Notice: Wasn't really sure what to write for a while but eventually I decided to go with the rather usual flow and try for the librarian/library patron thing. Can't say I'm good at it but I've certainly given it the ol' college try. It's kind of not really my normal style of writing so that's why it took so long, I tried to write it like Sasuke was writing this himself; almost in a diary form I guess. Who knows maybe he actually keeps one XD Hope you enjoy, oh and try not to drool on your keyboards. ;p
Disclaimer: Per usual, don't own it wish I did moving on….
Summary: Written in Sasuke's point of view, he finds a very beautiful sight in a most unusual place, the library. Who knows, a lot of surprising things happen in libraries. Serious OOC guys, not my fault I think Sasuke's a pansy.
Library Meetings
I'm not a stalker. I'm just shy, especially around good-looking guys, and Blondie was the most god damn sexiest man I'd ever seen. Adjectives fail to describe him, but what else have we to use? I found out he was twenty-something, he was tall, tan, and blonde with blue eyes that would shame a clear sea, broad shoulders, washboard abs, and an all-over muscular look, with sinewy arms and legs, and a tight, compact ass.
He works at the local branch of the county library system. I know, I know--it's hard to believe that a librarian could be all that sexy. A carpenter, sure; a cop, definitely; a cowboy, absolutely, but a librarian? All I can say is you didn't see Blondie, because, if you had, you'd agree: he's sexier than any gay guy I'd ever seen; and I've seen many an Calvin Klein underwear ads in my time. Besides, he's not really a librarian. He's a librarian's assistant. Basically, he re-shelves returned books. It's a way to earn money, he says, while he's going to college, where he's studying to be a doctor. Of course, I didn't know that when I first met--or, rather, laid eyes on--him, so I assumed he was a librarian. After all, he worked in a library right?
I'm an English major at the same school Blondie attends. Iruka sensei, my English Comp 2 teacher, just assigned us a 15-page research paper so I'd come to the library in search of materials with which to support and develop my thesis that a special kind of joy, which I've dubbed in my mind "Boy Joy," derives from man-to-man intimacy. I decided on this topic for two reasons. First, I believe it. Second, it earned Iruka sensei's silent, but unmistakable, approval--not from an academic, but from a personal, point of view.
In any event, instead of watching a video at home, I drove to the nearest branch of the village library, and it was here that I first laid my astonished eyes on The World's Handsomest Man, as I nicknamed Blondie.
Too shy to approach this fabulous hunk directly, I found a table that offered me a good view of him, but also allowed me to hide behind a conveniently placed column. I could see him, but he couldn't see me (or so I thought) unless I moved out from behind the pilaster. I had brought quite a stack of books to the table with me, to peruse. Their titles suggested my research topic: The Superiority of Male Love, Same-Sex Bliss, and The Joy of Gay Sex. As I took notes, wrote summaries, copied direct quotations, and paraphrased key passages that I thought would lend credibility and authority to my thesis, I sneaked a peek across the room at Blondie who was working behind the circulation desk, gathering book returns and placing them on a wheeled cart comprised of several shelves. What I was learning was interesting, but I couldn't keep my eyes off Blondie. Stealing glimpses of him as I worked, I was having trouble focusing on my research. I watched his muscles ripple and flex under his shirt, and I imagined myself kneeling before him, my forehead resting against the firmness of his belly, his little friend in my mouth. He'd look my way, though, and these images would flee my thoughts as quickly as they'd come, as I'd return my attention quickly to the book open on my table. Although I didn't believe that he could see me, the pillar between us, as it was, cutting off his view, I wasn't 100 percent positive. After all, I could see him well enough, if I just peered around the side of the column. Maybe he could see me, watching him. When he gazed in my direction, it seemed to me that he saw me; indeed, it seemed that his eyes were on mine, although this perception could have been caused by nothing more than my anxiety at the chance that he might spy me spying on him.
For the next fifteen minutes, I managed to resist the numerous temptations to cast another look Blondie's way. As a result, I made some progress in my research, learning about Zeus' love for a young boy, Ganymede, whose name means "rejoicing in virility," whom he carried off to Mt. Olympus to serve as the gods' cupbearer and, according to most authorities on the incident, Zeus' lover. Although, according to one source, this myth was sometimes understood as an allegory of the soul's ascent to paradise, it is more commonly regarded as a justification for pederasty, or the homosexual love of an older suitor for a younger lover, which also flourishes as a theme in the art of Michelangelo, Correggio, Parmigianino, and Guilio Romano. "Zeus' abduction of the Greek youth got a lot of press, so to speak," I scribbled in my notes.
Plato, I discovered, had an interesting theory as to the origin of homosexual love, too. In The Symposium, he contends, through Aristophanes, that, in creating the sexes, the gods first created three human beings. One was male, the second was female, and the third was an androgynous mixture of both. The gods then split these three humans into two halves. The resulting individuals, some of whom are male, others of whom are female, and still others of whom are androgynous, seek to find their missing halves, or soul mates. All that matters from Plato's point of view is that if one finds his or her soul mate, the sex and gender of that person doesn't matter. I even found a picture of an emperor, kneeling behind his lover, resting his left hand upon the boy's shoulder, his erection between the youth's buttocks. "A timeless moment," I observe in my notes. I enjoyed the thought for a moment about putting the picture into my essay just to see Iruka sensei's face light up like the Hokage monument when night falls.
