down before attempting to interpret external signs again. Husky continues, "I suppose that means you don't want to kiss me every day?"
Cooro stares. "What?"
"Guess not," Says Husky calmly. "I'll just have to get all of it today while you're still stupid."
"Hey!" Says Cooro. "I'm always stupid!"
Husky stares.
Cooro stares.
Husky stares some more.
Cooro stares some more. Then gives up on even performing basic living functions and foregoes breathing for Husky's mouth.
"Mm," Says Cooro when he sadly has to breathe again. "I don't want to kiss you every day."
Husky looks startled for a moment.
"I want to kiss you all the time."
--
owari
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words: 473
5:46 PM
14-10-04
lokogato enterprises ltd.
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Ph33r the fluff! Rarr! It hath chasèd you down! It hath ta'en you in its gaping maw as Shakespear hath ta'en me! Feel the Ph33r, you vulgar!
(I'm reading Julius Caesar in English. I lub it. It is so terribly funny.)
Yes, well. Huzza. Here 'tis, Em-chan. I hate it. It's so … short. And pointless. And it makes no sense! And it's not even fluffy enough but yet it gives me cavities when I re-read it and an urge to knock up the rating to at least a PG-13, or maybe even NC-17 … Gah. I've overdosed on 'mature' fanfiction. Will go elsewhere and wash out my cavernous head with soap now.
Groo.
Happy terribly belated birthday.
I still have to write you a Xmas fic. You and at least three other people that I owe much to … Gah. GAH!
And everyone that is not Em-chan: how did you like it? Was it too short? Fluffy? Stupid? Pointless? A piece of crap that deserves to be trashed and thrown out to freeze because it's not even worthy of burning in Hell?
Please review! REVIEW!!! Or I'll pelt you with short, fluffy PWPs! Oh, dear. Some of you might not consider that punishment …
REVIEW!!!!!!
lokogato-sama