"Heavenly Bodies" (1/1)
By: Evangeline Henri
Rating: PG
Warning: TAITO! YAOI!
A/N: This is for Atalanta (as usual). Here's your goddamned
story for the plane. Go have fun in Europe without me. Bring me
back some plushies!
*****
Ishida Yamato shines. Onstage, he's a star, jamming and baring
his soul to thousands of adoring amateur astronomers. Offstage, he's a
star, too, with a smile that seems almost attainable, almost touchable,
while remaining infinitely distant.
People gaze at him in wonder, awed by his glow. They
scramble and fight to be near him, to feel the heat of the flames that
burn at his core. They buzz about him like flies around an electric
camping lamp at night. Humming, waving, but ultimately
inconsequential. Inconsequential too are the media-savvy types that try
to handle him. They are merely planets orbiting around his sun. None
of them light his fire.
Yagami Taichi sits back in his chair, watching. He has no
radiance, no magnetism about him. People pass him by, brushing
against his broad shoulders and melting back into the faceless crowd
without ever seeing his face. He is not a star, and makes no pretenses
about it. If anything, Taichi is the moon, glowing only as a reflection of
Yamato, his sun. He hangs in the sky, watching him. Always
watching.
When the concert ends, Yamato pumps his fist in the air, and
bows to his audience. They scream in adulation. But anyone who is
close to him can see he is spent. He's been blazing for the world to
see, no easy task for anyone. It's times like these when his delicate,
effeminate frame seems even frailer than ever, capable of being tottered
by the slightest breeze. He leaves the stage, and his light flickers,
threatening to go out. When he wearily walks into his dressing room,
the star on the door that says his name seems more real than he.
Taichi is there, waiting for him. He holds a bouquet of white
lilies, a welcome change from the dozens of red roses that were hurled
at the band during the night. On his face is a smile, half the pride of a
lover, and half the indulgence of a parent who has let his child stay out
late when he should have been sound asleep.
Yamato melts into him. He burrows his head into Taichi's
chest, and goes limp. His body is an exhausted wreck, the ashes left
after a bonfire.
Taichi lets him do this, lets him to cling to him desperately. He
drops the flowers, and wraps his arms around Yamato. No words are
needed; the years have taught him what to do. He supports him,
planting a kiss on Yamato's sopping brow.
After a short time, Yamato recovers. His back straightens; his
muscles regroup and begin to function again. He looks up at Taichi
and gives him a grateful kiss. "Thank you, " he whispers.
Taichi's forehead wrinkles in consternation, but his eyes have
not lost their mirth. "What for?"
"For lighting my fire, " Yamato whispers in his ear. "And for
holding me up when it goes out."
"Hey, I love you," Taichi replies. "It comes with the territory."
He kisses the tip of Yamato's nose. "Now, let's get to work on re-
lighting that fire," he smirks, nibbling on his lover's ear as he kicks the
door shut.
-The End-
Comments? Feedback? A hog-tied Ken? Exploding Magical Kiwis from
the Great
Unknown? Send them my way!
By: Evangeline Henri
Rating: PG
Warning: TAITO! YAOI!
A/N: This is for Atalanta (as usual). Here's your goddamned
story for the plane. Go have fun in Europe without me. Bring me
back some plushies!
*****
Ishida Yamato shines. Onstage, he's a star, jamming and baring
his soul to thousands of adoring amateur astronomers. Offstage, he's a
star, too, with a smile that seems almost attainable, almost touchable,
while remaining infinitely distant.
People gaze at him in wonder, awed by his glow. They
scramble and fight to be near him, to feel the heat of the flames that
burn at his core. They buzz about him like flies around an electric
camping lamp at night. Humming, waving, but ultimately
inconsequential. Inconsequential too are the media-savvy types that try
to handle him. They are merely planets orbiting around his sun. None
of them light his fire.
Yagami Taichi sits back in his chair, watching. He has no
radiance, no magnetism about him. People pass him by, brushing
against his broad shoulders and melting back into the faceless crowd
without ever seeing his face. He is not a star, and makes no pretenses
about it. If anything, Taichi is the moon, glowing only as a reflection of
Yamato, his sun. He hangs in the sky, watching him. Always
watching.
When the concert ends, Yamato pumps his fist in the air, and
bows to his audience. They scream in adulation. But anyone who is
close to him can see he is spent. He's been blazing for the world to
see, no easy task for anyone. It's times like these when his delicate,
effeminate frame seems even frailer than ever, capable of being tottered
by the slightest breeze. He leaves the stage, and his light flickers,
threatening to go out. When he wearily walks into his dressing room,
the star on the door that says his name seems more real than he.
Taichi is there, waiting for him. He holds a bouquet of white
lilies, a welcome change from the dozens of red roses that were hurled
at the band during the night. On his face is a smile, half the pride of a
lover, and half the indulgence of a parent who has let his child stay out
late when he should have been sound asleep.
Yamato melts into him. He burrows his head into Taichi's
chest, and goes limp. His body is an exhausted wreck, the ashes left
after a bonfire.
Taichi lets him do this, lets him to cling to him desperately. He
drops the flowers, and wraps his arms around Yamato. No words are
needed; the years have taught him what to do. He supports him,
planting a kiss on Yamato's sopping brow.
After a short time, Yamato recovers. His back straightens; his
muscles regroup and begin to function again. He looks up at Taichi
and gives him a grateful kiss. "Thank you, " he whispers.
Taichi's forehead wrinkles in consternation, but his eyes have
not lost their mirth. "What for?"
"For lighting my fire, " Yamato whispers in his ear. "And for
holding me up when it goes out."
"Hey, I love you," Taichi replies. "It comes with the territory."
He kisses the tip of Yamato's nose. "Now, let's get to work on re-
lighting that fire," he smirks, nibbling on his lover's ear as he kicks the
door shut.
-The End-
Comments? Feedback? A hog-tied Ken? Exploding Magical Kiwis from
the Great
Unknown? Send them my way!