Finally, I could no longer suppress the desire to gaze upon The World's Handsomest Man, but, when I stole a glance in his direction, he wasn't behind the circulation desk anymore! My heart sank. Surely, he hadn't gone home? I consulted my watch. It was 6:30 PM. That would be an odd, but not impossible, time for one's shift to end, I thought. Remembering the cart upon which he'd been stacking books, I sighed, relieved by the thought that, most likely, he was simply returning books that the library's patrons had brought back to their places on the shelves. I returned to my studies, but I couldn't concentrate.
Sighing, I closed my books. It was no use. I couldn't focus, couldn't read, couldn't think. Standing, I stretched, using this ploy as an excuse to look to my left and to my right, to turn and look behind me. The World's Handsomest Man is nowhere to be seen. Maybe he's gone to the men's room, I thought. If so, I'm not following him there, I told myself. Of course, I did. Unfortunately, he wasn't at one of the sinks or urinals, and the doors of both toilet stalls were open, indicating their occupant-free status. I left the restroom and walked briskly to the stairs and made my way down.
Downstairs, on the library's main floor was where the circulation desk was, where Blondie had been working before his sudden disappearance. The second floor contained the collections of books concerning specialty jutsus, philosophy, psychology, tracking, language, art and recreation, and literature. The third floor housed special collections, rare books, and more offices. Since it seemed that, The World's Handsomest Man was setting books on a return cart, to return them to the shelves, he was most likely on this, rather than the third, floor. The problem was that the library was huge, running the distance of almost four blocks long by three blocks deep although I don't know why no one except jonins on weird missions ever came here. Blondie could be anywhere within this distance, among the stacks or elsewhere. It wasn't quite the same thing as trying to find a needle in a haystack, but it would be similar. Still…
The library was as dimly lit, according to the hokage the village was experiencing yet another "budgetary crisis." To keep costs down, every other light had been removed from the building's hundreds of fixtures. Shadows filled the warehouse-size room. The stacks were high and long, with only about four feet between each collection of book-lined shelves. In addition, along the walls, there were many nooks and crannies, some occupied with locked glass showcases in which ancient and more recent displays kept out from underfoot, attracting little attention, or with doors to offices or restrooms. About half way down the west wall is where the stairs opened. All in all, the place was, because of its size, its clutter, the dim light, its almost total silence, its shifting shadows, and its apparent isolation, a little unsettling, even a bit eerie.
I continued my search, peering down each aisle I passed. Suddenly, as I neared an alcove along the west wall, I saw a figure dash from one of the stacks, fleeing for the stairs directly ahead of him, a wild look--an expression of fear and horror--on his handsome face, and, with a shock, I realized that it was the young man I was seeking, the librarian—or librarian's assistant as you would have it. In seeing me, it looked as if he'd seen a ghost--or a monster. But why? I'm not the world's handsomest man but I'm not hideously unattractive, either. If I had to assign a letter grade to my looks, I'd give myself a solid "B." Black hair, pale skin and onyx eyes always greeted me when I looked in the mirror and I never found the sight unappealing. However the mere sight of me has never made another guy run for his life or look at me as if he'd seen a demon out of hell.
On the way downstairs I kept my eyes open for him just in case, I didn't want to lose him. He wasn't at the circulation desk. He wasn't in the stacks or one of the offices. He wasn't in the men's room. He was, I found, nowhere to be seen. Although, normally, I am hesitant to approach others, I had to know what had become of the handsomest Man in the World. Had he, terrified, simply fled the library, leaving his job behind? If so, he'd probably be fired. Had I scared him to that extent? What if he thought I was following him, or maybe some psychopath? If so, he might go to the police and, although, ultimately, I would be cleared, meanwhile I'd have to answer some mighty embarrassing questions. Why had I been staring at the young man? Why had I followed him upstairs? The police might even get a court order to view the records of my library checkouts. If they saw the books I'd taken out they'd put two and two together like Blondie had. I had to know what had become of the librarian's assistant and under what pretext, if any, he'd left work.
Gathering my nerve, I approached the librarian stationed behind the circulation desk. In doing so, I imagined her, on the witness stand at my trial, telling the hokage, as she pointed me out in the courtroom, "That's him! That's the weirdo that was prowling about." I almost decided not to go through with it, but I had to ask; I had to know. At the desk, I cleared my throat. The librarian, a middle-age woman, slim but with overly sized breasts that looked to me like they wanted to burst forth from her jacket and eat me, in a simple dress that almost left nothing to the imagination; it was more mesh then a dress and I'll tell you I was happy for the long jacket she wore but I can't tell you how she wasn't sweating her cover-up off in the stifling heat of the library…maybe having her hair pulled back into a ponytail helped.
"Yes?" she said curtly. "
"The young man who works here, the librarian--" I began. She frowned.
"Who?" Maybe a description would help. "The Handsomest man in the World," I almost said. Instead, I described him as "Tall, with bright eyes and hair, wearing a blue sports shirt and black slacks." He also has broad shoulders, perfect abs, a muscular build, and also tight, gorgeous ass, I added to myself.
"Oh, you mean Naruto Uzumaki," she said, a slight smile cracking her granite countenance. Apparently, the Handsomest Man in the World was liked and admired even by a Gorgon like her. So that was his name, I thought. Then, Madam Medusa looked suspicious. "Why are you asking about Naruto?"
"He's a friend," I lied. "He asked me to meet him here; we were going to have dinner together." Her eyes narrowed still more as she regarded me as if I were a cockroach. "He went home early," she said.
"Oh."
"He said he wasn't feeling well."
"Thanks," I said, relieved that he'd at least made an excuse for his abrupt departure. That meant that, probably, he'd be back. He hadn't quit or put himself in danger of being fired. He'd be back to work. Most likely, he wasn't going to go to the police about me, either. I breathed a sigh of relief.