Opening note: So, my best friend, profoundlycan, and I were marveling over the fact that there are some writers who can complete 500 drabbles in a single fandom - we've struggled to complete much simpler challenges. I'm a little on the prolific side, but my fandom interests are so varied that I sometimes have a hard time focusing on any one fandom for any period of time, let alone long enough to complete a challenge like this. So, we decided to create a prompt table for ourselves and challenge ourselves to actually complete it by the end of 2013. Our rules are pretty simple. We must actually write 100 individual drabbles, though they can be mini-series like if some of the prompts go together. They cannot be longer than 1000 words (I can get really wordy, as this note is proving). If anyone is actually interested in seeing the prompt table, I can provide a link. It did not have to be all the same pairing, but I'm going to try to make all of these Usagi/Mamoru, and I'll try to make them not so trite as this first one. It's been a long time since my Sailormoon muse spoke to me. The title is 'Broken' simply because for much of the time these two are together, things are - well, broken between them.
091. – Only Human
Words: 387
11/22/12
He told himself that it was stupid. Hell, he told himself that it was illegal. She was fourteen. Just thinking some of the things he thought about her could get him in trouble with some people if anyone in his vicinity could suddenly develop telepathy when she was around – people like Makoto, for example, who jealously guarded the girl with a fierceness that belied the femininity she desperately tried to bury under her tough-as-nails exterior. It would certainly get him killed by her father, who was rumoured to keep a shotgun nearby at all times just for such things – things like keeping the innocence of his daughter sacred.
He told himself all of this, every day when she walked in, impossibly long legs and beautiful smile beaming (a smile he couldn't help notice falling the moment she spotted him). He couldn't seem to help himself, though. He saw her; he wanted her. He wanted to breathe in the fragrance that only she seemed to possess, that special blend of jasmine and orange blossoms and sunshine itself that he was lucky enough to have savoured on a few rare occasions and had tried, unsuccessfully to find in bottled form, describing it to every perfume counter in the city like a madman. He wanted to see her lips drift into that soft smile she reserved for his alter-ego, Tuxedo Kamen, whenever the blighter's name was mentioned – he was so far gone he was even jealous of his own secret identity! He wanted to be close enough to see the little drops of chocolate milkshake that sometimes clung to her lips, and the way her tiny pink tongue would dart out to chase them, drawing their sticky sweetness into the deep recesses of her mouth, and he wanted to follow it with his own. He saw her – and he wanted.
She walked in, sunny smile in place, calling cheerfully to her friends in their favourite booth before asking Motoki for a shake. She noticed him in the barstool next to where she stood at the counter, and she stiffened, her smile dropping to a grimace, and he smelled it, her fragrance, and he had to shift in his chair, grateful for her innocence, her ignorance that he always teased her about.
He saw her; he wanted. He was only human.